Dangerous Deception - A Short Story

  Dangerous Deception

  A Short Story

  by

  Anne Patrick

  Copyright © 2011 by Anne Patrick

  Cover art by Ramona Lockwood

  RomanceNovelCovers.com

  KINDLE DIRECT PUBLISHING EDITION

  Licensing Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. All rights are reserved and it is illegal to copy, scan, or in any way mechanically or digitally reproduce this book for resale or sharing except for small passages for reviews and related articles. Requests for other uses should be directed to the author or publisher for written permission.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dangerous Deception is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are the products of the author‘s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To my family and friends, and to my readers. Thank you for joining me on this wonderful journey. I couldn't do it without you!

  Chapter One

  Gwen Jacobs answered the knock at her door and came 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 the 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.”

  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 through 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.

  Tom greeted her with a warm handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, Gwen.”

  Evelyn welcomed her with a hug, and Celeste merely nodded before returning her attention to the paperback book she was reading.

  “Take a seat anywhere,” Jack said before disappearing into the cockpit.

  Gwen chose the seat closest to Evelyn. After a quick glance at the luxurious surroundings, she turned to the silver haired woman. “I’ve never flown on anything as nice as this,” she admitted nervously. She had never liked flying. “Most of the planes I’ve been on, aside from airliners, were rickety prop jobs. The kind where you never know if the landing gear is going to hold or not.”

  The woman reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Marco is an excellent pilot. You’ve nothing to worry about, the good Lord is watching over us.”

  A tinge of guilt hit her and she suddenly wished she had been more honest with her host.

  “Has Jack told you anything about the purpose of our trip?” Tom asked.

  “No. We didn’t really have a chance to talk.”

  “We’re delivering Christmas gifts to the children in Lerato. Our organization has a small orphanage there, and for the past six months partnership churches from across the U.S. have collected clothing and toys for us to distribute.”

  “We’re also going to look at some property to be purchased for a bigger orphanage and vocational school that Jack is financing,” Evelyn added.

  “I can’t think of a more wonderful way of celebrating the birth of our Savior.”

  Gwen merely smiled.

  “Your family must be awfully disappointed you won’t be with them for the holidays?”

  “I’m afraid they’re use to it, sir.” Gwen hadn’t seen her family since she moved to London. If it weren’t for the weekly telephone calls they’d probably think she was dead.

  “Please, call me, Tom. I know it won’t be the same, but you’re welcome to join us in all the festivities we have planned.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that.” Gwen glanced up at their other guest who seemed engrossed in the book she was reading. She had yet to speak a word to them. “Is she a part of your organization?”

  “No. Her sister, Candice, who is a nurse in one of the refugee camps, is a member of our church back home. Celeste came along to try and talk her sister into coming home with us. Except for embassy personnel and a handful of missionaries and aid workers, non-civilians have been evacuated due to the instability of the country.”

  “Then you do realize we’re entering a very volatile situation?”

  “Yes. But we’re confident the Lord will take care of us.”

  Gwen admired their faith. There was a time, not so long ago she could have used their faith. Had she been able to trust in an all-powerful God, maybe she wouldn’t have fallen apart in Liberia.

  Her smile faded at the image of a young boy’s bloodied corpse who only moments earlier had been running and playing with his friends in the compound. His screams still echoed in the back of her mind.

  Forcing the memory aside, she stood. “I think I’ll go see if I can find something to drink. Can I get you guys anything?”

  “No, thank you,” they spoke in unison.

  Gwen found a cola in the refrigerator and was about to take a seat on the sofa when Jack joined her. “I see you found the refreshments.”

  “Yes, thank you. This is quite a plane you have here. I think it’s bigger than my entire apartment back in London.”

  “Actually, I’m only leasing it. We’ll be dropped off at Lerato and in a couple of weeks they’ll come back to get us.”

  “As long as they don’t forget to come back.”

  “They won’t. So did you have a chance to get acquainted with the others?”

  “Celeste wasn’t in a talkative mood, but Tom & Evelyn seem real nice.”

  “Tom’s a pastor and Evelyn is a registered nurse. They’re both very spiritual people.”

  “I sensed that. Look, I have to be honest with you…I didn’t come along just to do a story on your organization. I mean I want to do that, but...”

  “I know, Gwen. You came because you want a story on the RFAGC. I sort of figured that out already. According to my sources you used to be an investigative reporter.”

  “You had me checked out?” Not really that surprised. She had gathered from their first meeting he was a well-organized man on a mission.

  Jack nodded. “This tri
p was my idea, so I’m responsible for the welfare of everyone on it. I suspected from the start your friend Mr. Garrison wasn’t being completely honest with me.”

  “I can imagine the sales pitch. He can be very persuasive.”

  “Actually, he brought up some very good points. With everything going on in other regions of the world, very little attention is being given to the conflict in Dewana.”

  “We can change that, Jack. I still want to do the story on your organization. I think what you guys are doing is great. I just want to go beyond what you’re doing to the source of the problem. I want to report the whole story, not just a part of it.”

  “I know what you’re trying to do, Gwen, you’re trying to find a solution where there is none. At least not a simple one. War and poverty is all these people have ever known, much like most of Africa.”

  “You think I’m naïve?”

  “Maybe for an investigative reporter,” he answered with a smile.

  “I’ve seen too much to be naïve, especially when it comes to war. All I want to do is expose the pigs that are supporting the rebels. Countries like Liberia for instance. I want the whole world to know of the atrocities that are taking place. With global awareness comes global aid.”

  “You think Liberia is financing the rebels. Why?”

  “Partly because Chidike and Kanneh have supported one another for years, their friendship goes way back. And Kanneh reportedly helped broker a deal with the governments in neighboring countries on behalf of the RFAGC for the supply of mercenaries, with payment to be made in Dewana diamonds.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I spent fourteen months in Liberia trying to expose Kanneh for the war crimes he committed while seizing his presidency. Six of those months were spent in a village filled with ex-RFAGC rebels who gave eyewitness reports of how diamonds were being mined and traded for arms supplied by the government of Liberia.”

  “Did you report any of this to the U.S. Embassy or the UN?”

  “Before we could get any real proof we were forced to evacuate.”