Out of Range: A Novel Read Free Page A

callous repudiation of our solidarity with these people.” For Charlie, it was merely a question of self-preservation. It was one thing to advocate for a third world country, it was another thing to risk having his first child there.
    He watched Julie accept a homemade necklace from the woman and recognized it as a traditional token of luck for expectant mothers. Julie smiled gratefully and put her hand to her heart. He noticed a tear glistening in the corner of her eye and it reminded him that her maternal instincts were kicking in. In the end, he thought those instincts might just override any of her moral or political objections and he would win the argument yet. At any rate, he still had a few weeks to convince her and he had a feeling that if today went well it might soften her up.
    A growing buzz in the crowd diverted Charlie’s attention and he soon realized what was happening. Byko was getting on the statue. Charlie moved quickly toward Julie. “Is he really doing what I think he’s doing?”
    “It bloody well looks like it,” she replied, eyes widening.
    Charlie knew there was lingering affection between them and he’d tried not to let it bother him, but after all, there were many places in the world Julie could have gone to do her “good works” and she’d chosen to come here.
    As for Byko, he was something of a conundrum to Charlie. His father had been a Soviet official and a friend of President Karimov. After the split from the Soviet Union, the elder Byko had ruthlessly amassed a fortune in the mining and energy sectors and had become a billionaire by the time he died, leaving the entire empire in his son’s hands. But the younger Byko had been cut from a different cloth. Educated at Cambridge, Westernized in almost every way, Alisher hadn’t fought the regime outwardly, but in his own quiet fashion he’d done much to improve the lot of his countrymen.
    The thing was, you didn’t hold on to your billions in Uzbekistan by rocking the boat. Byko had been canny about understanding his limits, where he could press and where he couldn’t. So his mere presence at the rally was a departure from his established approach. Now it seemed as though he was about to take a public stand—an extraordinarily risky, some might say reckless step.
    Sure enough, the young man who had been speaking embraced the billionaire, then jumped down into the crowd as Byko took the megaphone. For a moment, everyone went silent.
    “My name,” he yelled into the bullhorn, “is Alisher Byko!”
    The crowd responded with a roar. Byko was one of the best-known men in Uzbekistan, about as close to a rock star as the country had. If he was publicly putting his stamp on the nascent rebellion, then surely success had to be in the offing.
    Charlie aimed his powerful telephoto at the statue of Babur, and snapped off a few photographs of the billionaire.
    “Many of you know that my father was one of the richest men in this country. When he died, I inherited everything that was his. I tried to make changes, to bring fairness to my companies, to bring real elections to the provinces where I have support, to reform the standards in my gold mines, to provide decent working conditions for all my employees. But every step of the way, our government has tried to stop me.
    “Time and again, we hear promises for reform but only see more of the same. This is not the country that I want to live in. This is not the country that I want my own son to grow up in.”
    The crowd erupted in applause as Byko indicated someone in the crowd. He was pointing to an attractive young woman standing on the curb, a boy of three in her arms. She wore a head scarf but otherwise was dressed in fashionable Western clothes. Charlie recognized her as Daniella, Byko’s wife.
    As the applause died down, a throaty, roaring sound cut through the air.
    Charlie craned his neck. Byko, too, turned to look.
    A row of armored tanks rolled slowly toward the square. Each one