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
“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
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