Dangerous Deception - A Short Story

Chapter One

Gwen Jacobs answered the knock at her door and c
ame face to face with the worst mistake of her life.

The dark
, piercing eyes of Michael Garrison scanned the length of her body before meeting her glare. “Hi, Gwen.”

It took every ounce of her restraint not to slap the
smile off his face. “I was just on my way out.”

“This won’t take long.”
He brushed past her.

Gwen closed the door, leaning against it for support.
She hadn’t seen Michael since their last assignment together for the BBC. Both journalists, they’d met in the states four years ago on assignment. After a year of dating, he’d asked her to move to London with him and like an idiot she did.

He scanned the modest living room.
“Nice place.”

The simple one bedroom flat
was the only thing she could find within her budget, her landlord’s generosity and leniency making up for its lack of comfort and style.

“What do you want Michael?”

“I have a job offer if you’re interested.”

She immediately turned and opened the door.
“No thank you. I’m freelance now, remember?”

“Yeah
, I’ve seen your editorials. Cute photo by the way.” His smile widened. “Face it, Gwen. You’re not cut out for human interest stories. You were born for the frontline. Besides, from what I hear, the pay isn’t so good.”

“The pay is fine.
Now, if you don’t mind I’m late for an interview.”

He walked to t
he door, but instead of exiting, he nudged her aside, closed the door, and took hold of her hand. “Please, just hear me out.”

She jerked loose, leveling her glare on him.
“I said I wasn’t interested.”

“You’ve been
hoping to go to Lerato, am I right?”

“You’re offering me an assignment in
Dewana?” she asked somewhat leery. For months, she had wanted to go to the small country located in West Africa to expose the atrocities taking place in the midst of their civil war.

“According to a reliable source in
Chizoba, the RFAGC is planning to take Lerato in the next couple of weeks unless their demands are met, including the release of Chidike. I’ve set up a meeting on the 20
th
.”

It wasn’t exactly the assignment she’d been hoping for.
The Revolutionary Front Against Government Corruption, under the leadership of Akua Chidike, was responsible for much of the mayhem in the poverty stricken country. Committing some of the worst war crimes ever reported. “I thought international travel into the country had been suspended?”

“I got you a seat on a private charter with an American businessman by the name of Peterson.
He’s with some religious organization. They’re going in on a humanitarian mission. They leave day after tomorrow.”

That meant she would
have complete access to the victims themselves. She sensed something very foul about his offer though. “Wait a minute. They think I’m going along only to do a story on them?” His grin made her sick to the stomach. He hadn’t changed a bit. “That’s low, Michael, even for you.”

“Don’t go getting sanctimonious on me, Gwen.
We both know you’ve no morals when it comes to getting a story, especially one as big as this.”

“I’d never risk human life to further my career, unlike other people I know.”

“You had just as much to do with Kirabo as I did.”

She fell silent at his accusation, knowing in her heart it was true.
They’d both left Liberia with blood on their hands. What started as an exposé to clue the world in on Liberia’s support of the RFAGC movement ended in the massacre of an entire village. They had barely escaped with their own lives.

“According to my source
, the rebels are within fifty miles of the city. Not only that; he can get you an interview with a senior officer. General
Abdul Kabassa, he’s Chidike’s senior commander. So what do you say?”

She considered his offer.
No journalist had ever gotten inside the RFAGC and lived to tell about it. It was even rumored they had hit lists with the names of those who had reported unfavorably toward them. Just like everyone else, though, she had bills to pay. She was already two weeks late on rent, and Christmas was just around the corner. She had yet to send her parents and siblings anything. Going freelance had not been the brightest move she’d ever made. As a matter of fact, it ranked right up there with moving to London.

“Gwen?”

“Fine. I’ll do it. I’m going to need an advance to cover my expenses though.”

“I’ll take care of it.
Drop by my office later. I’ll see you have everything you need. Just make sure you register with the embassy upon your arrival. You know, just in case.”

Michael’s
warning lingered on Gwen’s mind long after he left. She knew the situation in Dewana was extremely tense with significant rebel activity throughout the country. What concerned her more was the humanitarian situation in Lerato and the unimaginable atrocities being committed by the rebel forces.

