The Road to Masiaka

[Lawrence Monday]

Zander snapped a picture of the (correct) blonde this time and frantically searched for her identity. It didn't take long. Moments later, he was tapping Lawrence on the arm.

Laurie looked up.

"That's Natalie Northbrook-Grey. The daughter of-"


"-of Alistair Grey,"
she cut him off, expression grown interested. "And granddaughter of Edward Northbrook, Patron of DVII. How fascinating."


Her intern mumbled his awe, but they both heard the commotion rising behind them. Jacques Danjou had graced them with his presence.

She hadn't needed to research him long to gather what sort of person he was. First and foremost, he was famous for being a businessman. The recent deal with the CCD being case in point, and assuming the money was already paid for services rendered, really it was the CCD funding this charity expedition in Sierra Leone. Given that the CCD's interests in the mining market was in fierce competition with the Chinese and Americans, there had to be more to the story than any of them was letting on.

He glad-handled Temne leaders for a few moments before crossing to give his statement. Laurie watched him closely for signs of favoritism or lingering around any given person.
"Jacques to her rescue,"
she murmured, one last glance at Natalie. "It seems we'll have to find miss Northbrook after."
Maybe Jacques was her knight in shining armor after all? They returned to the press station, Laurie pushing her way through to the front like a fiery dart cutting through the night. Zanders was left to keep an eye on Natalie, meanwhile. He'd do more following her around than anything else. Laurie had her camera rolling and satellite feed active. All she needed to handle Jacques was a sharp wit and a clever smile.

And maybe a bit more elbow room.

[Natalie Grey]

Azubuike had clearly trusted to the surface of the conversation; the expression on his face made it plain he had been expecting questions about his school, and was now uncomfortable with the accusatory turn of things. He knew who Natalie was, in as much as she was the granddaughter of someone important within the CCD. But they'd never addressed it; had never had the need. The way his brows began a slow narrowing over his eyes she suspected he was about to rally a defence on her behalf, so she cut in before he could.

"Take a look around you. A good look, Mr. Wilson. Is that really the question you wish to ask of me?"
She paused a breath, but not to give him the opportunity to make amends, just to let the reprimand bite. He chased a scandal in the midst of a tragedy, and she made no bones of her cold distaste for his choice. "You've noted, I'm sure, that Legion Première and the Red Cross have worked together before. If you are too shy to ask my mother of her involvement directly, perhaps you might instead pose your question to Mr. Danjou himself."
She made a vague gesture that accounted for a cool dismissal, pointing out where the press began to gather, and turned her back.

He wasn't wrong. She'd known the moment she'd clapped eyes on the legion's men that her mother had indeed paid for her safety, and she did not care whether it tarnished her family's name that she did not outright denounce the accusations. The risks her mother had taken did not soften her towards protecting the woman's interests, even though she'd probably have been dead without them. A man like Wilson would not get anywhere close to questioning Eleanor Northbrook anyway, as well he probably knew. If he tried, he would be squashed under heel. Her family was well versed in protecting its reputation.

Of his luck with Jacques Danjou she could not say, but she hoped he fared poorly. She did not like him.

Azu grumbled something low in his throat as the man left, but did not speak his obvious dislike for the American reporter's blatant disregard of his people. He thought too well of others to be so wounded from the rudeness, but such was the boundless compassion that had made him a successful teacher. Arms folded, Natalie stared passed him to where Jacques had emerged to the ardent furore of circling press. A moment later she was aware of Jay at her shoulder.

"Why wouldn't I? That french accent, you know."
It was a dry tease. She glanced up, the bare hint of a smirk on her lips. The reporter had put an edge on her frustration, and she was not done making Jay pay for running out of her room at the embassy. Or making her chase him. Her sharp humour sparked like dry kindling, ignited by the conspiratorial slide of his eyebrows behind those damn glasses. "I've plenty I'd rather be doing, but don't encourage me to mischief. I swear to pay you back ten-fold if I get in trouble for it."
She could only see the warped image of her own reflection staring down at her, so her pale gaze only held a moment before it slipped away. But the smirk remained. She wondered how easy it would be to make a soldier blush.

He was right, though; the camp hearkened to Jacques call, casting oblivion on everything else. Natalie considered her position carefully. She was powerless here, whether other eyes watched her or not. The sense of her gift was locked from reach, though she felt it pulse almost in recognition of her need to do something. What aid even it could offer to such grim circumstances she did not know, but it gave her at least a little confidence.

