The Somali Deception (Cameron Kincaid Book 2)

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  The galley was empty.

  Cameron took in a breath and then burst around the corner of the hallway onto the four-step stairwell leading up to the pilothouse. The MP-5 leading, he steadily marched up the short steps, and when in contact squeezed the trigger twice. The only sound was the rapid clack of the bolt and the clink of the two metal casings hitting the floor, rapidly followed by two more. The second man in the pilothouse, the man that had not been in Cameron’s view, did not even have time to turn to see what had caused the sound of the first two clinks. Cameron had not had to think. The decision to shoot the second man was neither rational nor irrational, not a decision at all, not instinct, merely a simple motor response, even after all the years away from active duty. Vive la Légion.

  Cameron placed a finger to his headset, “Helm clear.”

  “Top clear,” said Alastair. Cameron crossed the pilothouse to ensure the other entrance was clear, then entered the sky deck. Alastair was already crossing the lounge.

  “Any resistance?” asked Cameron.

  “Nothing up top except the yacht’s tender,” said Alastair, “tarped and tethered aft of the communications tower.”

  The two quickly crossed back through the pilothouse and then slipped back down the steps in the event anyone at the compound or on the breakwall could see into the dimly lit room.

  Cameron led Alastair into the cleared galley. They each clipped their night scopes back on. Traversing the galley, Cameron spun quickly toward the crew’s mess. There was no light emitting from the stairwell below, yet that did not mean the cabin was empty. Cameron floated down the four steps into the mess, squeezing two rounds into the heads of the men sleeping face down on the table. These devout would not be waking for prayer.

  As Cameron made his way back up the short stairwell, Pepe’s voice tinned into his ear, “Below deck clear.”

  Cameron nodded to Alastair standing at the door of the dining room.

  “Main and top all clear,” said Alastair. “Do you have the targets?”

  Cameron and Alastair waited a moment for Pepe’s reply, then headed for the stairwell when no reply came. Pepe was rapidly climbing the steps.

  “Pepe,” said Cameron. “The targets?”

  “What’s going on in there?” asked Eazy.

  Pepe stopped at the top of the stairs, “In the stateroom. All but two.”

  Pepe began to step past Cameron and Alastair.

  “Hey, where are you going?” asked Alastair.

  “The compound,” said Pepe.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 16

  Abbo’s Compound

  Cameron did not need the light to see the darkness buried deep in Pepe’s eyes.

  “Just hold on a minute,” said Cameron.

  Pepe stopped.

  Cameron continued, “Let’s get those people out of here and storm the compound properly.” He placed his hand on Pepe’s shoulder, “Together, as planned.”

  Alastair placed his hand on Pepe’s other shoulder, “Vive la Légion.”

  Pepe inhaled deeply, “Vive la Légion.”

  “Sounds like you’re going in,” said Eazy over the headset. “I need one of you to come out here and give me a hand with this gear. I think you’ll like what I brought.”

  “Sure thing,” said Pepe.

  “The captain was down below?” asked Cameron.

  “Yeah, everyone except... and they look pretty good,” said Pepe.

  “Great, let me go see if he wants to pilot this boat out of here,” said Cameron.

  Cameron squeezed Pepe’s shoulder tightly, then raised his hand and slapped back down. Then Cameron slid around Pepe down into the stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs, the green tint of the scope was far dimmer by comparison to the light-touched upper decks. The lower landing opened to a hallway that led aft to the main stateroom. Immediately adjacent from the landing was a double pane glass door shielding a large collection of wine. Hatches to small cabins lined one side of the hallway, while on the other side there was only the door to the engine room. Cameron knew that Pepe would have swept the engine room first for signs of sabotage, not that they expected any from these captors, only because training is training.

  On the floor at the end of the hall, a throat slit body was curled and gnarled with eyes wide and unaware. The door to the stateroom was open and a dim light flowed out. Cameron removed his scope and peeked in. The cook and the two women were seated on the large bed along with the Seychellois. On the sidewall berth sat the captain and the two Genovese.

  “You know you are liberated,” said Cameron.

  The captain, aged by the days and the dark purple contusion along the side of his face, nodded slowly, “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Are you Lewis?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you pilot out of here?”

  “Yes.” The captain’s own answer struck him and his eyes lit, “Oh, yes.”

  “Good. Come with me,” said Cameron. “The rest of you, I’m sorry. Unless the captain needs you, you should probably stay out of sight.”

  Those on the bed nodded their heads while the two Genovese on the berth turned to their captain. The captain met eyes with his crewmen yet directed his question to Cameron. His authority returned to his tone. “Is the yacht clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aberto and Donato, you two make ready the engine room,” said the captain.