The stark reality was that war and suffering wasn’t a new phenomenon in
Dewana. Since gaining its independence in the early sixties, this small African nation had experienced almost every known political system from dictatorship to democracy and everything in between. A crumbling economy and growing public agitation with corruption and factional turmoil within the government prompted the formation of the RFAGC five years ago, bringing about a civil war. With the assistance of Liberia’s ex-warlord-turned-president, Jonathan Kanneh, Chidike and his rebel forces crossed from Liberia into the Eastern Province of Dewana in March of 2006. Within a month most of the Chizoba District was under rebel control, including its diamond mines. The diamond mines provided much needed revenue for arms purchased in Eastern Europe and smuggled through Liberia to the rebel forces in Dewana.

In the years that followed
, those diamond mines had played a vital role in who controlled the country. They had become pawns in a very deadly game. One to which she was stepping right in the middle.

Chapter Two

Gwen hurried throug
h Heathrow airport. After taking most of the morning to put her affairs in order, she feared she was going to miss her 11:30 flight. Mentally, she went over her to-do list to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
Paid rent. Mailed Christmas presents. Called home. Filed two week's worth of editorials. Packed plenty of bug spray and loose clothing. Have passport, and immunization records. What else...

Thump!

It was as if she had hit a brick wall. She went sailing backwards and landed on her rear-end. Dazed, she glanced up. A broad shouldered man with dark locks of wavy hair leaned toward her, offering his hand.

“
You should watch where you’re going.” She accepted his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

“I believe it was you who ran into me
.”

“Did I?
I’m sorry.” She knelt to pick up the carry-on bag she dropped on impact.

He beat her to it.
But instead of handing it back to her he slipped the bag over his shoulder and started to walk off.

“Hey buddy
, that’s my bag you’re taking off with.”

He turned with a
gorgeous smile. “I know, Miss Jacobs, you’ll get it back on the plane.” He extended his hand again. “Jack Peterson. I believe you’re on my flight.”

“Oh.
How did you know who…?”

He held up a
wadded copy of the London Times where an old picture of her was in the side column. “You look better as a brunette,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

Gwen
ran to catch up to him. “Whoever came up with the phrase,
blondes have more fun
should be shot. I’m surprised you even recognized me.”

“Choice of hair coloring or attire doesn’t make the woman.”

She was about to ask what did when she noticed the strap of her camera bag hanging out of her suitcase. “Hold up a minute, I need to check my equipment.” She reached for the bag he carried around his shoulder.

He resisted, keeping a firm grip on the handle.
“We’re running late, Miss Jacobs, you can wait till we board the plane.”

“It’ll just take a minute.”

“All right, but we’re on a tight schedule. I don’t...”

Gwen
grabbed the bag from his hand and knelt, dumping the bag's contents onto the floor. Gwen removed the small black bag containing her 35mm camera, unzipped it, and checked the assorted lenses for any sign of damage. Thankfully, they all appeared fine. She then took out her digital camcorder and looked it over.

“
Would you please hurry?”

“Relax.
I’m sure the plane won’t leave without you.” She shoved everything back into her carry-on bag and stood. “See that didn’t take long.”

“I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting
two weeks,” he commented before slipping her bag back over his shoulder.

“This your first trip to
Dewana?”

“No.
You?”

She nodded.
“I’ve been to other parts of Africa, but never Dewana.” Then figuring now might be a good time to work in her interview with General Kabassa, she said, “If you wouldn’t mind, maybe I can do a couple of interviews with those directly involved in the conflict as a background to the humanitarian needs.”

“That’s a good idea.
I know a couple of people at the embassy. Maybe they can help.”

“Sure, and
hopefully some of the locals will be able to put me in contact with some of the rebels.”

Glancing sideways, his expression
darkened. “You want to interview the enemy?”

“It’s a civil war, Jack, who’s to know who the real enemies are?”

*
* * * *

As they approached the Gulfstream V Lear jet they were met by a man of Italian descent, quickly introduced as, ‘Marco’, the pilot, and informed the others had arrived and were ready for take off.

On board Gwen was introduced to everyone
. Tom and Evelyn, a couple in their late sixties were the founders of World Friendship Foundation, a non-profit organization based in Chicago; and Celeste, a friend of theirs whose sister lived in Dewana.