Azu moved to place a brief hand on her shoulder. "I wish to hear this. I will see you later, Natalie. Before you go."
His fingers squeezed comfort before he released her, nodded to Jay, then moved on. She watched him leave, fighting off a sense of loss at the brevity of their reunion. He was a good man; too good for the harsh life dealt him. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come here; the longer she stayed, the more she saw, the deeper roots of protection dived beneath the soil. Nothing would happen while Jacques was here, of that she held at least a little faith. It was after they had gone that worried her.

Rather than indulge her silent concerns, she spoke. <strong>"If Danjou wanted to move about unknown, he could, I assume. And if he'd wanted to entertain the press, he could have done so in Freetown. He's chosen the stage, Jay. A stage full of Temne refugees. What do you think it is he wants all those journalists to see?"
</strong>

[Jay Carpenter]

Jay grinned at her tease. "Damn french."
That bare smirk sent chills down his back. And it was a hundred degrees outside.

He leaned inward as she looked away. "I'll take that bet,"
he whispered like it was another man making the promise, but quickly diverted his attention elsewhere, innocent of having uttered a single word.

In all actuality, he wasn't watching Danjou at all until Natalie posed her question, and Jay's face slowly turned that way. Behind the rim of his aviators, his brows pinched in a frown. A question like hers was dangerous. Soldiers don't ask why. They don't question their orders and they definitely don't undermine their commanders' motivations.

Once Jay realized he'd crossed his arms, he didn't disentangle them. "You don't trust him? He saved your life."
Jay semi-shrugged. Actually, Danjou had nothing to do with the actual mission except order it. On the promise of a paycheck, true. But Jay didn't like to make those kinds of distinctions. Danjou was different. More than the typical merc commander. He had a heart. A mission.

So why was he suddenly so worried?


Edited by Jay Carpenter, Nov 30 2014, 08:05 PM.

[Jacques]

Many of the camp's refugees gathered to listen to the pending interview, but they were kept out of the way of the reporters by a few of the Legionnaires, those still nursing bruises from the angry mob they had plucked the Red Cross workers from when the school had been attacked. The remainder, even those who were off shift at the moment, had dragged themselves from their scarce naps to stand guard. It gave the facility a false air of security; almost two dozen armed and uniformed men made up the Legion's presence, but more then half those had been part of Jacques' escort.

The locally employed auxiliaries, another twenty Sierra Leonean men, were enjoying the break they were given to check on their families that were in the camp or to listen to the interview. They weren't Legionnaires, but some took to the lifestyle more then they did to the paycheck. Enough so to at least be interested in seeing the man that signed those checks in person.

For most in the camp, Jacques presence, and that of the reporters, rose no warning signs. It was a sign of hope that the world would take notice, and help and security would be quick in coming.

Jacques waited patiently for the few reporters to gather, seemingly at ease, calmly surveying the gathering through the tinted lense of his Landwarriors. None could see the various displays and reports feeding across the screens. A map of western Africa, showing the progress of the over-land supply convoy. Expense and acquisition reports from the home office in Casablanca. There was even a fresh surge of applications to join the company within an hour of the Legion's press release about the Battle of Jeddah.

Markers indicated the positions of his men in the country. A half dozen tiny dots, the largest of which was in Freetown. Other markers tracked reports of attacks by Guinean gangs, some flagged with intel briefs on which warlords were suspected to be behind the attacks. Other flags marked worrying reports. With the collapse of civil infrastructure, issues were already starting to pop up. Disease, power outages, water shortages.

Sierra Leone had never been a terribly modernized country to begin with, but in light of the recent conflict what infrastructure that had existed was already falling apart. The economy would be quick to follow; with all the foreign investors pulling out of the country, they took their foreign money with them. Jobs were lost. As the fighting continued, people would not be working in many regions. That would continue the downward spiral. Borders would be closed, meaning fewer imports, which meant less food to go around.

The farther Sierra Leone fell, the more the spread of power of the Guinean warlords. And the bolder Liberia would grow. He had no doubts over the build-up of troops on the border there. And his men at the home-office had caught wind of Liberian money fed into the coffers of some companies that fancied themselves Legion Premiere's competition. Reports were already coming in of men in Sierra Leonean uniforms attacking villages in the south-east, near the Liberian border. And he had no doubt that those men were not, nor ever had been, Sierra Leonean military.

