Dangerous Deception - A Short Story (8 page)

“All right, fine.
I’ll give you three more days. But if I don’t have your story by the end of the weekend, you’re done in this business, Gwen. Do you understand?”

Gwen fell silent at his threat.
Michael may be new at the helm as far as the publishing aspect of the industry, but he had enough clout with the major news agencies he could make it very tough on her to land another assignment. Journalism was all she knew. It was the only thing she was good at.

“Did you hear me, Gwen?”

“I heard you, Michael. I’ll get you the story.”

Chapter Eight

The following morning the group toured the grounds of the future orphanage and trade school.
Jack listened as Robbie spoke of the organization's plans, but his gaze seldom strayed from Gwen. There seemed to be a genuine interest as she jotted down notes and took pictures of the site. He recalled the talk they had last night and her decision not to disclose her meeting with General Kabassa. He didn’t know any journalist who would pass up the opportunity for an exclusive like that. Did she give it up on account of him?

Jack
thought about their kiss. He hadn’t meant for it to happen—at least not consciously—but was glad it had. He knew now without a doubt that his feelings weren’t one-sided. Many doubts had since crept into his mind. What would happen after this trip? Would she be interested in something more tangible than a casual friendship? Was she completely over Michael Garrison?

Her career he could deal with but he didn’t have a clue about fixing a broken heart.
Until now, he was never in such a situation. Sure he had female friends, had gone on lots of dates, but he had never considered actually settling down. He shook his head at the idea. He was getting way ahead of himself here.
It was just a kiss for heaven’s sake.

The smile Gwen tossed him convinced him otherwise, though.
He let out a contented sigh and smiled back. He knew great things were going to happen on this trip, but he never counted on falling in love.

The sound of squealing brak
es drew the attention of the whole group. Jack turned around. Three police cars pulled onto the empty lot and a half dozen uniformed officers walked toward them.

“This can’t be good,” Robbie said in the background.

An officer much older than Jack brushed past him. “Gwen Jacobs, we need you to come with us.”

Everyone started speaking at once, protesting the man’s request.
Evelyn wrapped her hand around Gwen’s, shielding her partially with her own body.

Gwen stood silent, her eyes wide, looking at Jack.

He moved forward, as did the other officers. “What’s this all about?”

“The Major wants to talk to her.”
The lead officer took hold of Gwen’s right arm and ripped her away from Evelyn.

Jack leaped forward.
Officers on both sides of him prevented him from going any further. “I want to know where you’re taking her. She’s a U.S. citizen. We all are.”

“She’s the only one of interest to us.”
The lead officer stopped in front of Jack. “We’ll return her once the Major is done with her.”

“You have no right to do this,” Robbie continued to protest.
The others circled around him.

A crowd started to gather along the edge of the lot.
One officer radioed for more help while moving toward Robbie and the others with his gun drawn.

Tears glistened in Gwen’s eyes as she looked at Jack.
“I’ll be okay.”

Jack inched forward despite the brute force tugging at his arms.
“Don’t answer any of their questions until I get you an attorney or representation from the embassy.”

Before she could answer
, she was swept away and shoved into the backseat of one of the patrol cars.

The officers
' grip on Jack didn’t relax until the car had disappeared around the corner. He finally jerked free and glared at them. “Where is he taking her?”

One of them rambled off something in Mende.
Jack turned to Tom for translation.

“To the police station for questioning,” he translated.
“She’s in no danger.”

“Yeah, like I believe that.”
Jack took his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number of his friend at the embassy. “Come on, Craig, pick up.”

Another patrol car arrived and two more officers joined them.

“I think we better head back to the orphanage,” Tom suggested.

After no answer, Jack hung up and turned to his friend.
“They better not lay a finger on her.”

Tom wrapped his arm around Jack’s shoulder.
“C’mon. She’ll be all right.”

“You guys go on.
I’ll be there as soon as I get some answers.”

* * * * *

A man identifying himself as Major Anthony directed Gwen to a metal chair centered in the middle of the room. On the ride to the police station her fear had turned to anger, a trait that had served her well over the years when faced with extreme danger. Under no circumstances was she going to let these so-called good guys scare her into a confession.

“I’m an American citizen.
You have no right…”

“I know who you are
, Miss Jacobs, I have your passport,” he spoke in English with a heavy accent. “According to which you were in Liberia last year?”

“That’s right.
I’m a journalist.”

“Bringing us to the reason why you are here.
I’m sure you were made aware of the new press guidelines when you registered at the embassy and were warned that any journalist found guilty of publishing reports adverse to operations of government forces would be prosecuted.”

“I’m well aware of your regulations, Major.
I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“What would you call collaborating with a known leader of the RFAGC?”

“I did an interview with the man, we didn’t trade international secrets.”

He glanced at her backpack.
“Did you record your conversation?”

“No.”

He took the backpack and dumped the contents onto the table.

“Hey, scumbag!”

He turned sharply as if to strike her and Gwen immediately clamped her mouth shut.
She watched him rummage through her things, thankful she had left her notes back at the orphanage.

After searching through the empty notebook
, he tossed it on the table, his glare hardening. “Where are your notes?” he demanded.

