Dangerous Deception - A Short Story

by Anne Patrick

  “I’m sorry. I appreciate your willingness to work with us.”

  “We must appeal to the international community to place a higher priority on meeting the emergency needs of the people of Dewana who suffer from life-threatening shortages of food, water, and medical care.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping to do with this assignment. But I need to get both views. In order to further the peace process, we need to establish if the rebels have a legitimate claim of governmental corruption.”

  “Look around you, Miss. For a country that has some of the world’s richest resources, why do you think they have never gone without poverty?”

  “Do you think that includes the present government?”

  “Honestly, no. I think the rebels just want to see that the past doesn’t repeat itself. They want to be established as a political party with cabinet and ministerial posts.”

  “What can you tell me about Kanneh’s political background?”

  “In ’72 his father sent him to the United States where he obtained a degree in economics from a college on the east coast. He later went to work for then-Liberian President Daniel Moore.”

  “Who was assassinated during a military coup in the ‘80s’,” she said.

  “That’s right. Led by army sergeant Teh Siakoh. Despite his connection to Moore, Kanneh’s political skills and economics background earned him a key position within the Siakoh government. Three years later he was accused of stealing and was forced to flee the country. He ended up in Dewana and for the next four years, it’s believed he received shelter and military training from Akua Chidike. He returned to Liberia in ‘89 teaming up with some of his former followers. A year later his forces entered Monrovia. A civil war between Kanneh and Siakoh forces followed, and in 1995, a peace agreement was signed, eventually leading to the election of Kanneh as President in 1997 by popular vote.”

  “How did he manage that?” Jack asked.

  “He’d promised to reconstruct the country, but to date, the only real development that is taking place is in his wallet,” Gwen commented.

  “Yes. His affiliation with the RFAGC has made him a very rich man.”

  “When can I meet with this general?”

  “I will try and get you a meeting with him tomorrow afternoon. Be in the market place at 3:00p.m. If it is safe and you weren't followed, you will be told to go to a mutual place. A friend of mine will meet you there and take you to the general.”

  “How will I know this person was sent by you?”

  He hesitated a moment before he suggested, “He will ask you if you have seen Sako, this is my son’s name.”

  “Sako, that’s not a Muslim name. Is it?”

  “I’m not Muslim. I dress this way because most of the people in this area are Muslim. It gains me trust and respect. You might remember that when you meet with the general.”

  “He’s Muslim?”

  “A liberal Muslim, but he expects women to dress and act a certain way.”

  “I get the picture. Thanks for the tip,” she said, already drawing the conclusion she wasn’t going to like the man.

  * * * * *

  Jack chose a table near the back of the restaurant. It was one he had visited the last time he was in Lerato and knew the layout in case of an emergency evacuation. He also knew the food was safe since it was a favorite with UN workers.

  “The lamb and rice is good,” he suggested, watching Gwen scan the menu.

  “Sounds good.” She looked up at the waiter. “I’ll have couscous instead of rice, though.”

  “What is that?” Jack asked.

  “It’s steamed pasta made from millet or hard wheat. It’s good, you’ll like it.”

  “I think I’ll stick to my rice.” He waited until the waiter had left before asking, “So what exactly is a liberal Muslim?”

  “Basically it means the men can break all the rules, but their wives can’t.”

  “Are you going to be okay with this guy?”

  She glanced up with a smile. “I’ve got a job to do. I think I can behave long enough to get it done.”

  Jack studied Gwen as she looked around the busy restaurant. Her light brown hair, that barely reached her shoulders, was pulled back at the sides by gold-colored barrettes. At twenty-eight, she was just two years younger than him, yet according to his source, had done more and seen more than most women three times her age.

  “Why are you here, Gwen?”

  She met his gaze. Her eyes, the same likeness of her hair, were the most expressive eyes he’d ever seen, and her small nose turned up slightly above a pair of full lips. “I already told you my reasons for wanting to be here.”

  “No, I mean why the front lines of war in three different countries?”

  “I’m a journalist. I go where the news is.”

  “Don’t you ever get scared?”

  “Sure, but it’s my job. It’s what I do.”

  The waiter arrived with their food and Jack said grace.

  Gwen scooped up a fork full of her couscous and leaned across the table toward him. “C’mon, try it.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Chicken.” She drew back the fork and stuck it in her mouth. “Mumm, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  He laughed. Getting to know her was going to be a lot more fun than he had first anticipated.

  Chapter Six

  After breakfast the following morning, Gwen helped the children set the dining room tables. One boy, around ten, stuck to her like glue. Mimicking everything she did. For her own amusement and that of the other children, she began to skip along the tables swaying back and forth while moving her arms slowly.

  The other children giggled as he suddenly stopped in his tracks, looking at her as if she was from another planet.

  “She’s a butterfly,” Jack’s voice echoed from the doorway of the kitchen.

  Warmth generated through Gwen’s cheeks as he walked towards her, smiling.

  Shielding her embarrassment, she took the boy’s hands and lifted his arms. “You give it a try.”

