The Somali Deception (Cameron Kincaid Book 2)

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  An array of dishes had been prepared in the main house and then brought to the large table on the cottage veranda. Bowls of fresh fruits and platters of vegetables orbited a large centerpiece tray that held a mixed grill of lamb, beef, and chicken smothered in long green beans.

  Though there were only four men eating, there was enough food for eight.

  Alastair grinned at Cameron and then said, “I think you will find the cuisine sufficient.”

  “This spread is a feast,” said Cameron.

  “Well, cook does a fine job regardless. Yet when he heard he was preparing for the Dragon Chef, he may have gone a bit overboard.”

  “You told him the Dragon Chef was coming?” asked Cameron.

  Alastair stared deeply into Cameron’s eyes and held his face straight until Pepe, for the first time since arriving from New York, became his usual jovial self with a blurt of laughter.

  “Are you daft?” asked Alastair. “If I told him such a thing the entire staff would be running for the hills.”

  Ari took a seat at the table, “They would have been expecting a giant Komodo lizard man, I would imagine.”

  Cameron slightly frowned and let his cheeks pucker as he sat, “What is this in these little glass jars?”

  Beside each plate was a small jar filled with a mix of what appeared to be diced apples and vegetables.

  “That is a house specialty, spiced courgette chutney,” said Alastair.

  “Really? Courgettes?” asked Cameron.

  “Courgettes, tomatoes, onions, garlic, and ginger with a mix of brown sugar and spices. I figured this would get your attention.”

  “This is good,” said Pepe, already sampling a jar.

  Ari offered to pour the wine. “I think you will find the wine to your liking as well,” he said. He filled the glasses in front of the four, all now seated. “The vines grow not far from here. Though you probably do not want too much for now.”

  Pepe raised his brow, “Well, we do not want too little.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Alastair. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” the other three echoed as they touched their glasses together.

  The toast was more than a mere token. Though Cameron had just met Ari, he knew he was kin to him. They were all kin, the four men at the table. They were brothers-in-arms, veterans of the hidden and silent shadow wars that were the true commerce of government.

  Ari had his training in the Israeli forces, then later Mossad. The other three men were at one time Legionnaire super commandos, and later served clandestine as well. Cameron was not alone in Corsica, home of the Second Foreign Parachute Regiment. Alastair and Pepe were members of the special elite unit as well, the elite of the elite. The training that almost killed Cameron, had exacted the same toll on the other two, and the three were among the few to land a Dragon badge, the badge of a commando. The Green Dragons at this table were part of the same team; they had gone from being the tip of the fighting spear on the battlefield to global undercover operations, from the cites of the new fallen eastern bloc to the newly democratized Mongolia.

  A little wine was good.

  Regardless of their native born nationalities, being in the French Foreign Legion meant they could easily pass the hours with drink. For a brief time, Pepe was smiling, eating, and drinking, and as the tangerine bush of Laikipia, extending from the veranda out to the horizon, began to give way to darker hues of rust, and the cotton white clouds creamed to vanilla, then gold, Cameron could almost forget why they had traveled to Kenya. They could be in Laikipia merely to see their old brother-in-arms once again. Yet as the evening waned, Cameron could see that if a pause lagged too long between a story or a joke, the corners of Pepe’s face would begin to drop. They would not be going in anytime soon to earn the rest they needed for the mission to come, rather they would fortify their friend. Each time there was a gap, Cameron was alert to fill the space. That is, if Alastair, also sensitive to the pain behind Pepe’s veil, did not fill the void first.

  Alastair was the one to finally lure them from the table, before a fall of silence could imminently take hold. Terry, a tall Maasai in the shirtless garb of the local Laikipiak people, came onto the veranda to clear the last of the platters. Only Alastair took note of Terry’s soft glance away from the table.

  “What is it, Terry?” asked Alastair.

  In a nonchalant manner, Terry answered, “She’s back.”

  Alastair stood from his chair and then peered hard out past the acacia trees at the far end of the cottage.

