windows. ‘Most of the villages and towns have only local militia, no defence against such a well trained army turned against them, the very people that the rebellious forces were supposed to protect. The advance is unstoppable, at least until they reach the city.’
Megan raised an eyebrow.
‘You’ll fight?’
President Mukhari Akim straightened slightly to his full height, tall and broad enough to become physically imposing.
‘All Mordanians will fight to protect their right to a government of their choosing and their freedom. We will stand as Balthazar the Great stood, and lead the charge against the enemy.’
Megan nodded, raising a placatory hand.
‘I don’t question your courage sir, or that of your police. It’s just that urban warfare will bring the battle into the heart of the city and to the doors of your citizens. When that happens, if that happens, then the safe–haven will no longer be safe for anyone.’
Mukhari held Megan’s gaze for a moment and then sighed again, his powerful frame seeming to shrink with the burden of responsibility. He nodded.
‘This we know, and if we do not get the assistance and security we need, from the United Nations – men, equipment, soldiers, it will be the fate of our people to die in their own homes, victims of their own countrymen, led by the rule of a madman. Yet, if we cannot be shown to protect our own without outside assistance, then the people will lose faith in our ability to lead and to govern. All rests on the assistance of the west, yet they will not commit without my signing of the loans and contracts necessary from the World Bank to rebuild our country. It would be like signing away the very soul of Mordania.’ He turned to look at Megan. ‘Would you sign your family away, for safety’s sake, and perhaps in doing so lose their very identity?’
Megan performed a rapid calculation.
‘I would do whatever I had to, to protect them.’
The president thought for a moment and then sagged further, and Sir Wilkins turned to Megan.
‘Perhaps we should be getting along, Megan. Mister President, thank you for your time once again.’
Mukhari nodded vaguely with the most fleeting of smiles before turning away to stand silhouetted before the bright windows, his hands behind his back and the weight of two million lives upon his shoulders.
Megan breathed a sigh of relief when she and Sir Wilkins had left the chamber and closed the door.
‘Intense,’ Megan murmured.
‘Poor man. He has the strength of an ox and a heart of gold. I cannot bear to see him suffer in this way.’
‘With great power comes great responsibility,’ Megan murmured. ‘What do you make of that policeman, Severov?’
‘A capable man, no doubt. He’s an ethnic Mordanian, of his country’s blood, and apparently was trained by former Spetsnaz mercenaries, Russian Special Forces. He was attached to Mukhari Akim about eighteen years ago, when Mukhari was a Parliamentary Representative for the Ethnic Mordanians.’
‘That tells me who he is, not what you think of him. Come on Tom, stop playing the diplomat.’
Sir Wilkins looked at Megan as though surprised, before speaking.
‘I don’t like him. He’s too secretive and seems prone toward aggressive behaviour. The locals seem to dislike him too, which probably says more than anything.’
Megan nodded, before Sir Wilkins spoke again. ‘What will you do now?’
Megan zipped her coat back up as they walked, preparing for the chill outside.
‘The refugee camp. It’s the most likely place that we’ll find people who’ve come in from the interior and may know what’s happened to Amy. After that, it’s in the hands of fate.’
‘I’ll do what I can for you, Megan, spread the word. Maybe we can salvage something from this terrible war and send this young girl home again.’
***
11
Megan had been to some rough places in her time, but always and without fail the most heartbreaking were the refugee camps, places where
Megan raised an eyebrow.
‘You’ll fight?’
President Mukhari Akim straightened slightly to his full height, tall and broad enough to become physically imposing.
‘All Mordanians will fight to protect their right to a government of their choosing and their freedom. We will stand as Balthazar the Great stood, and lead the charge against the enemy.’
Megan nodded, raising a placatory hand.
‘I don’t question your courage sir, or that of your police. It’s just that urban warfare will bring the battle into the heart of the city and to the doors of your citizens. When that happens, if that happens, then the safe–haven will no longer be safe for anyone.’
Mukhari held Megan’s gaze for a moment and then sighed again, his powerful frame seeming to shrink with the burden of responsibility. He nodded.
‘This we know, and if we do not get the assistance and security we need, from the United Nations – men, equipment, soldiers, it will be the fate of our people to die in their own homes, victims of their own countrymen, led by the rule of a madman. Yet, if we cannot be shown to protect our own without outside assistance, then the people will lose faith in our ability to lead and to govern. All rests on the assistance of the west, yet they will not commit without my signing of the loans and contracts necessary from the World Bank to rebuild our country. It would be like signing away the very soul of Mordania.’ He turned to look at Megan. ‘Would you sign your family away, for safety’s sake, and perhaps in doing so lose their very identity?’
Megan performed a rapid calculation.
‘I would do whatever I had to, to protect them.’
The president thought for a moment and then sagged further, and Sir Wilkins turned to Megan.
‘Perhaps we should be getting along, Megan. Mister President, thank you for your time once again.’
Mukhari nodded vaguely with the most fleeting of smiles before turning away to stand silhouetted before the bright windows, his hands behind his back and the weight of two million lives upon his shoulders.
Megan breathed a sigh of relief when she and Sir Wilkins had left the chamber and closed the door.
‘Intense,’ Megan murmured.
‘Poor man. He has the strength of an ox and a heart of gold. I cannot bear to see him suffer in this way.’
‘With great power comes great responsibility,’ Megan murmured. ‘What do you make of that policeman, Severov?’
‘A capable man, no doubt. He’s an ethnic Mordanian, of his country’s blood, and apparently was trained by former Spetsnaz mercenaries, Russian Special Forces. He was attached to Mukhari Akim about eighteen years ago, when Mukhari was a Parliamentary Representative for the Ethnic Mordanians.’
‘That tells me who he is, not what you think of him. Come on Tom, stop playing the diplomat.’
Sir Wilkins looked at Megan as though surprised, before speaking.
‘I don’t like him. He’s too secretive and seems prone toward aggressive behaviour. The locals seem to dislike him too, which probably says more than anything.’
Megan nodded, before Sir Wilkins spoke again. ‘What will you do now?’
Megan zipped her coat back up as they walked, preparing for the chill outside.
‘The refugee camp. It’s the most likely place that we’ll find people who’ve come in from the interior and may know what’s happened to Amy. After that, it’s in the hands of fate.’
‘I’ll do what I can for you, Megan, spread the word. Maybe we can salvage something from this terrible war and send this young girl home again.’
***
11
Megan had been to some rough places in her time, but always and without fail the most heartbreaking were the refugee camps, places where
Similar Books
