Authors: Ja'Nese Dixon
“Life is precious, dear, don’t you think?” he asked in a chilled tone that caused her blood to run ice cold through her veins. She clutched the phone to her ear, contemplating her next step. He was nearly a day away by flight.
What could he possibly do to her
?
Pushing her thoughts aside, she refused to let her mind answer the frightening question left hanging. Instead, she refocused on his successful attempt to scare her into submission.
“Yes, I know life is precious. However, I strongly doubt whether you do,” she responded.
Ashanta Kenani was a proud Angolan woman, but pride would not solve her dilemma. She sat in her small condo, alone, near the edge of her bed with her shoulders back in mock courage. He had a way of making her feel like a child, which usually meant her emotions would overrule her common sense. Her mind could not process the scene fast enough to register the threat lying behind his words.
Ashanta pulled the phone from her ear as if it were poisonous. His light-hearted laughter floated through the air. His cryptic influence had transformed her life into a living hell. She knew all too well that he could fool almost anybody with his good looks and charm - but not her; not anymore.
“Call it what you may, but, I promise you this, cross me and someone will die.”
The silence that followed caused her more concern than his threat.
“But,” he continued, sarcastically, “I doubt you will take my words seriously, with you being in the States and all. So let me send a message that translates well in
any
language. Would you hold for a minute dear? Someone wants to speak with you.”
Ashanta sprang to her feet and began to pace the floor.
Who could it be?
The passing seconds felt like hours. What had she gotten herself into? How would she get out of it? And, how many people where going to pay for her stupidity?
The muffled voices on the other end of the line caused her to lean closer into the phone, as if it would help her recognize his surprise guest. It helped. What she heard caused her eyes to burn as her determination melted into pure fear; then hatred.
“Don’t...don’t...!”
Ashanta held the phone in a death grip. She recognized her mother’s frail cries in the distance masked by the commotion of wrestling. Then the phone tumbled to the floor.
“Momma!” Ashanta screamed. She hoped her ears were failing her.
What was he doing with her mother
?
“Hello…” A strained voice seeped through the line.
“Momma…Momma, what are you doing there?” Ashanta shrieked.
“Ashanta? Baby, I’m scared—“
“Shut up! Either do as I say or you
will
lose more than your finger. Now, pick-up the phone and tell your daughter hello for us all.”
She cringed as every muscle in her body responded to his words.
“Don‘t! I promise...“ Ashanta wanted to show him that she would comply with his wishes. “I promise I will do whatever you want. Just leave my mother alone. Please...
please
don’t do this.”
Amidst the commotion, she could hear him laughing. The laughter was not one of mutual amusement, but of the devil-playing cat and mouse games. Unfortunately, she was the mouse…trapped.
Sling
. The sound of metal sliced through the air. Tears began to stream down Ashanta’s face.
“What was that? Answer me, damn it…Momma?” She screamed for her mother, for him, for anyone.
The line went dead.
Ashanta fell to the bed, crying.
Who
would pay? She heard the question ringing in her mind as she stared blankly at the phone now buzzing in her hand. She took several deep breaths, attempting to slow her racing heart. The answer was clear; her family would pay the price for her ambition. He would harm her mother, her father, and even her young sisters if it served his purpose. She now knew her naiveté and determination had sealed a deal with the devil.
“Talib, you son of a bitch, this is not over...!”
The buzzing of the digital clock signaled Camille Blackwell’s anniversary at International Jewelry Distribution Company, her faux employer and the source of one of the most challenging cases she had accepted since joining the Federal Bureau of Investigations six years ago.
Thank God, it’s Friday
, she thought, rolling onto her stomach and hiding her face underneath her pillow. She almost dreaded the day ahead. It would start early and end tonight with the office happy hour to celebrate her anniversary and latest promotion.
Camille pulled back the satin covered haven determined to end the obnoxious siren beckoning her to begin her day. She squinted, until the red, glowing numbers came into focus. It was 4:40 am. She grunted upon realizing she had hit snooze one time too many. Her morning routine was simple, but required that she start her day early. She would run for an hour and then spend some time reading the Houston Chronicle newspaper and browsing the Internet, hoping to find anything to close a case that seemed endless.
Camille grabbed her glasses off the nightstand and tossed back the covers, exposing her to the cool air. She placed her sock-covered feet into her slippers and plodded to the small corner desk. She started her computer before dragging to the kitchen to brew her morning coffee. She selected Southern Pecan coffee, her favorite, and mindlessly added the filter and ground flavored beans as she contemplated the state of the current case.
Camille was an undercover agent assigned to investigate the suspected illegal dealings between International Jewelry Distribution Company, or IJDC, and stateside trafficking of conflict diamonds. The Bureau suspected that one of IJDC’s key suppliers obtained its stones from diamond mines in South Africa. Her directives required that she observe company relations, identify the major suppliers, and form relationships within the company to determine whether they were in fact, obtaining their merchandise through illegal means.
Her degree in international business and minor in fashion merchandising made her the Bureau’s prime candidate to pose as an account representative responsible for purchasing precious stones. Initially, she welcomed the assignment away from DC and
him
. Now, she realized she enjoyed working at IJDC and for the first time, in a long time, her life seemed somewhat normal.
Her job as an agent required much of her time and when not on assignment, Camille spent her free time trying to stay connected with her family back home in Dallas. Since taking the assignment in Houston, she went to work and socialized, but what she thought would be an easy, four-month assignment soon became complicated. Her initial position did not provide the necessary access to internal records of wholesale accounts, which left her working double duty to prove herself to the Bureau and IJDC.
A significant change began six months ago when she had been promoted to senior account representative for International Accounts. She now had a few subordinates and things were beginning to look up. She only hoped she’d uncover something soon or she was sure Derek would remove her from the case.
Camille looked at the clock on her microwave. She needed to get a move on and start her run. She pressed the timer on the coffeemaker and dashed out of the kitchen to her bedroom to change out of her nightclothes. She adjusted an accent pillow as she passed the living room. Her furnishings closely resembled the crimson-colored sofa covered in velvety plush microfiber in her home back in DC. The Bureau had spared no expense to make her comfortable once they agreed she would invest more time on the case. The two-bedroom condo placed her in the heart of Houston and she was less than twenty minutes from nearly everything, including IJDC’s headquarters.
She quickly dressed in a sleeveless top and a black running skirt and then tamed her unruly, curly tresses into a ponytail. Camille locked the front door, securing her house keys and cell phone in the hidden pocket in the lining of her skirt. She powered up her heart rate monitor and started her stretching routine while scanning the street, noticing the normal unoccupied vehicles.
Camille positioned her earplugs in her ears and selected her favorite hip-hop playlist. She pressed play, heading north at a slow jog. She loved running. There was something about the burn in her muscles and the ability to exert power over her body, moving beyond her comfort zone.
This case was much like every other case she accepted. They challenged her aptitude to find the bad guys causing unknown harm to the country. For that she was proud, however, she paid a great cost for serving her country.
Camille slowed her pace as she approached a red signal light. Labeling her a hermit would be a compliment; she had no life. Her last intimate relationship ended months before she accepted the IJDC case. She had a few friends from college and a supportive family, but she limited her contact with them to minimize their potential exposure to her cases. The rest of her
friends
did not know her true identity, leaving her to live a lonely, isolated life.