  “Oh, you fellas will love this,” said Alastair. From inside the French doors he grabbed a pair of binoculars from the side table, and then headed to the edge of the deck. The other three remained in their seats.

  “Well, c’mon then,” said Alastair to the other three, already scanning the acacias with his binoculars.

  Cameron and Pepe joined Alastair by his side. Ari stayed behind them. Alastair fixed the binoculars on a point past the last tree, then handed the glasses to Pepe.

  “What do ya think?” asked Alastair.

  “She’s beautiful,” said Pepe, and then shared the binoculars with Cameron.

  Lurking slowly through the brush beneath the tree was a leopard.

  “What is she doing out this early?” asked Cameron.

  “She is moving closer to where she will want to hunt tonight. Now she will rest,” said Alastair.

  “We should do the same,” said Pepe. “In a short time we must go.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 12

  Laikipia Plateau

  Alastair leaned forward to scan the inky darkness.

  “We’re close now,” said Alastair.

  “And there it is,” said Ari.

  To the southwest of their position, Cameron saw the spent phosphorus cartridge of a flare-gun arc up and then burst high in the air. Ari piloted the helicopter toward where the flare had ignited. As they approached, first one, two, then three bright green fluorescent dots appeared below, forming a triangle. Ari landed the helicopter in the middle of the makeshift landing zone.

  “I’m going to power down to save fuel,” said Ari, flipping a series of switches that cut power to the rotors.

  “Most pilots like hot action,” said Cameron. “To keep the equipment running for efficiency.”

  “I told you,” said Ari, “This is an AS 350. This little squirrel will start cold every time.”

  The last few interior lights flicked off and the cabin flooded with the green glow of the fluorescent signal sticks that surrounded the helicopter. Cameron unplugged the headset from the jack above and slipped the Bose from his head. He opened his mouth and worked his jaw side to side to ease the pressure on his ears.

  “Let’s hit it,” said Alastair, disappearing from his seat into the night. Abruptly, he stuck his head back into the copter. “Oh, careful of the wait-a-bit trees.”

  “Wait-a-bit trees?” asked Pepe.

  “Acacia with thorns like cats claws. They grab you then you have to wait-a-bit to get free.”

  “Ah.”

  Alastair pulled his head back into the night.

  The other three men exited the copter, the darkness surrounding the makeshift-landing zone chirping to an incessant beat.

  “All alone in the wild,” said Pepe.

  “I assure you, we’re far from alone,” said Alastair. “If you had your infrared specs on you would see we’re standing in the middle of a crowd.”

  On cue, a hyena cackled in the night. Then, in front of the copter, at the edge of the landing zone, a flashlight switched on. Alastair held his hand up over his eyes.

  “Christ, mate, watch it with the torch.”

  The beam lowered.

  “Sorry about that,” a deep voice said from behind the light. “This way.” The accent was Dutch. The man was Afrikaner.

  “Just a minute, boys,” said Alastair. He and Ari each switched on their own flashlights. “Here’s a torch for each of you,” said Ala
stair. Under his beam, he held two mini Maglites.

  Cameron and Pepe took the Maglites, twisted them on, then all four men walked toward the deep voiced man.

  Cameron had initially thought the man was holding his light at his shoulder. Then Cameron stepped behind the giant and briefly shined his beam the length of the man. In the dark, Cameron could not gauge the true height of the man.

  Pepe whispered into Cameron’s ear, “Two meters, and maybe five centimeters.”

  “Close,” said the deep voice. “Two meters, ten centimeters.”

  “That’s Dakarai,” said Alastair. “We call him Charlie.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Dakarai, without turning back.

  “And you,” said Pepe.

  Away from the green fluorescence, their eyes adjusted quickly. The beam of Dakarai’s light ahead, cut with his tree high silhouette, rendered their beams unnecessary. The chatter of the wild heightened and lowered as they made their way through the black. A bright celestial blanket, pulled taut to the horizons, surrounded them. The distant mountains tore into the stars and every few steps, branches of the wait-a-bits rose from the brush, cutting into the night sky.

