Chapter 1

The heat of the Haitian summer hit the American woman as soon as the plane doorway was opened. As she stepped out onto the top of the airplane steps it wasn't just the heat but the dust that assailed her. Desperately she tried to fan this away and have a look around. At the foot of the steps was a gaggle of people awaiting her. She was pleased to see at least two TV cameras. This aid effort she was headlining needed all the publicity it could garner.

She looked around the rest of the airport. For an international airport that was supposed to be the entry point for masses of humanitarian aid it was surprising how quiet things were. Near the terminal building there was a stack of containers clearly marked with US Aid markings. They were mostly covered by pieces of tarpaulin that flapped lazily in the slight breeze. From the dust and grime this stack appeared to have lain there for a long time.

Well never mind. Perhaps her efforts would have a more positive effect on these poor people.

Putting on her best actress smile she descended the steps. At the foot of the steps waited a gaggle of people. She recognised the be-spectacled white man moving to greet her – Adam Nethercourt, the UNHCR representative.

"How nice to meet you, Miss", he had started to say.

"OHMYGOD! Jennifer Love Hewitt!" shrieked an American female voice suddenly, "I'm like one of your biggest fans! I loved you in that TV thing and those films you made! Did you do underwear commercials? And like WOW! You're really here!"

Jennifer looked to see a twenty-something blonde-haired woman shoving a microphone into her face. She smiled politely and was about to reply, but the garrulous woman shrieked again.

"WOW! So what brings you to this fleapit? Get me in shot dammit! (this to a black man pointing a TV camera in the general direction) Ya dumb ape! Jeez! No wonder this Goddamn country's in the shit, eh Jenny?"

"Thank you, Miss Freeman," spat Nethercourt as he brusquely pushed the squawking woman back, "But Miss Hewitt has had a long flight and we need to get her to the hotel."

"Hey! OK!" replied the newshound, "Perhaps later, eh Jenny? I'd love to do an interview. Perhaps hear about who is squeezing those big melons these days?"

With an angry look Nethercourt took Jennifer's arm and guided into a waiting 4x4. Some other people jumped in and then they sped off.

"Ghastly woman!" muttered Nethercourt as he wiped his sweaty brow.

"Who is she?"

"Debbie Freeman. Working freelance. Typical journalist blood-sucker who is only here to get pictures of human misery. 'Disaster porn' they call it."

"If she keeps the world informed about the plight of the people here, then perhaps we can tolerate her," said a deep voice.

The speaker was sat opposite Jennifer. A powerfully built black man with greying temple and twinkling eyes.

"Oh yes," started Nethercourt, "Let me introduce Mr Touissant. He is our liaison with what passes for the Haitian government."

"So nice to meet you Miss Hewitt," said Touissant, smiling.

Jennifer responded politely again, but shifted uneasily in her seat. She knew when she was been ogled. And Touissant was leering at her in such a way that she was surprised he wasn't drooling. The decision to wear a cotton blouse with a low-cut top had seemed sensible given the hot climate. But now Jennifer was conscious that her fabulous cleavage was on public display – and Touissant was revelling in the view.

The 4x4 sped thru the city of Port-au-Prince. The presidential palace looked to Jennifer like a big wedding cake that had been dropped on the floor. Other buildings were simply mounds of rubble.

The hotel was still intact, though thanks to the quake had gone from chic to shabby chic.

Nethercourt groaned as he saw Debbie Freeman bouncing towards them.

"HI there! Remember me!" she gushed as she pushed her way forward and locked arms with Jennifer.

They all entered the dusty hotel lobby as Debbie prattled on.

"Y'know a lot of us American girls came here before the quake. Looking to sample the local wildlife, if you catch my drift!" (this was accompanied by crude hip thrusting)

Jennifer was offended by this, as she was by the very thought of sex tourism.

"Miss Freeman!" laughed Touissant, "I'm convinced you think all us Haitians are just jungle gorillas!"

The laugh was loud – too loud to be genuine.

Thankfully Jennifer soon found herself alone in her hotel room. It was now early evening and Jennifer had had a tiring flight. She decided to turn in early.

Her bed-time preparations were interrupted by a knock at the door. Cautiously she opened to see Nethercourt standing there.

"By the way Miss Hewitt, " he said, I forgot to mention that it might be better not to wander around on your own. Haiti and this city in particular can be a dangerous place. Especially for a lone white woman."

Jennifer assured him that she was not a fool and lived in Los Angeles.

"D'you recall the driver today? Well, he's called McGregor and he is your bodyguard. He's in a room down this corridor."

Jennifer tried to picture the man. White. Short-cropped hair. Powerful neck. Sunglasses. Now she thought about it, he looked exactly like an ex-military bodyguard.

Despite her tiredness the night was interminable for Jennifer. Even for a girl from Texas the heat was oppressive. She got up and went to the open window.

KRAK! KRAK! BOOM!

The succession of bangs came from the direction of the city centre. Jennifer strained to see where the noise had come from.

BANG! BANG! BUDDA-BUDDA!"

This second fusillade came from a different direction.

Screaming could now be heard. Then a brilliant flash of flame from over a mile off.

Concerned Jennifer rang the reception.

The male voice there chuckled.

"Don't yo be worrying, Missy," cam the smooth response, "Dat's just some bad-ass dudes having fun. Happens all the time round these parts."