  “ Sì,” said Aberto, echoed by his brother.

  “The rest of you stay here as this man said.”

  “Okay,” said Cameron. “Follow my light. Watch your step here by the door.”

  Cameron made his way back toward the stairwell. The captain was a step behind him. Cameron noticed the captain did not flinch at the body on the floor, nor did the Italians. Cameron stopped at the engine room hatch so that the brothers could see to enter. Once inside, they switched on the interior cabin light and then Cameron and the captain were on their way.

  “Thank you,” said the captain. “I’m at a disadvantage, you know my name.”

  “I’m Kincaid. Don’t thank me yet. There’s a compound full of enemy combatants fifty meters from your hull.”

  “I see.”

  “What shape is she in?” asked Cameron.

  “She’ll motor fine. That’s how we got here,” said the Captain.

  “And fuel?”

  “There’s enough fuel to get clear. You’re thinking south to Lamu?”

  “I am.”

  “We can get there.”

  At the top of the stairwell, Alastair was waiting in the dark.

  “This is Alastair,” said Cameron.

  “Captain Lewis,” said Alastair, nodding. “Cameron, we good to go?”

  “Yeah. One more thing, captain, how fast can you push her?”

  “We can hold twenty-five knots easy in this clear water. The diesel will burn though,” said the captain.

  “Twenty-five should be good,” said Cameron. “We only need to clear here.”

  “Won’t they be sending anything after us?” asked the captain.

  “I wouldn’t worry about them getting too far from shore,” said Pepe as he entered the cabin. “Our man has some truly special toys.”

  “Good to hear,” said Cameron. “All right, Captain, we’ll leave you to it. Wait for our signal, then haul out of here.”

  Cameron and Alastair joined Pepe. Alastair gestured to what Pepe was holding in his hands, “What the hell is that?”

  “Eazy calls it a lobster,” said Pepe.

  “A robot lobster,” said Eazy over Pepe’s shoulder. Eazy held up two more, one in each hand.

  The machines were indeed robots and looked remarkably similar to lobsters. The core bodies were large rectangular blocks lined with coils and servos along the sides where eight long insect like legs shot out. From the front of the block were two very long copper antennae and on the tail end a mechanical lobster tail, fin and all. In place of the claws were two large black oval discs, o
bviously sensor plates of some type.

  “What are you going to do with these?” asked Alastair. “Are they mines?”

  “The opposite,” said Eazy. “We detected mines in the water and on the beach from the satellite shots. These little fellas are going to seek out the underwater mines between us and the compound and...” Eazy lifted his arms in a makeshift explosion, “Boom.”

  “Heh heh,” chuckled Pepe.

  “Are you sure this will work?” asked Cameron.

  “Yes, of course,” said Eazy. “It’s biomimetic, a machine designed to function like a biological system. Works perfectly, like a lobster, swims through the water straight to the mine.”

  “You’ve done this before?” asked Cameron.

  “I’ve tested blowing things up. I use them mostly for underwater surveillance.”

  “He has a lot of them,” said Pepe. “If they move through the water the way they’re supposed to, they’re bound to hit something.”

  “Hmm,” said Alastair.

  “With what Stratos is paying I figure I can get some upgrades,” said Eazy.

  Cameron took an electronic cephalopod from Eazy to observe the metal monstrosity more closely. “These will clear the beach too?”

  “No, I have something a bit more conventional for that,” said Eazy. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a .50 caliber dart.

  “Is that an antipersonnel venom dart?” asked Cameron.

  Eazy nodded. “This one is empty,” said Eazy. He twirled the long blunt nosed dart between his fingers, “good thing too, because DETA is deadly. I have some modified mortars. These little babies cut through surf and sand like butter. Whatever does not go boom is then neutralized by the DETA. DETA is a caustic chemical.”

  “Caustic?” said Pepe.

  “I would watch my step,” said Eazy.

  “Sounds good to me. When can these things go into the water?” asked Cameron.

  “Whenever the captain is ready.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 17

  Abbo’s Compound

  The first mine blew halfway between the shore and the Kalinihta. The undersea lobsters were doing their job. The sea erupted into a high pillar, followed immediately by a cascade of others across the small harbor. Eazy and Alastair did not hesitate to launch the first package containing the venom darts. The blunt missile shot up out of the mortar with a loud thunk, arcing above the beach, and then soundlessly separated to release an uncountable number of shadowless spikes high above the surf. A wall of quick shimmer washed in front of the compound as the darts accelerated down. On the metal daggers’ point of impact, a rapid succession of detonations blanketed the beach and surf, lifting sand and water high from the shore. Additional liquid columns sprouted up in the harbor as the deep-water mines began to clear, some in reaction to the darts, others to the robot lobsters.

