Revolution (37 page)

‘The word from Congress arrived here aboard the USS Theodore Roosevelt just forty minutes ago, and within ten minutes the Carrier Air Group began preperations for military action against Mordania. These fighters blasting off the deck behind me are setting up Combat Air Patrols over the Georgian coast, securing American air superiority over the entire region before the air assault against the rebel forces of General Mikhail Rameron begins.’

Robert shook his head.

‘The shit’s about to hit the fan Martin, and we’re in the line of fire.’

Martin was about to reply when a junior staffer poked his head into the room.

‘Mister Sigby, there’s a message from government house for you. The president has requested that you meet him there.’

Martin stood slowly, and looked down at his cameraman. ‘Robert, would you mind?’

The cameraman stood and grabbed his equipment.

‘Let’s go.’

There was a government jeep waiting for them as they left the Thessalia Hilton, driven by a pair of stone–faced corporals who spoke not a word to their passengers as they drove toward the towering edifice of government house. Around the jeep, hundreds of people moved to and fro, many of them carrying their life’s belongings with them over their shoulders, on their backs or on makeshift trolleys. The dawn was breaking lethargically and a light and wispy snow was beginning to fall once more.

Martin and his cameraman were dropped outside Government House and walked into the cavernous foyeur. Sir Wilkins met them at the foot of the main stairs, his features flushed with concern.

‘The Americans are preparing for their assault,’ he said, ‘and half of the population is in chaos. I could use you right now – Brussels needs footage to determine what’s happening here.’

‘I saw the report on Sophie D’Aoust. You’ve made her out to be a liar when it was plain that she was telling the truth.’

Sir Wilkins hesitated for a moment, apparently caught off guard.

‘International media only reported what we knew to be true, Martin. Sophie D’Aoust is a wanted fugitive and there’s no way that can be denied!’

‘She was also telling the truth. They’ve unfairly discredited her.’

‘She discredited herself,’ Wilkins snapped back.

‘Where is she?’

‘Commander Severov and his men have her in custody.’

Sigby pushed past the attache in disgust. ‘I have a meeting with the president.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Wilkins said, suddenly defensive. ‘Did he say what it was in reference to?’

Martin did not reply as he ascended the broad staircase toward the president’s private chambers, Robert hefting their equipment up behind him. They had almost reached the president’s offices when two police guards appeared in the hall ahead of them, both armed. One of them raised a hand at Robert.

‘No cameras today,’ he said in stern, accented English. ‘You must wait here.’

Sigby looked at the two guards. ‘Why?’

‘Orders of the chief of police,’ the other guard said. ‘You may not proceed further.’

Sigby turned to leave and gave a start of surprise as he found himself staring into Alexei Severov’s eyes, the police chief standing almost immediately behind him.

‘I didn’t hear you behind me,’ Sigby said.

‘The president will see you now,’ Severov said with a smile, and then turned to look at Sigby’s cameraman. ‘You may wait in the foyeur.’

Robert looked at Sigby, who nodded once. The cameraman walked away and the guards parted as Sigby walked between them with Severov following in ghostly silence. Sigby saw the the president’s private chamber door was open, and he walked inside to see the president standing beside a window with his hands behind his back, watching the falling snow.

‘Mister President,’ Sigby said formally.

Mukhari Akim turned slowly from the window and regarded Sigby for a long moment before glancing over the correspondent’s shoulder.

‘You may leave us,’ he said to Severov.

The police commander hesitated for a moment before bowing slightly at the waist and turning, giving Sigby a last glance as he closed the door behind him.

The president looked again out of the window before speaking.

‘It is snowing now, but clear skies are coming, perfect for the American airplanes. There will be chaos,’ he said in his deep voice. ‘The people are afraid. They do not know what will happen here. Will this become another Iraq? Another Afghanistan? Will they be liberated? Abandoned? Robbed?’

Sigby found himself choosing his words with care.

‘At least they will no longer be alone.’

President Akim’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he considered Sigby’s response.

‘You returned the money that you were paid,’ he said finally.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Why?’

