They met later in the week in the President’s office. Charlie took her father through the details Dan had sent her and he agreed that the plan had some merit on economic grounds. Mikhel decided that he would look into the pollution project with his finance officials and get back to them. If it didn’t make sense it would be quietly shelved.

  “But let’s now discuss your future career plans,” the President continued. “What else would you want to do other than follow your great grandfather, grandfather and me into the family profession?”

  Charlie chose her words carefully. “Papa, please tell me why you feel it is the duty of our family to run our country, I do really want to understand. But please also don’t assume I will agree with you automatically. You would want independent leadership, I assume.”

  “Fair enough, I hope my words will be enough to convince you. But if not then please allow me to show you some real-life examples of what we Stavonics have done for Transania over the years.”

  Mikhel explained in depth to his daughter the family’s obligation to lead their nation. She was grateful that he was prepared to spend time with her on this, but equally, aware enough to know that it was in the President’s own self-interest to give compelling reasons to his daughter. His arguments about serving Transania were quite attractive from a philanthropic view, but it became more of a problem for Charlie when her father tried to justify the lack of democracy in achieving this.

  “The people want strong leadership. They aren’t interested in lofty democratic principles. Our job is to provide energetic direction from above, so they can flourish within the right framework. Elections won’t change things, if anything they will bring disorder and possibly even anarchy if extremist parties are allowed to flourish.”

  Charlie was bemused at how extreme her father’s views had become – she understood that this is what power does to you, but by contrast, her grandfather had relinquished it all and mellowed considerably as a result.

  “Thank you Papi for explaining everything,” responded Charlie. “I’d still like to see some successful cases of Government-initiated action for the benefit of all the people. What Dan and I have suggested as a project could be a future example of this, of course.”

  “I understand my dear, and of course I will arrange for a tour. As you must understand, I’m too busy to go with you, but please give me your impressions on your return. I would value them greatly.”

  Mikhel said all of this to his daughter with the assumption that she would be duly satisfied with the answers she had found. Little did he know she had opened a can of worms.

  Charlie was picked up by one of the senior Government officials the next morning. He drove her to the first example project recommended by his President – this was the brand-new national museum and concert hall complex being built in the capital. It had been designed by a renowned international architect and was being funded jointly through the Transanian Government and a large global arts trust.

  As the official explained, the project was providing construction jobs for locals and once opened would educate the children of Transania about their national heritage. It would also attract world famous artists to the country, which in turn would open up further investment opportunities linked to expanding the tourism industry.

  “This sounds a great project in theory,” said Charlie politely. She then asked somewhat innocently: “Will it be environmentally neutral and encourage wider engagement with the less advantaged communities in Transania?”

  The official was somewhat flummoxed because this had not been a key requirement of the project. He said he would revert to her when he had found out more. In the meantime, he suggested more optimistically they move on to the next example project recommended by the President. This was outside the capital so took them a few hours to drive northwards to it.

  “Can you tell me a bit about the project?” asked Charlie as they left the capital.

  “I would love to, but the President has asked me to leave it as a complete surprise for you.” The official’s response was frustrating, but at the same time piqued Charlie’s interest.

  They arrived in a small, very traditional Transanian village with little evidence of anything resembling construction or even the vaguest modernisation. The official kept on driving, past the old wooden houses, until he came to the edge of the village which was by a large, serene lake. A boat was waiting for them and took them across to the opposite shore about 500 yards away. As they approached a small jetty, Charlie noticed that there was a huge structure partly hidden by the tall pine trees. It looked like an enormous white dome.

  “Is that the project?” she asked the official.

  “It’s inside,” he said, determined not to give anything away.

  An armed guard stood at the entrance to the dome and nodded at the official who pushed open the swing doors. Charlie found herself in a vast space with very little going on but followed the official who was walking towards the centre. She could make out a platform with a small laboratory sitting on it and in which figures could be seen moving around inside through the translucent walls and small windows.

  “Can I go into the lab?”

  “No. I will see if Professor Zito is ready to come out and explain what is going on.”

  With that the official pushed an intercom button and after a few minutes a tall man emerged, clad in white protective clothing from head to foot. He pulled down his face mask and pushed up his goggles. He was in his fifties with dark straggly hair starting to grey at the edges.

  “Ah, you must be Katerina,” the man said in a friendly manner. “Let me tell you what this is all about.” With that he led Charlie back out of the dome and towards a table and some benches on the lakeside where they sat down, without the official.

  “My name is Anton Zito. I am a professor of microbiology and have studied extensively in my area around the world. Your father, the President, asked me to return to Transania after your grandfather retired as our leader. He was keen for me to test out a new idea which matched my expertise.”

  “What expertise is that?” asked Charlie, genuinely curious.

  “I have specialised in researching an interesting micro-organism which we found in the lake many years ago. It exists elsewhere in a few very secluded locations on the planet.”

  “What is so interesting about it?”