And most importantly, the recent news of another half dozen or so Sierra Leonean elected politicians that had died during the night. Of the 112 elected members of the House of Representatives, over half were dead, missing, or fled to foreign countries. Which meant, by law, the elected government was no longer capable of functioning. Which was exactly what General Wallace-Johnson wanted.

Lt Kamenashi's scouts, hidden in the dense jungle along the road that led to the Chinese-built refinery, flagged a live feed to the Legion's command net. Legion officers had limited access to the information there, and of course Jacques could peruse it as he needed. Two large military trucks loaded to the brim with Sierra Leonean soldiers, a full platoon at least, all sporting the unit patches of General Wallace-Johnson's division. They were barely twenty minutes out.

And while sifting through all that information, Jacques' plan began was forming. Notes were made, contingencies plotted. Orders sent to the home-office to begin the prep work on their end.

When the reporters were finally ready, Jacques calmly plucked the Landwarriors from his face and tucked them into a loop on his vest, and flashed his usual charming smile. "Bonjour, Monsieur Jackson, Wilson. Mademoiselle Monday. For once, I believe I have little to say. Shocking, I am sure."
He smiled warmly, and looked between the three gathered reporters.

"Our official press release in regards to the Battle of Jeddah, and my company's current stance to assist in humanitarian goals in Sierra Leone, still stand. So long as the legally elected government of Sierra Leone continues to stand, my men and I shall do what we can to assist when and where we can. However, it should be remembered that we are not contracted by, nor have we been formally approached by, the elected government to aid in Sierra Leone's internal politics. Of course, should they ask, Legion Premiere shall give them our full cooperation. The Legion shall not rest until this country knows peace once more."


He glanced briefly to some of his men as they began moving the convoy's vehicles around the refinery to line them up with the gate once more. His duties in Freetown could only be held off so long, after all. "Now, I have a few minutes to spare for your questions."


Adisa Jackson claimed the home-turf advantage, and the first few questions. They were straight forward enough; the Legion's financial interests in Sierra Leone, and confirmation of reports of armed conflict between Legionnaires and General Katlego's rebels. Next was Jared Wilson, mostly because he was the next to speak. The man was full of pointedly barbed questions about the CCD, but even the man's blatant anti-Custody agenda wasn't enough to prick Jacques' irritation.

It finally came to Lawrence's chance to ask her questions, and Jacques turned to her, and nodded slightly for her to ask away.

[Lawrence Monday]

Zanders leaned against the building along a tiny sliver of shade. He had his Wallet out, screen minimal sized for privacy, and frantically catching up on all things Natalie Northbrook-Grey. He even managed to snap pictures of her male companions, the Sierra Leoneon that had just left, and the Legionnaire that stuck around just in case something interesting came up about either man. So far, nothing had.

***

Lawrence by far had the best device to follow Jacques' interview. Really, her one handheld device, and matching sunglasses, were no comparison to the poor Sierra Leoneon reporter's. Jared Wilson had no excuse, other than working for a terrible network back in the States. Laurie almost felt bad for him. She might have ended up the same way if she hadn't gotten lucky with the Monday Margin.

She turned on the microphone and made sure the recording was going as Jaques officially began fielding questions. Laurie had a habit of keeping her camera on at all times, especially when interesting things might pop up at unusual opportunities. The lens was on the curve of her sunglasses, so the point of view was perfectly square with her handsome target's face.

He was a good looking one at that. Back home, he'd have a huge following, then again, if he was American, he'd no longer have that darling french accent. But she had a feeling he would be the same charming, debonair aura about him.

Adisa and Jared asked all the typical questions. She counted on them to do so, too. But her inner-tabloid seeker wanted to know more. Like, why were they all the way out here in the suburbs?

He signaled it was her turn, and Lawrence flashed him a big grin. You're going to hate me, it said.

"Maybe half a dozen Legionnaires were on these grounds before you arrived. It's a camp for refugees, so it needs the Legion's presence, certainly. But why did the CEO of Legion Premiere take so many hours out of his day to journey to the edge of Freetown just to hold a press gathering... and with only three reporters? What with the deaths in Dominance V still fresh on your mind, certainly you're not out sight-seeing. So what's special about this school?"

