Fake News Part 2 ...Colluding With the Enemy

I had an opportunity to get the goods on Trump and if I did, it’d be the scoop of the century and set me up for life.

All I needed was for Tom Barossa, the producer of my nightly TV show, to open the vault for me so I could freely negotiate with my contact.

It took Tom less than an hour to get back to me. He basically gave me a blank check for whatever I needed to get the documents.

Two hours later my anonymous source contacted me and arranged a meeting at a deserted stretch of road under the Gardiner Expressway overpass.

I spent the rest of the afternoon browsing the Internet for exotic vacation spots—I owed myself that much.

A few minutes before eleven that night I parked my car in the designated spot and waited for my source to show up. I didn’t have to wait long.

A black Mercedes pulled in behind me and two men got out. I rolled down my window.

“Cole Knightly?” one of the men rasped. I nodded.

That was the last thing I remembered before waking up on a cot in a damp prison cell.

Where the hell am I?

My head was aching. There was no bruise or blood, but my neck felt sore.

My eyesight was blurry and I felt disoriented. I tried getting up, but the room began to spin, so I lay back down and stared at the plaster ceiling until the feeling of vertigo subsided.

Obviously, I walked right into a trap, but apart from that I had absolutely no idea who my assailants were or why I was being held hostage.

I rested for about fifteen minutes and waited until my vision cleared and the throbbing in my head subsided a bit. Then, I rolled over on my side and slowly sat up. Again I waited, stretching my arms and flexing my leg muscles until I was satisfied I could stand.

A small barred window about six feet off the ground was the only source of light. Using the wall for support, I made my way to the window and stood on tiptoe and peered out.

I saw a stretch of dark water illumined by a full moon that left a glittering track of diamonds beneath it.

Lake Ontario, I mused, but I had no idea about my precise location.

A tingle of fear coursed through me—what if I were the real target of the conspiracy and I was being kidnapped and held for ransom?

I struggled to catch my breath as the realization dawned on me.

My head was pounding again and waves of pain seemed in synch with the pulses of my heartbeat.

I was prone to panic attacks—no doubt the result of my chaotic lifestyle and temperament—but this time maybe I had gone too far.

It was one thing being an attack journalist harassing celebrities by digging up dirt on their personal lives, but trying to bring down the most powerful man in America?

What the hell was I thinking?

Maybe I had alienated one too many powerful person and now I wasn’t even sure if the network would go to bat for me and shell out millions to redeem my sorry butt.

My own words came back to haunt me—"the network execs like to balance risk- reward. Let them balance this—it will be Huge!”

© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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