07-29-2014, 08:28 PM
He finally fell off his high horse and sat down next to her. His arm pressed against hers. There was the faint aroma of work and sweat, not particularly distasteful. She didn't mind sharing her spot.
She draped her forearms across the top of bent knees, leaned her head against the box and closed her eyes while he went on and on. He's worse than Trano. She inwardly groaned.
He never gave her the chance to pose an answer. The roads should be flooded with refugees from the country towns and village spots. That there weren't meant one of three things: one, the refugees weren't fleeing anything after all - unlikely; two, the refugees were all already dead - possibly; or three, the refugees were blocked from reaching Freetown at all - also possibly.
Names, faces, and hundreds of facts she'd memorized about the local situation during the flight from Mecca blurred through her mind like a download. There were only a few situations that could see the latter-most option to fruition. The General that all but named himself acting President could reroute refugees from entering the city. But why? To keep the tensions high between the two ethnic groups? If Mende were still out there running around, that meant the Temne had people they could chase after. That kept the Temne busy while General Wallace-Johnson saw to other business. Maybe. Reed didn't care. The only thing she cared about was her mission: and that, ultimately, was to undermine the goals of certain corporations in the area. Corporations that funneled power back to their home nations. Enemy of your enemy is your friend, so the saying goes. Right now, Jacques Danjou was her new bestie.
"I do want to visit the Chinese Embassy, and I want to go with you."
She twisted her neck to face him while they continued to lounge in their little spot. The wall was too high to see over from where they sat. No other buildings loomed over them. If one winced, they might be able to pretend they sat under a blue sky on some deserted island somewhere. Assuming the city's sweltering scent of decay, blood and trash could be ignored.
"But I think you and I are more aligned than you realize. Way I see it, there are four big players in Sierra Leone and they're all running for that sparkly dirt as the trophy prize. The Americans, the Chinese, the Custody and Wallace Johnson. If one of them wins, the others all lose, but what if none of them win? The loss can be managed. The fall-out can be redirected. But if none of them wins, who does that leave us with?"
Her smile grew expectant as Reed poked him on the side of his arm. "Don't ask about my methods if you don't like them, but we can help each other here, Jacques. I really don't want to work against you. I'd come out ahead of course, but it'd be a bitch of a job to accomplish."
She wasn't really threatening him, but there was something sinisterly sincere in Reed's delivery. "I really don't."
She draped her forearms across the top of bent knees, leaned her head against the box and closed her eyes while he went on and on. He's worse than Trano. She inwardly groaned.
He never gave her the chance to pose an answer. The roads should be flooded with refugees from the country towns and village spots. That there weren't meant one of three things: one, the refugees weren't fleeing anything after all - unlikely; two, the refugees were all already dead - possibly; or three, the refugees were blocked from reaching Freetown at all - also possibly.
Names, faces, and hundreds of facts she'd memorized about the local situation during the flight from Mecca blurred through her mind like a download. There were only a few situations that could see the latter-most option to fruition. The General that all but named himself acting President could reroute refugees from entering the city. But why? To keep the tensions high between the two ethnic groups? If Mende were still out there running around, that meant the Temne had people they could chase after. That kept the Temne busy while General Wallace-Johnson saw to other business. Maybe. Reed didn't care. The only thing she cared about was her mission: and that, ultimately, was to undermine the goals of certain corporations in the area. Corporations that funneled power back to their home nations. Enemy of your enemy is your friend, so the saying goes. Right now, Jacques Danjou was her new bestie.
"I do want to visit the Chinese Embassy, and I want to go with you."
She twisted her neck to face him while they continued to lounge in their little spot. The wall was too high to see over from where they sat. No other buildings loomed over them. If one winced, they might be able to pretend they sat under a blue sky on some deserted island somewhere. Assuming the city's sweltering scent of decay, blood and trash could be ignored.
"But I think you and I are more aligned than you realize. Way I see it, there are four big players in Sierra Leone and they're all running for that sparkly dirt as the trophy prize. The Americans, the Chinese, the Custody and Wallace Johnson. If one of them wins, the others all lose, but what if none of them win? The loss can be managed. The fall-out can be redirected. But if none of them wins, who does that leave us with?"
Her smile grew expectant as Reed poked him on the side of his arm. "Don't ask about my methods if you don't like them, but we can help each other here, Jacques. I really don't want to work against you. I'd come out ahead of course, but it'd be a bitch of a job to accomplish."
She wasn't really threatening him, but there was something sinisterly sincere in Reed's delivery. "I really don't."