Revolution (23 page)

Martin Sigby had earned the ear of the Mordanian President, Mukhari Akim, in itself an extraordinary achievement for a foreign correspondent. But inevitably that had exposed him to accusations of bias in favour of broadcasts supporting the president.

‘Sigby’s on in fifteen seconds,’ an assistant whispered to Harrison.

‘Link him up.’

The image of Martin Sigby appeared on one of the main screens, slightly fuzzy due to the heavy snowfall in Mordania disrupting even digital signals. Harrison watched the little man adjust his jacket and stamp his feet to keep warm as he waited to go live on television.

Charlotte Dennis’s voice became a little louder.

‘And now we go live to our correspondent in Thessalia, Martin Sigby. Martin, what’s the feeling in the city at the moment at this time in the face of an impending invasion? Can you convey something of what it’s like for the ordinary people in the city?’

Martin’s expression came alive as he spoke.

‘Well, Charlotte, as you can imagine, fear and concern are the words that would describe the mood here in Thessalia. Behind me, in the refugee camp that you can see in the distance, literally tens of thousands of people have flooded into the city from the surrounding areas, from the few places that are not yet under rebel control. These people are running from the fear that the United States may attempt to intervene in events here with a military solution, and engage the rebel forces on their very doorsteps.’

‘And do you think that the government can cope with this sudden influx of people?’

‘In a word Charlotte? No. Put simply, even with the aid groups and the United Nations operations going on here, Thessalia is in a state of crisis in terms of water supply, electricity, grain and oil. The manpower to support the growing populace both within and around the city does not exist and the government of President Mukhari Akim knows it.’

Harrison Forbes moved closer to the screens as Charlotte went on.

‘I’d like to talk about the government there for a moment, Martin. What was the response on the ground to President Mukhari’s impassioned plea of the other night for international intervention in the crisis?’

‘It was as expected, Charlotte. There has been a sense that the government has lost control of the situation and is admitting that it cannot protect its citizens from the insurgency. The people here seek strong leaders and have the greatest respect for dominant rule, even if the decisions made are not naturally in the favour of the people. It’s all about pride and strength, and President Mukhari’s announcement frankly appeared to signal weakness and not resolve. It has only added to the chaos and fear here, and may even have contributed to a greater sense of respect for the rebel leader, General Rameron, whose leadership could only be described as uncompromising.’

‘Then why make such an announcement, do you think?’

‘Well, Charlotte, I had the chance to ask the president that question myself this morning, and here is what he had to say.’

Harrison Forbes started in surprise as President Mukari Akim’s image, seated in his personal chamber, replaced that of Martin Sigby’s snowy roof–top domain. The president was clearly answering Martin’s questions at a time earlier in the day.

‘What I want to do Martin,’
the president said,
‘is to finalise and secure permanent ties with the west. I firmly believe that this country needs to involve the United States in this conflict not just to defeat the insurgency of Mikhail Rameron but to affirm our determination to move away from a Communist agenda and begin a new era of democratic cooperation with the west.’

Martin’s voice was heard over the president’s image.

‘You’re saying, sir, that this crisis, this most desperate hour, is something that you believe is necessary for your country in order for it to develop in the future, to become part of the west?’

Harrison Forbes almost laughed out loud in delight and surprise.

‘Oh my God, how the hell did he come up with that?! That’s genius!’

President Akim gripped one of his chunky fists in the palm of his other hand, his features radiant with determination.

‘Communism, and with it Russian dominance of the Urals, ended long ago. Their method of governance did not work. Our future must be based upon democracy, a method of governance that does work. But I alone cannot convince my people that such a dramatic change can achieve the prosperity and economic advantages that we hope it will. We may have had our democratic revolution, but ten years on ours is still a poor country. No, alone I am nothing, as all leaders are. A leader only possesses influence when he has people to follow him. I need to know, and the people of this country need to know, that our choice of governance, our allegiance to democracy, our hopes of friendship and collaboration with the west will be honoured with the support that we need in this darkest of hours.’

The president took a moment to think, and Harrison Forbes smiled as he listened.