  Ten minutes from where Ari had landed the helicopter, the group entered a flattened circle of gravel that somewhat glowed against the night. Even in the darkness, the area appeared to be a landscaped oasis in the middle of the bush, clear with the exception of two small dark structures on opposing sides of the clearing, silent sentinels, not quite the size of proper toolsheds, each barely larger than a phone booth. Dakarai led them to the dark pillar to their right. The terrain of the gravel crunched differently than the sandy red soil they had been hiking through. Not until Dakarai cracked the door did Cameron first hear the tinny resonation of electric guitar riffs. The sound came from a bowel too deep for so small of a structure. The weathered wooden door opened to a small room that revealed the lemon lit outline of a second door. Cameron thought of the TARDIS, a machine that carried Doctor Who, the television time lord, through time and space, a machine that looked like a small phone booth on the outside yet was paradoxically larger within.

  Cameron realized where they were going and it was confirmed when Dakarai opened the second door to reveal a shielded room no larger than a broom closet. Illuminating the space was a clear glass bulb dangling from the top of the closet at the end of a rugged insulated wire. The dim filament burned lemon yellow. The wire was staple tacked to the back wall, leading down to another bulb, and then another below the floor where they stood, deep into the ground.

  Dakarai took hold of the rungs of a metal ladder fastened to the left sidewall of the closet, then swung inside. “Close the doors on the way down,” he said as he glanced down at his feet and then dropped out of sight.

  “Really?” said Pepe.

  “You are going to love this,” said Alastair. “Go ahead.”

  “You’re going to love this,” said Pepe, his face scrunched. “You use that phrase too often, I think.” Then in a lower voice, “Qui est telle connerie.”

  Pepe took hold of the rung and leaned over the shaft. He saw Dakarai still sliding several meters below. Pepe lifted his head, “Oh.”

  “Do it,” urged Alastair.

  Cameron slapped Pepe on the back, “You weigh enough, you’ll drop fast.”

  “So funny, you two. See you in a moment,” said Pepe, and then he too swung himself onto the ladder rung and let himself disappear into the depths below.

  Cameron and the others followed Pepe down the shaft that led to a large music-filled tunnel space meters below the surface. More of the insulated wire was strung in a wide mesh across the naked rock ceiling and walls of the tunnel. Rows of tables, workstations setup at many of them, filled the center of the cave. On the far side of the space, next to a freight lift that led up to the other structure in the clearing above, were uniformly stacked pallets of crates.

  The music was coming from a console system to their right, set up in a small makeshift entertainment enclave that included leather chairs, a sofa, and a large flat panel that was silently screening a zombie movie. Funnily enough, the images on the screen were aligned with the rough electric guitar blaring out of the oddly out of place tall pyramid speakers. To their left was a kitchenette with a microwave, mini-fridge, portable range, and espresso machine. The back of the tunnel narrowed to a passage that led further into the earth.

  At one of the tables, a man with thick magnifier goggles was hunched under an engineer desk lamp, the variety with several joints and springs for precise managed maneuverability. The goggled man was working meticulously on a clamped electronic device. Another man in a safari vest was hovering closely above the first, inspecting the work. Dakarai was at the kitchenette pouring water from a bottle fountain. An air bubble traveled up through the bottle producing a loud glug. The hovering man raised his head toward Dakarai, still almost cheek to cheek with the man working beside him.

  “Oh, good. You’re back,” the man in the safari vest barked, a breath from the ear of the other.

  “Really,” exclaimed the goggled man, and he jabbed his elbows up to his sides.

  “Sorry,” scowled Safari as he eased back from the table. He then turned his attention to the group at the entrance, “You made it from the States. You must be exhausted. How about a little pick up, eh? Arabica, grown local.” Safari gestured to the espresso machine then began to move toward the kitchenette.

  “Cameron, Pepe,” said Alastair, “this is Isaac and at the table is Ezekiel.”