Sigby hesitated before speaking.

‘Because my job is to tell the truth, sir, whether it be palatable or not. I could not bring myself to abandon the principles that the rest of the world rely upon, to know that I and reporters like me will tell them what is really happening, and not what others would have them believe.’

President Akim nodded slowly.

‘Your report on the possibility that the massacre near Talyn could have been conducted by my own people was deeply disturbing, Martin. It has further led to the chaos that we see outside.’

‘That is not my responsibility, sir,’ Martin replied. ‘It’s yours.’

President Akim stared silently at Martin Sigby for an intolerably long time, until finally he broke the silence as he walked slowly toward Sigby.

‘I remember when I first spoke with you,’ he rumbled darkly. ‘I saw you for what you were then: a spineless vulture, scavenging on the rotting carcass of this country for the carrion of human suffering. You were just like all of the rest and I despised you for your weakness, your greed and your moral cowardice.’

Martin Sigby swallowed thickly and tried not to let his eyes water. ‘What has changed, sir?’

President Akim glowered down at Sigby.

‘Nothing.’

For a moment Sigby did not understand, but then the president smiled faintly, the hard gaze melting and the eyes twinkling with humour. Sigby felt a rush of air expelled from his lungs in relief as he felt a smile creep onto his own features. The president nodded.

‘I thought all of that was true, until the money reappeared in the accounts,’ he said. ‘Then I knew that you were one of the good men after all.’

Sigby blinked as an unfamiliar sensation of pride welled up within him and overflowed into the surrounding room, filling it with a warmth he had not previously suspected was there.

‘I’m relieved to hear that, sir.’

‘No more than I,’ the president said, and then his features became serious again. ‘However, your report changed things immensely. There will be investigations, recriminations, fear and doubt amongst the populace. The enemy is almost upon us on one border, and a superior liberation force whose motives I cannot be sure of mounts upon another. Martin, I need you to remain straight and true, to work here with me to ensure that, whatever the outcome, the people of this world know what really happened, that they know who we really are and of what we had hoped for this nation. Can you do that for me?’

Martin Sigby had to physically prevent himself from saluting.

‘I’ll do all that I can, sir.’

President Akim nodded.

‘I know that you will. I do not believe that the intentions of the American diplomats in this country are entirely honourable and I believe that they may have infiltrated my own staff, turning them against me. In addition, I have heard that General Mikhail Rameron is requesting the exchange of prisoners of war before the proposed aerial attack by American warplanes and has freed those reportedly held by him as a human shield. Clearly he does not wish anyone but those loyal to him to be in the firing line.’

‘That seems uncharacteristically honourable of him,’ Sigby pointed out.

‘There is much, here, that I believe we have been led to misunderstand. He has asked for you, by name, to accompany the prisoner exchange and travel to meet him.’

‘Me?’ Sigby uttered in surprise. ‘Why?’

‘I do not know, Martin, but I believe that it needs to be done, and that you can do your job more effectively once you have all of the information.’ One thick hand gripped Sigby’s shoulder briefly and then the president turned away, walking back toward his desk. ‘Go and attend to your work. Tell the truth; nothing but the truth, whatever shape that truth may take.’

Sigby turned, his chest filled with righteous determination and his mind blazing with pride in what he might accomplish. He opened the door and stepped outside into the corridor, closing the door behind him. He turned and walked straight into the cold barrel of a pistol that touched his forehead. Sigby’s heart stopped in his chest for a moment as he stared into the hard and unforgiving eyes of Alexei Severov.

Before he could utter even a single word or cry of help or warning a hand clamped over his mouth and strong arms dragged him backwards and away from the president’s door. Thick tape was plastered across his mouth and Sigby was literally lifted into the air.

The police commander did not speak. Instead he simply pushed his finger over his own lips in a gesture for his men to remain silent, and then pointed down the corridor. The guards carried Sigby swiftly toward the rear of the building, to places that Sigby had never seen before.

***

The guards descended the steps with their squirming, writhing burden, the temperature falling as they moved into the bowels of Government House.