  “It has the ability to convert baser metals into gold.”

  “Wow, that is impressive!” exclaimed Charlie

  “Yes, which is why we were so excited when we first found out. Your grandfather wasn’t interested in the science, but your father, who I have known since childhood, was keen to support me as soon as he took over the Presidency.”

  “I can understand why – he’s always had an eye for a business opportunity!”

  Professor Zito looked slightly put off. “It’s not simply about making money,” he responded. “Gold is invaluable for many wider reasons, including health-related. Which is why I became involved.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to question your motives,” replied Charlie. “It’s just that my father is very pragmatic and while he may appear to sympathise with people, he always has other objectives in mind.”

  Professor Zito accepted the gesture with a smile, coming from a teenager.

  Charlie couldn’t help but wonder what the truth was behind the whole project and whether this man would be prepared to tell her more about it.

  As things turned out, Professor Zito was too busy to provide any more answers so Charlie returned to the capital with a list of questions for her father. She had to wait a few days until he was available to answer them, but in due course Charlie arrived at the Presidential Suite again.

  “I’m told that you have some questions for me my dear,” said her father. “I hope they won’t take too long as I have an important phone call in 15 minutes.” Charlie was annoyed that she had been given such a short time slot but decided to go straight for the jugular.

  “Professor Zito told me about the amazing gold bug, but nothing on how it works and any by-products of the process.”

  “Ah yes well I’m not sure how it works either, but I’ve seen videos and it’s impressive. The problem is, it’s very small scale currently and may take up to 5 years to produce even tiny industrial quantities. On by-products, there are a few, of which some are toxic, but they only really impact once production is at significant levels.” The President was hoping that Charlie would be satisfied with his answer. Little did he know …

  “Papa, what are the toxic by-products please?” persisted his daughter.

  “There may be a bit of sulphur dioxide and radioactive materials in there, but as said it’s only a concern when production ramps up.” The President was starting to get that irritated indicator on his face when things weren’t going the way he expected them to, so continued. “But if we can make gold from simpler metals using an organism then isn’t that a price worth paying? What did you think of the new arts complex design?”

  “The design looks great, though they said they didn’t know about any plans to engage with the wider community. I’m sorry Papa, but I would really like to know how toxic the gold production is likely to be.” Charlie realised she’d pushed her father too far as his stern look re-emerged.

  “I’m sorry my dear but affairs of state take precedence.” The President was abrupt, and the conversation had finished in his eyes. “I will see you at dinner.”

  Charlie later spoke to Dan about the science behind the incredible micro-organism, and he subsequently confirmed her suspicions that toxicity was the key issue which had prevented further research development in the West. Democratic governments wouldn’t be able to sell the whole package to their electors, given the potentially dangerous side effects on workers once production was fully industrialised – it was not worth doing anything at low scale as the amounts were uneconomical, even though the micro-organism worked for free. It required considerable nurturing and sometimes whole colonies would die out without an obvious reason.

  Georgi called his granddaughter a few days after her meeting with her father.

  “A little birdie tells me that you have found out about the gold bug, and that your father wasn’t amused by some of your subsequent questioning.”

  “I don’t understand him, Grandpapi, one moment he wants to teach me about serving the nation, the next he clams up when I want the full details of a project.”

  “Ah, well my dear, he reminds me of Maurice Conchis in The Magus. A bit of a control freak I would say. By the way I managed to finish the book. Can’t say I was too impressed by the ending though.”

  Charlie nodded in agreement, as she herself had been disappointed by the lack of closure in the novel. But great writers were usually allowed to get away with that.

  “What did you think of the philosophical debates within it?” asked Charlie.

  “They certainly made you ponder, particularly the story about the Greek resistance and the Nazis. I’m not surprised Maurice was so unpopular on the island as a result. Somewhat ironic as well, his subjective belief in freedom whenever it suited him, and then playing with Nicholas and others like pawns.”

  “I guess that’s why you compare him to Papa. Tell me Grandpapi, what is it really like to be a dictator of a country such as ours?”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Grandpapi?”

  “I am wondering where to start my dearest,” came the response. “Ok, let’s try this. You’re lucky in this world if you get to choose what you really want to do. It’s not a human right, whatever anyone tells you. Just to live, you need to cover the basics such as food, drink and emotional comfort, be it from family or a lover. If you fall ill and you’re very unlucky, then perhaps you will even die. Life is a balance of probabilities. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, that seems straightforward to me,” replied Charlie.

  “The difficult bit is deciding who takes ultimate responsibility for a large group of people beyond the size of families. Some cults delegate to a spiritual figure. Democracies try to operate sensibly, so that most decisions are made with the approval of the majority. However, there are crisis times when that isn’t enough. This is when strong leaders emerge – it goes back to the Greeks and Romans, when a dictator was appointed to help fight a war and mobilise the population. Still with me?”