‘This is our moment of truth. This is our first and our last stand. If the democratic west will not lend its support to our government, will not protect us from those that countries like America claim to despise, then why should we have a democratic government at all? We will remain as isolated as we always were, abandoned at the hour of our greatest need by those who claimed to support us. My message is simple. If you do not help us, then you are by choice abandoning the very principles that you have preached to the world, and our efforts will vanish amidst the carnage of anarchy and despotism that you stand by and watch overcome us.’

The image of the president vanished to be replaced by Martin Sigby’s snowy countenance as he spoke to the camera.

‘It’s extraordinary, Charlotte, but President Akim has made a strong case for western intervention in Mordania. If the west claims to promote democracy and see its advance across the globe, then it’s got to respond to and assist those who are trying to defend it. Martin Sigby, Thessalia.’

Harrison Forbes slammed a fist down on the edge of a table. ‘Brilliant!’

An aide rushed up to Harrison’s side, his face flushed with excitement.

‘It’s Seth Cain!’ he gabbled, his eyes wide.

‘What about him?’ Harrison Forbes snapped. ‘Which line is he on?’

‘He’s not!’ the aide replied quickly. ‘He’s here!’

Harrison looked up to the entrance to the operations room. The entire staff were sitting at their desks and staring at the door as Seth Cain swept through it, his long dark coat billowing like a cape, ice–blue mirrored sunglasses reflecting the colourful banks of television screens. The line of his jaw was hard with restrained displeasure.

Cain did not approach Forbes, instead cutting across the operations room and striding into Forbes’s office, leaving the door open.

Harrison Forbes walked across and followed Cain into the office, shutting the door behind him.

‘Mister Cain,’ he said. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’

Cain stared at the map on the wall of the office before turning to look at Forbes from behind his mirrored lenses.

‘What’s pleasurable about it, Harry?’

The editor gave up the act. ‘What do you want?’

Cain perched on the edge of Forbes’s desk, regarding the office outside of the windows.

‘I want to know, right now, how your man in Mordania is getting his reels.’

‘Talent, I think it’s known as.’

‘How is he doing it?’ Cain repeated.

Forbes leaned against the wall behind him and folded his arms.

‘What’s your beef with Martin Sigby anyway? He’s just doing his job, remarkably well if I say so myself.’

‘I don’t give the smallest shit what you think,’ Cain sneered. ‘I want Sigby on the line, in here, right now, and I want to know how he’s getting what he’s getting.’

‘He’ll just tell you what the rest of the world already knows, Seth. He’s getting his reels from the President himself. And if you think that I’m pulling him out of Mordania, you’ve got another
think
coming.’

‘Far from it,’ Cain smiled. ‘The population of our planet has become attached to your gallant little correspondent. I wouldn’t want to harm the viewing numbers by pulling him off the air now. But you know, as well as I do, that he could not have gotten the footage that he did without assistance and I want names.’

Harrison’s eyes narrowed. ‘Client confidentiality, Seth.’

Cain glowered with fury, his body trembling as he raised a finger and jabbed it toward Forbes’s chest.

‘You know who it is, don’t you? Believe me, Harry, you’re going to tell me, because if you don’t I’ll have you out of this office in thirty minutes and your entire career history erased from the GNN databank. I’ll make damned sure that you never, ever work again.’

Harrison Forbes took a deep breath, considering Cain’s point for a long moment before speaking.

‘Okay, okay. If you want it that badly, I’ll tell you,’ he said resignedly. ‘It was the tooth fairy. Every night she comes into Martin Sigby’s bed and whispers sweet–nothings in his ear about what the nasty people in Mordania have been up to.’

Cain shot bolt upright but Harrison Forbes cut off his tirade.

‘Go to hell, Seth. I’ll have cleared my desk long before your goons get the chance to ransack it for me. There’s no way I’d give the name of an informant to you. Whatever it is in that country that you’re trying to hide, Sigby will find it sooner or later. You are trying to hide something, aren’t you Seth?’

