Revolution (28 page)

Miller shook her head.

‘No, sir. Everything I reported was correct. After the debrief, Boomer and I went over everything in case we had ommitted any details. We both felt sure that we had everything down as it happened.’

‘Then what’s the issue?’ Admiral Fry pushed her.

‘Sir, think about what happened. Those aircraft snuck right across Georgia without being detected by radar from either ground or aerial sources. The Mig–23 has a limited range at sea level. That means some hot flying, at low level and high speed, for four hundred kilometres through mountainous terrain, in winter, in low visibility.’

The admiral’s expression told Miller that she had his attention.

‘Go on,’ the old man encouraged.

‘Sir, the aircraft then performed a rapid climb to altitude and exposed themselves to our radars, identified our patrol, intercepted at high speed and engaged us aggressively with short–range missiles. My problem is that having achieved all of that, the pilots then proceeded to fly like a pair of assholes, sir.’

‘Assholes,’ the admiral echoed her flatly.

‘Yes, sir. It was as if they suddenly lost interest in flying and living. We shot them both down within sixty seconds of the first missile alert warning. They had a complete advantage over us with a missile in the air and yet they squandered it with some pretty damn awful manoeuvering.’

‘They don’t have your levels of training in air to air combat, lieutenant.’

‘They were smart enough to fly hard and shoot straight, sir. It doesn’t add up.’

The admiral sighed heavily, looking out across the flight deck again.

‘What’s your analysis, lieutenant?’

‘I don’t have one sir.’

The old commander shot Miller a fearsome gaze.

‘You don’t come up here pissing on America’s grand parade, lieutenant, without a damn good reason to do so. If you’ve got something to say then say it.’

Miller sighed.

‘My guess sir, is that those jets were not Mordanian Mig–23’s.’

Admiral Fry ground his jaw for a moment before speaking. ‘If so, then who the hell were they?’

‘I don’t know sir, and that’s what’s bothering me.’

*

‘Has there been any word?’

Sophie Vernoux’s voice was brittle with anxiety, but Lieutenant Kelsey was forced to shake his head and speak over the noise of the hospital tent around them.

‘Nothing, and with these conditions closing in there’s little chance that we’ll find anything. Believe me, ma’am, I’ve got all channels open listening for communications between rebel posts. If Megan Mitchell broadcasts anything, including her position, we’ll know about it.’

The lieutenant turned away and strode off through the hospital. Sophie stared at the ground, lost in thought for several seconds, before sensing that she was being watched. She looked up to see Martin Sigby standing a few metres away.

‘Nothing?’ he asked simply.

Sophie searched for a suitable hostile retort to this pathetic excuse for a man, but nothing came to her. She shook her head and turned away.

‘Wait,’ Sigby said.

‘Go away, I don’t have the time.’

‘I don’t want your time, I need your help.’

Sophie blurted out an abrupt laugh. ‘Really?’

‘I can find Megan Mitchell.’

‘Because you have a crystal ball, or the ability to transcend space and time?’ Sophie enquired. ‘The entire British Army cannot find him.’

She turned away as Martin spoke from behind her.

‘That’s because they can’t do what I can do.’

Sophie rolled her eyes as she continued walking. ‘And what’s that?’

‘Tell the entire world that she’s missing.’

Sophie stopped walking and turned to look back at him. ‘Why would you do that?’

Martin seemed to take a deep breath.

‘Because I felt that it might be worthwhile going over some of the things that Megan was looking into before she disappeared and though I’m loathe to admit it, I learned that she may have been onto something big.’

‘Big?’

‘Big,’ Martin affirmed, ‘and I need your help to break the story, and in doing so, find Megan.’

***

‘Good evening, I’m Harriet Holloway.’

‘And I’m Jared Thornton, and you’re watching GNN International News.’

Harrison Forbes watched as colourful graphic swashes of royal–blue and gold swirled across the giant plasma screens over the terminal pool, the logo of GNN dominating the screen amid animated searchlights, the music building to a suitably dramatic orchestral crescendo before fading out as the cameras focused on Jared Thornton’s neatly chiselled features.

