recently departed parliamentary representatives, along with jugs and glasses of water.
President Mukhuri Akim was older than Megan had imagined but tall and broad, his face weather–beaten and his hair salt–and–pepper grey. A heavy jaw and thick nose gave the impression of a retired boxer.
The president was standing with a dark skinned man who wore the camouflage and patches of the Mordanian Secret Police. His jaw was shadowed gun–metal grey against his deeply tanned skin. He turned to survey Wilkins and Megan with heavily browed obsidian eyes as they approached.
‘Sir Wilkins,’ the president greeted the attaché in awkwardly pronounced English.
‘May I present the President of Mordania, Mukhari Akim,’ Wilkins announced grandly. ‘Sir, this is Megan Mitchell.’
Megan shook the president’s hand firmly. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see us.’
‘It is no problem at all,’ Mukhari replied. ‘This is my Chief of Police, Alexei Severov.’
Severov shook Megan’s hand with a grip just a little tighter than was necessary, his dark eyes boring into Megan’s.
‘A pleasure.’
‘What can we do for you?’ the president asked.
Megan once again produced the photograph of Amy O’Hara and explained to the president the circumstances surrounding her disappearance. Mukhari studied the photograph with an expression of deep concern before passing it to Severov. The policeman looked at the photograph for several seconds before shaking his head, passing it back to Megan as Mukhari spoke.
‘Miss Mitchell, there are believed to be some two hundred thousand or more displaced people, my people, living in regrettable conditions in the refugee camp outside the city. Our hands are full, even with the generous assistance of the European aid groups in organising and providing for these refugees.’
Megan nodded in understanding.
‘I do not wish to impose upon your personnel for assistance in locating Amy O’Hara,’ she said. ‘Only that sufficient awareness of her disappearance is broadcast to those with the will and the means to locate her. It means a lot to me that she is found, sir.’
Mukhari watched Megan for a long moment.
‘I will have copies of this photograph distributed to all of our guard posts around the city, throughout the refugee camp and at the food halls in Thessalia. If we cast our net wide it is likely that someone will recognise her, or may know of what has happened to her.’
‘I appreciate that, sir,’ Megan replied.
She was about to politely take her leave when Severov addressed her from one side. His dark eyes shone with curiosity as he spoke.
‘You are here to search for this woman?’
Megan shrugged non–commitally.
‘I promised that I would try to find her, but I am not unaware of the brutality of the rebel forces. Amy is the kind of girl to go looking in places that she should not.’
Severov seemed satisfied, nodding in agreement.
‘As Chief of Police I consider myself responsible for the safety of all residents of Thessalia, especially in these difficult times. I understand your need to find your friend, but I have no desire to launch a search and rescue operation should you too go missing. We simply don’t have the resources.’
Megan nodded.
‘Have no concern. Our enquiries will be limited to the city itself. I don’t want to share whatever fate has befallen Amy.’
Severov bowed slightly, his gaze never leaving Megan’s, and he walked slowly away and out of the briefing chamber.
President Akim sighed heavily and rubbed a hand wearily across his forehead.
‘Not since the time of the Mongols has our country faced such a threat to its existence,’ he said forlornly. ‘Even Russia’s dominance over our people lacked the ferocity of this rebellion.’
‘There has been no cessation of hostilities?’ Sir Wilkins asked the president. ‘The rebels continue to advance?’
‘Every day,’ Mukhuri replied solemnly, glancing toward the north through the office
President Mukhuri Akim was older than Megan had imagined but tall and broad, his face weather–beaten and his hair salt–and–pepper grey. A heavy jaw and thick nose gave the impression of a retired boxer.
The president was standing with a dark skinned man who wore the camouflage and patches of the Mordanian Secret Police. His jaw was shadowed gun–metal grey against his deeply tanned skin. He turned to survey Wilkins and Megan with heavily browed obsidian eyes as they approached.
‘Sir Wilkins,’ the president greeted the attaché in awkwardly pronounced English.
‘May I present the President of Mordania, Mukhari Akim,’ Wilkins announced grandly. ‘Sir, this is Megan Mitchell.’
Megan shook the president’s hand firmly. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see us.’
‘It is no problem at all,’ Mukhari replied. ‘This is my Chief of Police, Alexei Severov.’
Severov shook Megan’s hand with a grip just a little tighter than was necessary, his dark eyes boring into Megan’s.
‘A pleasure.’
‘What can we do for you?’ the president asked.
Megan once again produced the photograph of Amy O’Hara and explained to the president the circumstances surrounding her disappearance. Mukhari studied the photograph with an expression of deep concern before passing it to Severov. The policeman looked at the photograph for several seconds before shaking his head, passing it back to Megan as Mukhari spoke.
‘Miss Mitchell, there are believed to be some two hundred thousand or more displaced people, my people, living in regrettable conditions in the refugee camp outside the city. Our hands are full, even with the generous assistance of the European aid groups in organising and providing for these refugees.’
Megan nodded in understanding.
‘I do not wish to impose upon your personnel for assistance in locating Amy O’Hara,’ she said. ‘Only that sufficient awareness of her disappearance is broadcast to those with the will and the means to locate her. It means a lot to me that she is found, sir.’
Mukhari watched Megan for a long moment.
‘I will have copies of this photograph distributed to all of our guard posts around the city, throughout the refugee camp and at the food halls in Thessalia. If we cast our net wide it is likely that someone will recognise her, or may know of what has happened to her.’
‘I appreciate that, sir,’ Megan replied.
She was about to politely take her leave when Severov addressed her from one side. His dark eyes shone with curiosity as he spoke.
‘You are here to search for this woman?’
Megan shrugged non–commitally.
‘I promised that I would try to find her, but I am not unaware of the brutality of the rebel forces. Amy is the kind of girl to go looking in places that she should not.’
Severov seemed satisfied, nodding in agreement.
‘As Chief of Police I consider myself responsible for the safety of all residents of Thessalia, especially in these difficult times. I understand your need to find your friend, but I have no desire to launch a search and rescue operation should you too go missing. We simply don’t have the resources.’
Megan nodded.
‘Have no concern. Our enquiries will be limited to the city itself. I don’t want to share whatever fate has befallen Amy.’
Severov bowed slightly, his gaze never leaving Megan’s, and he walked slowly away and out of the briefing chamber.
President Akim sighed heavily and rubbed a hand wearily across his forehead.
‘Not since the time of the Mongols has our country faced such a threat to its existence,’ he said forlornly. ‘Even Russia’s dominance over our people lacked the ferocity of this rebellion.’
‘There has been no cessation of hostilities?’ Sir Wilkins asked the president. ‘The rebels continue to advance?’
‘Every day,’ Mukhuri replied solemnly, glancing toward the north through the office
Similar Books
