moment. ‘I had rather hoped that you were past all that, terrible business that it was.’
‘I am,’ Megan replied. ‘This is somebody different.’
Megan pulled a copy of the picture of Amy O’Hara from her pocket and handed it to Wilkins. The old man looked at it for a moment before speaking.
‘A beautiful girl, Megan, no doubt about it. Who is she?’
Megan filled the attaché in on the details. Wilkins sipped his coffee, but shook his head.
‘Well, there are plenty of journalists on the ground here in Thessalia and have been for some months now, but we don’t intervene in individual cases for fear of accusations of favouritism. Besides, our main concern is displaced locals rather than journalists. I’d like to help, but in all honesty Megan I would have thought that the resident journalists at the Hilton would know more than I about this young girl’s whereabouts. How long did you say she’s been missing?’
‘At least ten days,’ Megan replied, her voice tense. ‘It’s important to me, Tom. I need to know what has happened to her, one way or the other.’
Wilkins studied the look on Megan’s face for a moment and then smiled kindly.
‘Well, let’s see what we can do, shall we?’ he suggested thoughtfully. ‘I’d imagine that the most likely course of action would be to meet the Mordanian President and ask his advice.’
Megan’s eyes almost popped out on stalks.
‘What? Just like that?’
Wilkins let out a peal of laughter.
‘Absolutely dear girl, just like that. Mordania is a small country with a different pace and different expectations. In countries like this the President will lend an ear to the individual and is in fact expected to do so. The population of the entire country is less than two million individuals. Most western cities alone harbour more citizens than that.’
‘Do you think that he’ll be able to help?
Wilkins leant forward on the table.
‘I’ve worked in most countries at one time or another,’ he said softly. ‘Dictators, reformists, tyrants and saints. President Akim is one of the saints, Megan. He’s kept his chin up and his back straight throughout this insurrection and has refused to commit his men to battle unless provoked. He wants this conflict resolved with the assistance of the United Nations. What’s more, he has a soft–spot for young people in trouble. Come on, let’s see if he can help.’
***
10
‘Please wait here,’ a smartly dressed secretary said in an effortlessly gentle voice. ‘The president will see you shortly.’
Megan felt slightly uncomfortable as she followed Sir Wilkins into a waiting room that adjoined the president’s briefing room, where he held court with his administrative officers and party members. Wilkins gestured to the door of the briefing room and whispered softly.
‘The Parliament of Mordania is a People’s Assembly, very democratic and all that, consisting of just over a hundred deputees elected for four–year terms. The President is the highest executive member and has been elected by popular vote since Mordania’s successful ‘Purple Revolution’ in 1996. This is Mukhari Akim’s first term as president.’ Wilkins shook his head. ‘Such a shame that a military coup should be attempted during his tenure.’
The door to the briefing room opened and Wilkins and Megan watched as a procession of smartly suited men walked out of the room. Wilkins spoke softly out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Parliamentary representatives for the various ethnicities of Mordania; Aguls, Avars, Chechens, Laks, Russians, Rutuls and Taskhurs. Quite a mix, don’t you think?’
The secretary reappeared and beckoned for them to follow her. Feeling as though she were about to walk on hallowed ground of some kind, Megan followed Wilkins into the briefing room.
The room was dominated by a long, highly polished mahogany table, lined with gently flickering candles. Thick red folders had been discarded at each seat by the
‘I am,’ Megan replied. ‘This is somebody different.’
Megan pulled a copy of the picture of Amy O’Hara from her pocket and handed it to Wilkins. The old man looked at it for a moment before speaking.
‘A beautiful girl, Megan, no doubt about it. Who is she?’
Megan filled the attaché in on the details. Wilkins sipped his coffee, but shook his head.
‘Well, there are plenty of journalists on the ground here in Thessalia and have been for some months now, but we don’t intervene in individual cases for fear of accusations of favouritism. Besides, our main concern is displaced locals rather than journalists. I’d like to help, but in all honesty Megan I would have thought that the resident journalists at the Hilton would know more than I about this young girl’s whereabouts. How long did you say she’s been missing?’
‘At least ten days,’ Megan replied, her voice tense. ‘It’s important to me, Tom. I need to know what has happened to her, one way or the other.’
Wilkins studied the look on Megan’s face for a moment and then smiled kindly.
‘Well, let’s see what we can do, shall we?’ he suggested thoughtfully. ‘I’d imagine that the most likely course of action would be to meet the Mordanian President and ask his advice.’
Megan’s eyes almost popped out on stalks.
‘What? Just like that?’
Wilkins let out a peal of laughter.
‘Absolutely dear girl, just like that. Mordania is a small country with a different pace and different expectations. In countries like this the President will lend an ear to the individual and is in fact expected to do so. The population of the entire country is less than two million individuals. Most western cities alone harbour more citizens than that.’
‘Do you think that he’ll be able to help?
Wilkins leant forward on the table.
‘I’ve worked in most countries at one time or another,’ he said softly. ‘Dictators, reformists, tyrants and saints. President Akim is one of the saints, Megan. He’s kept his chin up and his back straight throughout this insurrection and has refused to commit his men to battle unless provoked. He wants this conflict resolved with the assistance of the United Nations. What’s more, he has a soft–spot for young people in trouble. Come on, let’s see if he can help.’
***
10
‘Please wait here,’ a smartly dressed secretary said in an effortlessly gentle voice. ‘The president will see you shortly.’
Megan felt slightly uncomfortable as she followed Sir Wilkins into a waiting room that adjoined the president’s briefing room, where he held court with his administrative officers and party members. Wilkins gestured to the door of the briefing room and whispered softly.
‘The Parliament of Mordania is a People’s Assembly, very democratic and all that, consisting of just over a hundred deputees elected for four–year terms. The President is the highest executive member and has been elected by popular vote since Mordania’s successful ‘Purple Revolution’ in 1996. This is Mukhari Akim’s first term as president.’ Wilkins shook his head. ‘Such a shame that a military coup should be attempted during his tenure.’
The door to the briefing room opened and Wilkins and Megan watched as a procession of smartly suited men walked out of the room. Wilkins spoke softly out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Parliamentary representatives for the various ethnicities of Mordania; Aguls, Avars, Chechens, Laks, Russians, Rutuls and Taskhurs. Quite a mix, don’t you think?’
The secretary reappeared and beckoned for them to follow her. Feeling as though she were about to walk on hallowed ground of some kind, Megan followed Wilkins into the briefing room.
The room was dominated by a long, highly polished mahogany table, lined with gently flickering candles. Thick red folders had been discarded at each seat by the
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