  The boy's face lit up with a brilliant smile as he began to flap his arms.

  “A little more softly,” she corrected.

  He slowed the movement of his arms as he skipped around her.

  “Excellent.” She clapped her hands together. “You make an awesome butterfly.”

  Before long, all the children had turned into elegant butterflies, fluttering around the room. Gwen sat in one of the chairs and cheered them on.

  Jack joined her. “You would never know by looking at him now, but less than a year ago Tau was a soldier in the RFAGC.”

  Oh, God. Gwen had heard many stories about child soldiers, but had never met one. Often times the rebels would slaughter their families in front of them, then kidnap them. After weeks or months of forced training, most of the time under the influence of drugs, they were taken on killing raids. “How’d he wind up here?”

  “A local farmer found him shot and bleeding to death in the bush. Luckily, Candice was helping out at the hospital when he was brought in. She called Robbie and Kay.”

  “He seems so normal.”

  “When Tau first came to live here, he wouldn’t even talk. Unfortunately, he remembered a lot of the things he was forced to do and it haunted him. Kay has worked hard to get him to share his experiences and has taught him that he isn’t a bad person.”

  Gwen understood well what Tau must have felt like. She was glad he was now able to live with his past. Hopefully, someday she would too.

  “There you are, Jack.” Kay saw the children and laughed. “What have we got going on here?”

  “A butterfly convention,” Jack answered. “It was Gwen’s idea.”

  “What a lovely way to channel their energy.” Kay put her hand on Jack’s shoulder. “We need a few supplies at the market. Would you mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  Gwen glanced at her watch and saw it was only a couple of hours till
she was to meet with her contact. “Mind if I come along and help?" It would save her taxi fare and she could get some more photos of the locals.

  Jack tossed her a smile that suggested he was more than pleased to have her tag along. “All right.”

  “Great, let me grab my bag.”

  * * * * *

  As usual, the Market was bustling with activity and Gwen seized the opportunity to get some shots of the children playing in the streets. She heard Jack chuckle and glanced over.

  “You only wanted to come along so you could get some more pictures.”

  “You sound disappointed,” she teased, hoping the interest he had been showing in her the past couple of days wasn’t just her imagination.

  “Maybe a little.” He smiled as he searched through a mound of papaya, gently squeezing each one he chose. “So is there a special man in your life back in London?”

  Gwen couldn’t help the grin that sprang to her lips. She attempted to take his picture, but he refused to look at her. “You should know. You had me checked out, remember?”

  “Only Michael was mentioned, and I can’t seem to picture the two of you together.” He moved on to the mangos, glancing back only briefly.

  “We’re not... At least, not anymore.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  So he is interested on a more personal level. Her heart fluttered at the thought.

  “Is Michael the reason you moved to London?”

  She nodded, lowering the camera to her side. “I thought I was in love. It took me three years to figure out he was a jerk.”

  “May I ask what brought you to that conclusion?” he asked with barely a glance.

  “When you spend 24-7 with a person you really get to know them. Sometimes better than you want.”

  “Liberia?”

  “Among other places. He was a cameraman with great instincts. He went for the shots that no one else would.”

  “He must have been good at it, if he owns his own paper now.”

  “That was always his dream.”

  “Was it your dream as well…I mean, to be a part of it?”

  “It was until I realized what he was willing to do for it.”

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you, Gwen.”

  She met his gaze. He had the warmest eyes she’d ever seen. “I’m not. He taught me a lot about myself; about the person I was, and the person I want to be.”

  “And who is that?” He tilted his head slightly.

  She shrugged her shoulder and said, “This, what I’m doing now, here in Dewana. I don’t want to just report the news. I want to make a difference.”

  With a grin, Jack turned back to the vendor.

  Stealing a glance, she watched him pay for the fruit. Just as he turned, she scooted over to the next booth and pretended to be busy looking over the merchandise.

  “For your meeting with the general?” Jack asked over her shoulder.

  She turned, coming within inches of him. Her pulse quickened as her eyes settled on his perfect, full lips. A brief image of him kissing her flashed through her mind. “Excuse me?” She stepped back, her eyes meeting his.

  He nodded toward the table. “The scarves."

  Gwen tore her gaze away from him and glanced down at the table where an assortment of brightly colored headscarves were displayed. “Oh...umm...yeah.” She picked one up and held it to her face, peering over the edge at him. “What do you think?”

  “I like this one better.” He sat his bags on the ground, plucked a green and black scarf from the table, and stepped toward her.

  She swallowed hard. Oh for heaven’s sake. He’s just a man. But unlike any she’d ever met.

  His hands trembled as he draped the scarf over her head and wrapped the ends around her neck. “Much better. It accents your...” He leaned forward, squinting....“golden-brown eyes.”

  She pushed him back, laughing.

  He reached for his wallet. She tried to stop him, but he shoved her hand back. “It was my choice, so I pay.”

  “Fine. Since Michael didn’t allow me much for personal expenses, I’ll let you.” She shoved her camera strap further up her shoulder. “Going free-lance wasn’t the brightest idea I ever had, but it beats the alternative.”