  “Of course. I understand all of that. But why do dictators not just give up power as soon as they are able? What stops them?”

  “I struggled with that throughout my life, due to my overwhelming sense of national duty which my father instilled in me. Only towards the end did I realise that it had become a charade. That essentially our family simply wants to cling on to power for as long as it can. Your Aunt Irena is a major supporter of this approach – your mother, being an American democrat, wanted to change things, with which I sympathised. Sadly, she had little influence on Mikhel, so she left Transania in the end. The system has become ossified. I fear the only way to overcome our dictatorship is by revolution – I would prefer a bloodless one, but the real danger is if we have left it too late for that.”

  Charlie reflected on her grandfather’s last words. She was pretty sure that he would never have used them before their trip to Greece – this was Dan’s type of language, so she called him up again.

  “Have you and my grandfather been in touch since our Greek holiday?”

  “Yes, actually we have,” replied Dan. “Georgi seemed quite keen on continuing the bonding that we started. Strangely, he kept asking me questions about democracy and revolutions. I felt as if he was trying to pick up on a whole missing part of his life.”

  “Interesting. I thought perhaps he’d been reflecting on The Magus, which he told me he has now read. But it seems we’ve both had a bigger impact on him than we thought – isn’t it ironic that the purpose of the trip was for him to convince me about the merits of capitalism!”

  They were both silent for a moment, as if some kind of synchronicity had occurred.

  “You know what?” they both asked in unison and then laughed at the coincidence. “You go first,” said Dan chuckling.

  “What if we could start a peaceful revolution in Transania?”

  “My thoughts exactly!” exclaimed Dan.

  “But seriously, how easy or difficult would it be?” persisted Charlie.

  “Well, there would need to be a pretext for stirring up the population. Something that would really get them agitated.”

  Charlie paused and then let loose. “What if we leaked information to the international press about the toxicity of the gold bug? Along the lines of the Government trying to save an ailing economy by working miracles and not caring about the cost to the health of its citizens.”

  Charlie’s thinking was in overdrive now, quite a sight to behold for those who didn’t know her – she had a clarity of logical structure that blossomed when confronted with problems.

  “That would work,” responded Dan, “but a journalist would want real proof – you would need to get them into the facility. If your father ever found out about your involvement, he would go ballistic, possibly lock you away and then marry you off to an admiring cousin.” Dan was making perfectly reasonable points. Perhaps this was too risky an approach?

  “Babe, could you just put me in touch with a friendly journo and I will see what they think? We can then decide on whether to go ahead.” Charlie was employing her sweetest tone.

  “Fine, but it’s your call Charlie,” responded Dan earnestly. “Don’t say I haven’t warned you and please, please be careful as you can’t control the media when they smell blood. I have a lot of respect for Craig, my contact, but even he will drop you in it if he thinks the story is big enough for personal glory.”

  They closed the call with Dan promising to pass on Charlie’s details to Craig – all she had to do was await his email.

  Three days later, Charlie received the awaited email from Craig Withers, a freelance journalist specialising in international environmental issues. Dan had provided him with some background, but he said he was keen to speak with Charlie as soon as convenient and provided her with a cell number.

  “Hello, is that Craig Withers?!”

  “Speaking, how can I help.” The voice sounded reassuring and pleasant to the ear.

  “Hi, it’s Charlie Stavonic, Dan Symond’s partner.”

  “Ah yes Charlie, great you’ve called. I’ve some questions for you if you don’t mind. Just bear with me a moment.” Charlie felt very much at ease with Craig’s slight Australian accent and didn’t mind waiting for him.

  “Ok. Let’s see. First off, can you describe in more detail what this microorganism actually does to produce gold and the toxic by-products?”

  “That’s my problem, Craig. No-one will tell me the exact details, not even my Dad who is the President of Transania.”

  “Can you tell me anything about the laboratory where the bugs are kept?” Craig wasn’t easily deterred.

  “It’s near a remote village a few hours’ drive north of the capital,” responded Charlie. “There is no major security currently as I guess they don’t want to alarm people or set off any rumours.”

  “Right, let me be straight with you then. When can you take me there?” Charlie smiled at Craig’s directness – she was intrigued to know what he was like in the flesh.

  “Yes of course, as soon as possible, if you can get into the country without attracting any attention to yourself.”

  “No problem, I’ve had plenty of practice at that,” said Craig matter-of-factly.

  They agreed that he would give Charlie the details of his flight and she would meet him at a low-key café in the capital the morning after he arrived. They would then drive to the village and scout the area around the lake without being noticed. If an opportunity arose to get into the laboratory, then they would seize it.

  All worked to plan. Craig arrived on the planned day and checked in to a hotel without getting noticed. He and Charlie met at the café the next day – she was pleased that he looked as affable as his voice had sounded – a tanned Australian in his forties with a permanent smile on his face. From there they took a car Charlie had acquired through personal contacts and with no Government plates on it.

 

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