“Am I being arrested?
If so I wish to have a representative from the embassy present for this interrogation.”

He ignored her plea.
“What did the two of you talk about?”

“I asked about the murders and the other atrocities taking place and he told me
mercenaries for hire were the ones responsible.” She hoped if she cooperated a little they might let her go.

“That is a lie.”

“I didn’t say I believed him.”

“What else did you talk about?”

“His upbringing; where he went to school.”

“Keep going.”

“That’s about it. It was a short interview.”

“
I want your notes.”

She knew if she
handed them over they could be used as evidence against her if a trial came about. “Look I’m sure you know more about this man than I do.”

“Where are your notes, Miss Jacobs?”

“I tore them up and threw them away after I sent my post yesterday.”

“You’re lying.”

“I think you better call the embassy because I’m not answering anymore of your questions.”

“Very well.”
He opened the door and motioned for the young soldiers.

She quickly gathered her things and shoved them back into her backpack.
Before she could slip it over her shoulder, he grabbed it from her.

“You won’t
need this any longer.”

Gwen watched the two men come toward her.
Her heart felt like it was going to burst. A hundred thoughts ran through her mind. She’d been in a lot of sticky situations during her career, but she had a feeling this could turn out to be the worst.

Neither of the men acknowledged her as they took hold of her elbows and led her from the room.

Where are you taking me?” She demanded.

They escorted her down the corridor and down two flights of stairs. The rank smell of rotting sewage assaulted her senses. When they reached what she assumed was the basement, they led her to a door in one corner of the area.

Fear gripped her as thoughts of their intentions filtered through her mind:
Would they rape or torture her? Would they kill her? She thought of her notes. She should just tell them where they were. A prison sentence wouldn’t be as bad as some of the things she knew these men were probably capable of.

One of the men yanked
the door open and motioned for her to enter.

She leaned forward to peer inside and they shoved her down the two steps.
Quickly gaining her balance she turned toward the door just as it slammed shut and was locked. “Animals!” she screamed, slamming her fists against the door.

Gwen took in her surroundings.
It appeared to be an empty storage room with a cement floor and four walls covered with peeling white paint. The only window in the room stood a good two feet above her head with four metal bars on it allowing a steady stream of sunlight to filter into the room.

For the next hour and a half
, she passed her time counting the forty-seven cracks in the ceiling and watching a lone fly buzz back and forth across the room. She thought of swatting it once when it landed on the wall near her, but figured she’d probably miss the entertainment it provided.

The sound of footsteps stole her attention away from the fly that she’d fondly dubbed ‘Fred’ and she turned toward the door just as it opened.
She quickly recognized her visitor as one of her earlier escorts.

With bar
ely a glance, he sat a tray down on the top step. “Eat,” he said and closed the door.

She waited until she heard the click of the lock before venturing toward the tray.
After glancing at the plate full of rice and flat bread she opted for the sealed container of fruit juice. “It’s all yours, Fred.
Bon appetite.
” But the fly didn’t seem to want any part of it either, as it continued to flutter on past.

It wasn’t long
'til the soldier returned. “Done?” he asked as he picked up the tray.

She nodded.
“Hey, do you think maybe I could get a light bulb in here?” She glanced up at the empty light socket in the middle of the ceiling.

He followed her gaze then shook his head.
“No light.”

“I know there’s no light, it needs a bulb.
Surely you have an extra bulb in this hell hole.”

He shook his head again.
“No light.”

“Okay, how about something to sleep on or maybe a chair?”

He shrugged his shoulders and then turned to leave.

“Please.
I can’t sleep on the floor. It’s cement.” Her plea fell on deaf ears, though, as he quickly shut the door and locked it.

Moments later
, she regretted her ingratitude at the sound of running water. She looked over and saw a steady stream rushing underneath the door and down the steps. Within minutes, the water had covered the soles of her tennis shoes.

The sound of laughter filtered through the door.

“I hope you all rot in hell,” she shouted back.

When the water reached the calves of her legs, she started to worry.
She glanced up at the window and then toward the door, wondering how deep it would get before the pressure would cause the door to give way. Just about the time she came to the conclusion of breaking out the window once she was able to reach it, someone pounded on the door.

“Sleep well,” was followed by more laughter.

Instead of an acknowledgement, she was thankful the water, now at her knees, had stopped. She was even more thankful for the streetlight directly outside the window as darkness began to fall on her surroundings.

The eerie silhouette of the bar
-framed window displayed on the wall prompted memories from a year ago to come filtering back to her mind. She thought of the many nights she and Michael had spent in the compound of square huts that filled the village of Kirabo. At least they’d had hammocks to sleep on, she recalled, as she kicked her leg causing a spray of water to fall across the silhouette.

She thought again of
Kirabo. The villagers, known for their warmth and hospitality, had welcomed them into their modest homes and shared their meager meals throughout their stay. She had made many friends in the months they’d spent interviewing the ex-rebels. Their wives, leery of her at first, had, in the end, become very fond of her, sharing everything from recipes to lessons in Krio. But Gwen and Michael had taken advantage of the situation to gain the respect and recognition of their colleagues. Though warned repeatedly of the danger and consequences the village would face if the RFAGC were to find out, they had continued reporting to the BBC.