  “What caused the break-up?”

  Before she could answer, a man bumped into her, nearly knocking her off her feet.

  “Pardon, ma’am. Have you seen Sako?”

  “I...um...No. I’m afraid I haven’t.”

  “Sorry to have bothered you.” His gaze shifted quickly to her pocket before dashing away.

  Gwen looked down and saw a piece of paper sticking from her pocket, no doubt the location of her meeting place. She glanced back at Jack and found he was no longer smiling. She drew in a deep breath and released it. “Guess I’ll see you later.”

  “Please let me come with you.”

  Though tempted, she shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take a cab back.”

  Jack returned to the fruit vendor, offered him a hundred bucks to deliver the groceries to the orphanage, then darted after Gwen. Two blocks later, he saw her meet with a man dressed similar to Mr. Rajah. After a brief exchange, they both turned in Jack’s direction. He blended into the crowd to avoid detection and continued to follow them through the busy streets.

  Several scenarios played out in his mind. The worst one being that this was all a set-up and both he and Gwen would end up dead. What in the world was he thinking? He should have never agreed to her meeting with the enemy. He didn’t care how many war zones she had been in. She was still his responsibility.

  Who am I kidding? I like the woman. She’s beautiful. She’s exciting. And whether she wants to admit it or not, she’s way in over her head on this assignment.

  Jack followed them another three blocks before losing them in the crowd. He searched the buildings, trying to figure out the best one to hold a clandestine meeting with a known rebel. Across the street two police officers walked side by side, peering into the various shops and cafes. They, too, seemed to be looking for someone. Recalling Mr. Rajah’s warning, he prayed it wasn’t Gwen.

  A disturbance outside one of the shops caught their attention. Jack backtracked to get a better look. Two men in casual clothing were shoving one another and yelling at the top of their lungs. As the policemen drew near, the men spotted them and took off running. The officers gave chase.

  Relieved, Jack continued to look for Gwen. It didn’t seem likely they’d meet in a public place. Or would they? He thought of the ruckus a few minutes ago. It could have been a diversion. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. What better insult to the local police than to play in their own backyard. He just had to figure out where.

  * * * * *

  Gwen was directed to a secluded table in the cafe where a black man stood, wearing a dark blue, double-breasted suit and dark sunglasses. He appeared to be no more than a couple of years older than herself, and when he smiled she was quick to notice his perfectly shaped white teeth. As she approached, he removed his dark sunglasses to reveal a set of warm, dark brown eyes. He didn’t look anything like the red-eyed, fire-breathing demon she had envisioned. According to Michael, he was the RFAGC’s most prominent battlefield commander; the man in charge on the ground while the movement's supreme political leader, Akua Chidike sat behind bars for treason.

  “General Kabassa?”

  He stepped forward and shook her hand gently. “Welcome. I trust you are enjoying your stay here in Lerato?”

  She was surprised at his well-spoken English. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Please, have a seat. Are you hungry? Would you like something to drink?” He moved to pull out a chair for her and she sat down.

  “A cola would be nice. Thank you.”

  He waved down a waiter and ordered their drinks before taking a seat opposite her.

  “Do you mind if I take notes?” Gwen asked, removing her black spiral notebook and a pen. De
spite the pounding of her heart, she tried to appear relaxed and in full control of her emotions. But the truth was she felt petrified.

  “Of course not.”

  She had always preferred getting the tougher questions out of the way in the beginning of an interview, so she positioned her notebook on her crossed leg for support and began. “Foremost on everyone’s mind, is why you’ve stood by and allowed the amputations and murders of innocent civilians throughout Dewana?”

  “I never ordered amputations of civilians. Ex-soldiers allied with the RFAGC, but not directly under my command, are to be blamed for this.” He lifted a cigar from the ashtray and drew in a long breath then, with his eyes steady on her, he blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “I don’t believe in innocent killing, Miss Jacobs. If soldiers have raped, I have executed them. If soldiers have been found in error, I have disciplined them. These are the only two crimes I’m guilty of.”

  Gwen carefully considered her next question. Suspecting the bulge under his suit jacket was a weapon he would have no qualms using on her. “Last year, the BBC reported the mass destruction of a village just inside the border of Liberia. Do you know who’s responsible for it?”

  “I have no knowledge of the incident?”

  Judging from his quick answer, she had a hunch he did.

  The waiter appeared with their drinks. In a lame attempt to calm her nerves, Gwen took a drink of her soda.

  “What about the children who’ve been abducted and forced to join your movement?”

  "We don't force people to join us," he answered. "Many of these young boys and girls are orphans and outcasts. We offer them food, clothing, and shelter so they join us voluntarily.”

  “So you’re providing a humanitarian need.”

  His eyes narrowed, “Tell me, Miss Jacobs, do I really look like the big bad wolf people are making me out to be?”

  She ignored his question and came back with one of her own. “You speak English very well. Were you schooled abroad?”

  “Yes. Britain, mostly. I’ve also spent time in the U.S.”