[Jacques]

Jacques was quiet for a moment, studying this Lawrence Monday. Americans. They were, almost universally, so confident of themselves and their own view of the world. They could never see the motivations of others as anything but a cover for some nefarious goal. A paranoia that had been brewed during the Cold War and had only worsened with the economic collapse of recent decades. It was not a universal problem; the Americans in his company were not held by such narrow views, after all.

"In truth, Mademoiselle Monday, I had hoped not to be entertaining any reporters today. Perhaps I am not as clever as I like to think, but I hadn't expected General Wallace-Johnson to be letting you folks out, at least until the military had secured more of the area."
He smiled softly, and looked towards his men, standing vigilant and staring outwards from the walls of the refinery.

"I came here for two reasons. We are not a large company, Mademoiselle Grey. It is a rare thing that two of my men might pass in a hallway and not know each other. In many senses, we are a family. My men have lost many of their brothers in Dominance V. And now they are embroiled deeply in another terrible conflict, in isolated camps. Travel is not safe, and this is not America, or the Custody. Modern conveniences, such as helicopters, are not at my disposal. As much as these camps need protection, I simply have too few men at my disposal to assure they are safe. Hopefully, in time, government forces will be able to push out to these camps. The people of Sierra Leone are scattered and afraid, and it is my firm hope that the government will be able to step back into the void that has been created by the recent fighting."


The loss of so many of his men, even for a cause that could be seen as wholeheartedly good as Jeddah had provided, had affected him deeply, as much as he might have been trying to convince everyone to the contrary. That their bodies would likely never receive a proper burial in the Legion's graveyard in Casablanca, or near their families wherever they may have lived, was even harder to swallow.

"As for the other reason for me to be here today. I am a tool. I have been on the cover of magazines. My name has been seen on the front page of news papers all over the continent, these past few years. An archaic thing, I know, but I assure you we have embraced recycling. The loss of the Madagascar forests is a lesson hard learned, but it has been learned. The point, Mademoiselle Monday, is that where I go, people tend to pay attention. My undeservedly earned fame is something I shall use to draw awareness to people like those in this camp. These are parents who set aside ethnic and social pressures and age-old hatreds to see their children received a good education."


Jacques sighed quietly, glancing towards the last of the children as they disappeared into the wing of the refinery used by the Red Cross for their own offices, then looked to Lawrence again. "There are too few schools in Africa, and too much hatred. Hatred bred from poverty and disease and blood money. From a lack of education, or clean water, or jobs. And every time someone like those people there try to bring some hope, or better the lives of children, someone comes and kicks down the sandcastle."


"So there you are, Mademoiselle Monday. My reasons to be here are entirely selfish in nature."
It was about then that the sound of the approaching military trucks could be heard, and some of his men moved towards the closed gate. Legionnaires shifted their stances subtly, weapons held just a bit more intently then they had been moments before, and a few shared glances with each other, or towards their CEO.

The men of the Legion were among the best, but they held no foolish assumptions that they were immortal. Their two dozen, even bolstered with their auxiliary of Sierra Leonean men, would be hard pressed against the number of armed and experienced troops in the trucks that sat idling outside the gate.

Jacques glanced towards the commotion with a frown. It was the moment of truth. His men had, for the most part, been left in the dark of the approaching Sierra Leonean troops. In the dark of Jacques entire gamble. He was not so naive as to allow himself to entertain, even briefly, the possibility that the day would end peacefully for everyone involved. "Well. If you will all excuse me, I believe I am needed elsewhere."



Edited by Jacques, Dec 22 2014, 08:09 PM.

[Lawrence Monday]

With the sweet and innocent way Jacques said it, Laurie almost believed he had truly been trying to dodge the press. It was a legitimate story. General Wallace Johnson should have been blocking the traffic out of Freetown, but Laurie and Z managed to wave their magic wands and get around the blockades. As had, apparently, two of her peers. Adisa no doubt had the look of a shrewd reporter and probably knew her own magic tricks. Jared Wilson on the other hand was thicker than a tree trunk. How he managed to snake by Wallace-Johnson was a mystery.

As for the rest, it was more believeable. She looked around, "You're right. Legion Premiere is practically something out of the Dark Ages, but I imagine that the fees you charged Nikolai Brandon will cover at least a helicopter or three."
She was testing the waters with that guess. Nobody knew what the contract stipulated between the CCD and the Legion regarding money. And the Dark Ages gave Lawrence an idea about how to spin this story.