Sigby smelled the odours of damp, rotting canvass and oil–burning candles. They were carrying him down into what seemed like a basement, the walls made of old stone, cold and featureless. As he was carried, Sigby looked to one side out of a row of windows to where tall chain–link fences seperated a military parade ground from what looked like large kennels. The reporter’s eyes widened as he saw huge dogs padding around within the compound.

Suddenly, the guards carrying him reached a door, kicked it open and carried Sigby inside before dropping him unceremoniously onto the cold stone floor. The guards closed the door behind them, unslinging their weapons from their shoulders and standing guard either side of the door, behind Severov.

The room was large, stretching away into the darkness behind Sigby. Stone pillars supported a wooden ceiling above, while the sides of the room were taken up with racks holding laundry, steel tins and food stocks.

Sigby struggled to his feet and ripped the duct–tape from his mouth as Alexei Severov stood watching. Sigby glared at the police chief.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?!’

Severov took a single pace toward Sigby, span on his heel and directed a straight side–kick into the centre of Sigby’s chest. The reporter was lifted off the ground as his breath burst from his lungs and his vision starred. His body rotated in mid air and slammed into a stone pillar. Sigby crashed to the ground, gasping for air.

‘You will learn respect,’ Severov stated matter–of–factly, ‘for your life now depends upon it.’

Sigby crawled onto his hands and knees, coughing as his chest heaved and beads of sweat broke out on his brow. ‘Go to hell,’ he wheezed.

Severov laughed, glancing at the two guards, who were smiling also.

‘You have accquired a new sense of courage,’ Severov observed, approaching the kneeling reporter. The police chief’s face twisted with pathological fury. ‘I find it most disappointing.’

The police commander grabbed Sigby by the hair and yanked him up onto his knees and then span on one heel, driving the point of his knee into Sigby’s left kidney. Sigby felt white pain rip through his body and gagged reflexively as he spun onto his back, his skull smacking against the stone floor.

‘A pity,’ Severov said as he looked down at Sigby’s writhing form. ‘I much preferred the selfish little bastard that you were before. Still, there is the chance for redemption, should you wish to take it.’

Sigby was crying now, hugging his own body as though it were that of a new–born. He rolled onto his side, struggling through his pain, trying to regain his breath and his senses. He peered up at Severov through bleary eyes, his teeth gritted as he spoke.

‘They’ll look for me,’ he whispered in impotent fury. ‘You’ll not get away with this. They are expecting me, in Talyn.’

Severov smiled in mock pity, tilting his head to one side as he looked down at the reporter.

‘Who, Martin? Who is expecting you? Who will come looking? Your cameraman is on his way back to the hotel, safe and sound in the knowledge that you are in audience with the president right now. The rebel forces cannot contact the UN nor the Americans. Nobody will miss you, Martin. Nobody at all.’

Sigby’s senses finally straightened enough for him to think.

‘You,’ he said finally. ‘It was you who killed those scientists.’

Severov shrugged, speaking as he examined the tips of his fingernails.

‘They were traitors, enemies of the state.Their actions could have caused the collapse of our future economy, and that would have had unthinkable consequences.’

‘The oil connection,’ Sigby rasped. ‘You’re on someone else’s payroll.’

‘Money makes the world go round,’ Severov said with a smile that conveyed no humour, only pure evil, the evil of mankind’s propensity for greed.

‘The president trusted you,’ Sigby said in horror.

‘Mukhari Akim is a fool, a man who thinks that noble leadership is a replacement for strength, democracy a suitable alternative to true power. He will be gone before this war is done because he stands in the way of progress. Politics, as you know Martin, is just a way of making money out of the masses whilst convincing them that they cannot live without you. Why do you think that there are never any
good
men in power? Because it is not beneficial to have
good
men in power, doing
good
things for the people. There’s too much money to be made for politics to be left in the hands of the good few, or in the hands of the masses who would stand to gain the most from an
isocracy
, the true rule of the people. If that were the case, Martin, then there would no longer be the corruption, the sleaze and the indictments of elected officials.’