‘Tonight’s headline; the United States of America has formally declared war on the rebel forces of war criminal General Mikhail Rameron in Mordania. As we speak, the first major American task force to be deployed since the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq is making its way across the Black Sea to begin landing troops and conduct an air–war against the enemies of democracy. The governments of the United Kingdom, Germany and Italy have all pledged military support for the venture, and both Georgia and Turkey have offered the use of airbases for aerial strikes in the north of the country. Only Iran has condemned the decision for military action as another attempt by America to gain influence in the region.’

An uneasy silence had descended over the newsroom as Harrison Forbes spoke.

‘Here we go again. Any news from Martin Sigby?’

‘Nothing sir,’ an aide said from one side. ‘He refuses to brief us on his next report.’

Harrison winced. ‘I don’t like surprises, especially now.’

‘It’s his call, sir.’

Harrison did not reply as he waited for the anchors on the screen to finish their rhetoric and pass the feed over to Martin Sigby’s live position in Thessalia’s Government House.

‘Viewing figures?’ Harrison demanded.

Another aide glanced at a nearby monitor.

‘Through the roof sir, domestically and abroad. Eight million plus for Europe, about the same for the US.’

Harrison nodded. It was still afternoon across most of America, with less viewers glued to their screens. That would change later in the evening.

‘Here we go!’ a floor assistant called, pointing to the technicians governing the live feed inputs. ‘Sigby’s feed live in – eight, seven, six...’

Harrison saw the two anchors introducing Martin Sigby, as if half the world did not already know the man, and then the feed went live in the studio. Harrison could see Martin Sigby standing in the darkness, the ever diminishing lights of Thessalia twinkling on the skyline behind him.

‘Five, four..,’ and then the assistant silently mouthed
three, two, one
and then pointed at the live camera feed. A button was pressed, and Martin Sigby’s image was broadcast live to countless millions of viewers in the western hemisphere.

‘Martin,’
Harriet Holloway greeted him, a little louder than necessary,
‘can you tell us how it feels to be in the city of Thessalia on the verge of a full–scale war?’

Like a street party, you silly bloody cow,
Harrison Forbes thought. Martin Sigby dealt with the question with his customary professional seriousness.

‘Thank you Harriet. The situation here in Thessalia is more tense now, more charged, than in any city I have ever reported from. There is a real expectation here that this nation, bealeaguered as it is, is about to be crushed beneath the might of the American military machine. Behind me, right now, literally thousands of people are gathering their belongings ready for a long march tomorrow toward the borders of Georgia, Dagestan and Armenia. Despite the terrible cold here and the dangers of such a forced march, few people are willing to take the chance of coming under attack either from General Rameron’s rapidly advancing forces or from the Americans moving toward Thessalia even as we speak. It is, in effect, a modern day exodus.’

‘Martin, what about the government itself and President Akim?’
asked Jared Thornton.
‘How do they feel about the imminent arrival of Western forces?’

‘Well Jared, naturally they are relieved that they are receiving the support that they feel they deserve from the international community. I spoke with the president earlier today and he said that if order and democracy could be restored to his country by the combined efforts of allied nations supporting his government, then he would be willing to hold snap elections to give the people their choice of a new government, whether his or that of another. He feels sincerely that he has failed his people in not putting down this insurrection before it turned bloody, and thus must hear the will of his people before continuing to govern from Thessalia.’

‘But couldn’t that possibly create a power vacuum and replace one national crisis with another?’
Harriet asked with a transient flash of initiative.

‘Yes it could Harriet, but not just for the obvious reasons of political advancement and tribal discord that you and the viewers at home may be thinking of. Earlier today I was approached by a volunteer within Medicines Sans Frontiers, one of the foremost aid organisations currently working here in the city, and what she had to say about the reasons for going to war in this country may make for disturbing viewing.’