He seemed to have his heart in the right place being here, but Lawrence was cynical. "You've been on the cover of magazines, Mister Danjou. And this isn't the best place for a photo shoot... Actually. Maybe I could make your life a little easier. You need magazine covers that highlight your cause, not you. That's exactly the kind of thing the Monday Margin likes. Exclusive coverage of Jacques Danjou?"


The sound of trucks drew her around, just like everyone else. Lawrence didn't shirk away and neither did she tense, but she was alert. Far more than moments before.

[Jared Vanders]

Jared listened intently to Jacques speech. He was certainly better with the press than Jared was, but then again, Jacques was a businessman. The reporters asked what Jared thought seemed to be very standard questions. Except for Monday. Like she had with Jared, she suspected some ulterior motive. If Danjou did, hewas left in the dark.

The sound of approaching vehicles hit his mana infused hearing, causing Jared to perk up and becomemore alert. His sixth sense was tingling. Something was going to happen, he just didn't know what or why.

Jared felt the mana roaring in him, and he kept hold of it, just in case he needed it. His eyes turned to Danjou as the vehicles came close enough everyone to hear. He wouldn't reveal himself unless ordered or if he judged it necessary.

[Natalie Grey]

He was a juxtaposition; the formal soldier, but shot with something maddeningly playful. She liked that side better, but apparently he'd only allow her to catch glimpses of it in her peripheral.

"I trust to his good intentions. That's different, I suppose."
Actually, though Jay seemed to have read cynicism in her words, she'd only been musing the situation aloud. Danjou was a business man, a dangerous combination of shrewd and charming, very easy to trust. But she did not doubt for a moment that he had engineered the scene before them. Taken calculated risks. She could even hazard a guess as to why, but pulled herself wearily back from the ebb and flow of supposition.

Her father had taught her to ask why, to wonder everything. Natural as breathing, but not always a pleasant insight. His eccentricities had done him little good, either. Bitterness accented the ill feeling Wilson had left her with. A life she'd left behind. She turned away, the smirk of her expression dried up to something closer to a frown, before it erased itself completely. Jay's arms made a solid barrier across his chest, his gaze over her head to the media scavenge she was now eager to leave behind.

Danjou intended to raise Sierra Leone from the raging fires of war, to smother the flames, and give the country back to its people with the stability of peace. Noble. The deaths of his men in Jeddah had hurt him - she hadn't thought his grief feigned back at the embassy; he cared, she was convinced of that. But dedicated to a cause, willing to use all tools at his disposal. Including her. So let Jacques Danjou deal with the politics. Natalie's concerns were far narrower.

She was headed back to the Red Cross offices when the hum of engines vibrated across the camp, loud enough to draw general attention. A sliver of cool iced her veins. Trust, indeed. Her step didn't falter, but she did glance at Jay, face unreadable.

[Jay Carpenter]

Even with the sounds of approaching vehicles, the reporters nipped at Danjou's heels. All his senses were simultaneously on alert, and he cursed the Legion for not having the bankroll to issue everyone their own Warriors. The purpose of his glasses was only to block the sunlight, yet he raised a hand to his brow and peered closely along the wall.

Trucks rolled to the gate, but they did not so much as pause for the semblance of formality. The Legionnaires jumped out of the way lest they be ran down, but no orders to resist were issued, and the guests let themselves in.

Jay's assignment, Natalie, was walking away, and he cursed the feeling of being torn. He wanted to stay and see what happened. If these troops belonged to the renegade General, then they were likely to think Danjou's legion was theirs to order around by proximity to the capital. If Danjou decided he didn't want to be the General's bitch, then tensions would escalate quickly.

Dammit. He spun on a heel and caught up with Natalie quickly as he could while still yet attempting to hide the limp. Wallace-Johnson was definitely not above ransoming her off.

They exchanged looks, Natalie's marble, and the set to Jay's jaw tightened. His hands waited alongside his leg as he walked, ready for anything.

Might as well try to make conversation like things weren't balanced on the edge of a knife. "Those are the people who you worked--er, work-- with since you've been here?"
He knew the answer already, but girls typically didn't respond well when they found out they'd been studied ahead of time.

Edited by Jay Carpenter, Dec 24 2014, 02:20 PM.