Cain stood fuming on the spot in silence for a moment before looking out of the office windows at the hundred or so staff, most of whom were casting curious glances in his direction. Cain grinned.

‘I hope that your staff feel the same loyalty as you do,’ he uttered.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll ensure that they are all replaced by the morning. Every, single, last one of them will be jobless by tonight, and all because the good and the great Harrison Forbes refused to cooperate with his superiors.’

‘There’s nothing superior about you.’

‘Sticks and stones, Harrison,’ Cain tutted in mock disappointment. ‘I thought that such would be beneath you. Now, tell me, what will it be? A name, for the sake of your staff and their livelihoods?’

Harrison Forbes looked out of his office windows, sighed, and made his decision.

***

‘How much farther?’

Callum’s jeep had survived admirably well and they had passed Anterik an hour previously, Commander Severov’s troop carrier following them along the slushy roads and through ghostly, abandoned villages that seemed to Megan to be haunted by loneliness and despair.

‘Maybe another five or six miles,’ Callum said, glancing at the map he had tacked to the dashboard. ‘Talyn’s on the other side of the Tornikov River.’

Megan looked at the map, frowning.

‘There’s a bridge there. Do you think it will be occupied?’

Callum shrugged.

‘If I were in command, then yes, but Rameron’s troops may simply be relying on their dominance to hold onto strategic choke–points for now.’

Megan peered in the mirror at the troop carrier following them.

‘I don’t trust Severov either,’ Callum said as he drove, guessing Megan’s thoughts, ‘but we need the extra firepower and support. He got us through that check–point didn’t he?’

The convoy had recently encountered a platoon of Mordanian troops, some of the handful of loyalists who had not joined Rameron’s “glorious” revolution. They had been manning a makeshift artillery post and had halted the convoy on sight. Megan had recognised at once the dull glow of battle–fatigue burning in their eyes, a weary and yet merciless intolerance for all foreigners. Only Alexei Severov’s presence had allowed them to pass through.

‘That’s what bothers me,’ Megan murmured in reply. ‘His eagerness to help. He hates us both.’

‘He’s got his orders,’ Callum said, guiding the jeep around a large ice–filled crater in the road. ‘For a soldier, sometimes doing things that you dislike is just part and parcel of the job.’

Megan was about to reply when she saw faint tendrils of grey smoke drifting in the air to the left of the road, stark against the forested mountain ranges in the distance. She leaned forward, trying to peer through the trees.

‘Could be trouble,’ Callum said, eyeing the smoke.

As Callum drove the jeep clear of the crater, Megan saw a gap in the thick forest lining the road, and through it the stark white tail of an aircraft, pointing up into the air at an awkward angle.

‘That’s it, the airfield that Sergei talked about, shipping supplies to Petra Milankovich and his colleagues.’

At the mention of his name, the old farmer nodded from his seat in the rear and offered them a toothless grin, pointing at the aeroplane and mumbling quietly to himself.

‘Let’s pull over and take a look,’ Megan suggested.

‘It could be occupied by Rameron’s men.’

‘Well, they haven’t harmed us yet.’

Callum reluctantly pulled the jeep into a left turn toward a wide track that led between the trees and out onto the abandoned airfield. Megan could see that it had once been a significant base, equipped with crumbling aircraft shelters, huge hangars and a full runway. A tattered orange windsock hung limp on the cold air in the distance, and a control tower with shattered windows stood forlornly on the opposite side of the strip.

‘Looks deserted,’ Callum said as he slowly drove out onto the airfield. ‘The government forces must have abandoned it, and Rameron’s men obviously haven’t advanced close enough to occupy it.’

‘Maybe they don’t want to,’ Megan murmured. ‘The Americans will surely either occupy or bomb it if they decide to intervene here.’

Callum drove past a line of broken airframes, private light–aircraft variously burned or shattered with incendiary devices. Further ahead, a hanger was charred and broken by flame and age, faint wisps of smoke still drifting from its shattered embers.

‘Over there,’ Megan said, pointing at the hangar. ‘It’s still smouldering. Let’s check that out.’