Harrison Forbes took an involuntary step forward.

‘What’s this?’

Martin’s image on the screen was replaced with that of one of the sprawling refugee camps outside Thessalia. Martin’s voice spoke solemnly over the images of suffering and neglect.

‘Camp Bravo, the second of five major refugee camps now spread around Thessalia and home to almost forty thousand Mordanians, all of whom have lost everything they own. Amongst these casualties of war work people like Sophie Vernoux, a twenty–five year old volunteer who administers medicine, blankets, food and comfort as best she can to those in her care, despite the awful conditions in which she is forced to work.’

Harrison looked at the image of Sophie Vernoux spoon–feeding a young infant as what looked like the child’s weary grandmother looked on. The mother, tellingly, was nowhere to be seen. Martin’s voice went on over the harrowing images.

‘Eighteen month old Nyla, orphaned by artillery fire during fighting in the north of the country just weeks ago. She lost her entire family but for her grandmother, who managed to reach Thessalia before the winter set in. Sophie cares for hundreds of such children, all of whom are victims of the supposed atrocities commited against the Mordanian people by the rebel forces of General Mikhal Rameron. But the story she has to tell is not the one that we have all been hearing up to now.’

The footage closed up on Sophie, sitting on a snow–covered wall and being interviewed by Martin. Harrison Forbes, his heart suddenly thumping in his chest, watched open–mouthed as the aid volunteer spoke.

‘There have been no massacres in the south of the country by rebel forces,’
Sophie said in exasperation, her French accent giving a gentle lilt to her voice.
‘There were no rebel forces this far south when that village was attacked, and everybody here knows it.’

‘Holy shit!’ Harrison shouted loud enough to bring utter silence to the operations room. ‘Give that girl a medal – she’ll make us all rich!’

Sophie Vernoux’s voice rang out as clear as a claxon in the silent ops room and across the world.

‘Every single Mordanian knows that the people in that village were scientists, working on projects being funded by an unknown benefactor. None of the people employed there were combatants, and none of them posessed weapons in the manner described by the government here.’

Martin leaned a little closer to her, his expression etched with seriousness as though he were considering a complex mathematical equation.

‘You’re saying, Sophie, that the people killed were not killed by rebels, and were not combatants at all?’

‘Oui. I mean, yes, that’s exactly what I mean. We were among the first people to find the bodies out there in the forest. We’d known for some time that something terrible had happened out there, because we heard rumours of survivors amongst the refugees from the moment we arrived. It was by chance that a convoy of ours moving through the area stumbled upon the remains of the engineering buildings and then the bodies. I can tell you, without any shadow of a doubt, that there were no weapons with those bodies.’

‘You mean to tell me, Sophie, that the weapons were planted afterwards?’

‘Yes, after the bodies were found, after the Mordanian Secret Police became involved but before the International Red Cross arrived. Those people were killed long before the rebel forces of General Mikhail Rameron had moved this far south.’

Martin Sigby frowned thoughtfully.

‘But I thought that the bodies found had been dead for only a few days, and that rebel forces had been seen in the area, tying them in with the massacre.’

Sophie smiled almost pityingly.

‘
It is a deception.
The lack of decomposition of the bodies was not due to a recent death. It was the result of the bodies lying on or in near perma–frost conditions and covered with snow – the cold effectively preserved their bodies, slowing the rate of tissue decay. They had been dead for at least a month, of that we have absolutely no doubt. The government here has failed to release that essential information to the general public or the press in its case for western intervention in the conflict.’

‘I’ll be damned,’ Harrison Forbes whispered as the screen flicked back to Martin, standing on top of the Thessalia Hilton.

‘It can only be called incendiary, the charge that the crimes against humanity in this country may not have actually been caused by the rebel forces, but by agencies within the government itself. This in itself could be considered explosive enough, were it not for the initial source of the information.’

‘Oh dear mother of God, there’s more,’ Harrison murmured.