  “Pleasure,” said Isaac, “and he likes to be called ‘Eazy’. Being so relaxed and all.”

  Eazy again raised his hands from his work, this time to acknowledge the group. Without removing his magnified goggles he spoke, “Hello, sorry. The pleasure is mine Pepe and... uh.”

  “Cameron,” said Cameron, “a pleasure,”

  “I’m sure,” said Eazy, already back to his work.

  “Excuse him. He went ahead and armed that thing and now the timer is not functioning the way he wants,” said Isaac.

  “That device is armed?” asked Pepe. He craned his neck to see if he could identify what Eazy was working on.

  “I told him the thing was not ready and he still went ahead and armed it.”

  “I unarmed it,” said Eazy, intently focused on the small screwdriver and pliers in his hand.

  Isaac raised his voice, “I was standing right next to you. You did not unarm it.”

  “There, the timer is fixed, and I did too unarm it. See right here,” said Eazy, and then he paused and leaned in, “You are right. The thing is armed.”

  “I told you. I was standing next to you.”

  “Yes, here we go. I forgot I had to rearm the device in order to disengage and then reengage the timer. All better now.”

  Cameron and Pepe shared an intent glance with Alastair and then shifted their concerned gaze to Isaac. Isaac looked back blankly.

  “You know we are messing with you,” said Isaac. He, Eazy, Alastair, and Dakarai all began to laugh, Ari merely grinned.

  Cameron and Pepe collectively sighed.

  Cameron glanced at Alastair. “They do this often?”

  “Any chance they get,” said Alastair. “Isaac and Easy are also former Mossad. Their expertise is demolition.”

  “I get that,” said Pepe. “They have what we need?”

  “We will hook you up,” said Eazy.

  “We are more than happy to do so,” said Isaac.

  “I would love to have some of that coffee you offered,” said Cameron.

  “Me as well,” said Pepe. “Though now I am feeling quite awake.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 13

  Laikipia Plateau

  The group had moved into a large canvas tent in another section of the tunnel. The tent created a sense that they could be anywhere other than below the earth in the abandoned mine turned bunker. They sat along one side of a table that held current weather charts and a paper mode
l of a seaside compound. Before them, a large physical map of the Somali and Kenyan coast hung on the wall, draped with a plastic overlay. The southern Somali coast was heavily marked with coordinates, circles, and crosses in red and black colored pen. The Indian Ocean portion of the map along the right side was plated with several satellite images of the target area terrain and close-ups of the buildings from the compound modeled on the table. On the left side of the map were photographs of the Kalinihta, her crew, Nikos, and Christine.

  Cameron recognized the photo of Christine. The image was from a magazine advertisement she had appeared in a few years before for Estée Lauder. Her face had been cropped and enlarged to fill the photo. There were eight pairs of eyes on the wall next to Christine’s yet Cameron was drawn to her’s alone.

  “They call this the Tactical Center,” said Alastair.

  “I can see why,” said Cameron.

  Isaac raised himself from the table and approached the map. “I have to tell you that when Alastair rang us, we were happy to jump on board even before we knew the meat of the situation. We want to see those pirates—and this is, of course, whom we are talking about—gone in general.” Isaac placed his hands on his hips and peered directly at the map of the Somali coast, studying something that the others in the room could not see. “There have been far too many rumors that Israel is funding the pirates, rumors that say Israel is attempting to secure a presence in the Gulf of Aden.” Isaac’s voice softened, “Ridiculous, the CIA knows a lot of the ransom money has changed hands in Lebanon.”

  “We’re not here for the politics,” said Cameron, his voice elevated.

  “Fair enough,” said Isaac, and he spun back toward the table. “Let us tell you how we can help you. As I was saying, we were happy to jump on board right away. As you are aware, the Kalinihta,” Isaac gestured to the photograph of the yacht, “is owned by billionaire Demetrius Stratos and as Alastair told you, he has already secured substantial funding for our operation.”