  Eazy and Alastair fired another package to clear the remainder of the beach. Before the second package had even arced, Alastair was in the zodiac with Cameron and Pepe. He dropped a knee forward at the bow beside Cameron as Pepe eased the throttle. The inflatable gently lifted above the dark water’s surface and floated forward.

  On the bridge of the Kalinihta, Captain Lewis eased the throttle forward and began the journey starboard out to sea.

  So far, there was no movement from the compound.

  If the scene were to be transcended from the zodiac’s strongan duotex, the carbon, the steel, and the flesh of the men, to one large piece of marble, no pose would need to change. In the spray of the surf, the faces of these men were statuesque. These men, stoic in their deed, were operating textbook. Pepe was a master with the throttle. The zodiac pressed on with varying momentum to negotiate the bomb made swells. Cameron and Alastair each were prone against the inflated sides of the assault craft’s bow, their weapons set to discharge on impulse. Though all three men still had vision gear, none chose to cover. A medley mist of water and harbor bottom coated brows and cheeks with heavy muddy droplets that ran down, and then spouted from, each chin. Their faces were a contrast to the dripping white foam and shadows from the night’s last low indigo hues.

  The first light of dawn shot from the eastern sky, illuminating the five-story face of the now docile compound and cratered beach. Two boat lengths from shore, a final water column erupted to the starboard of the zodiac, the last of the mines. Four seconds later, Pepe cut the throttle as the craft slid into the bright effervescent spume at the shoreline. In a fluid motion, Alastair launched from the bow, towline in hand, and as he did, two shirtless men with Kalashnikovs ran from a near door. The two men immediately fell, the second falling into the first before either hit the ground. Cameron, positioned to fire again, waited for Pepe to clear the inflatable so they could complete their three-man beachhead.

  Cameron, Alastair, and Pepe went directly to the door the two shirtless men had exited from. This shore side structure was main building number one and the most likely to hold hostages. Cameron and Alastair climbed the short porch first. The stucco wall of the compound was caked with muddy sand, as were the steps up the porch to the door. From the side of the building, four men came running out onto the large break wall, oblivious to the three commandos on the beach below them. The four men were yelling and waved behind them to someone unseen and then frantically pointed to the Kalinihta. Cameron raised his MP-5 submachine gun toward the four men and then, before discharging, yielded to Pepe’s gesture. Pepe, below the small porch on the beach, could see something Cameron could not and had tilted his MP-5 up on a slight angle. Alastair shifted his attention from the open doorway he and Cameron stood in front of to the side of the compound.

  Cameron and Pepe were focused on the four on the breakwall and their unseen friend.

  From the edge of the building another man came running to join the first four. On his shoulder, bobbing back and forth as he clumsily jogged, was an RPG-7 already loaded with a single stage warhead. Trailing behind was a younger man, maybe an older boy, half carrying, half dragging three more warheads. The four men on the breakwall were ecstatic, still waving and pointing to the Kalinihta. When the grenadier got into position, Pepe flipped thumbs up to Cameron and in six easy headshots the frantic breakwall mob became a pile of corpses.

  The Kalinihta slipped safely south out of view of the small harbor.

  Through the outer doorway, a second door, solid iron and locked from the inside, blocked their entrance into the building. Alastair secured a small cake of C4 to each of the two hinges, then signaled Cameron down to the side of the outer doorway. Alastair then slid himself around to the other side of the outer door. Pepe positioned himself on the second step of the porch, hunched clear. With a nod to Cameron and Pepe, Alastair thumb punched the detonator to the explosives. From inside the vestibule came a thud and a mist of dust.

  A door opening out was a bad design for security, yet an advantage for the three.

  Pepe was the first up and into the vestibule. He immediately assessed the space that once held the upper hinge and from one of his long pockets produced a thick, wide shiv. He jammed the shard into the newly formed crevice. Pepe’s portliness gave him easy leverage to jar the heavy metal door to the side.

  Alastair and Cameron’s MP-5s filled the new-formed void; they found the room empty.

  As they had with countless other incursions, Cameron, Pepe and Alastair began to clear the first building of the compound, room by empty room. The rooms were large and interiors out of place for this region and time. The furnishings were fine and intact, paintings, murals, lamps with detailed trim, and the amount of fine woods impeccable. This was truly the refuge of a rich man, and in southern Somalia in these times that meant a warlord.

  That each room was coming up empty in the first building did not surprise Cameron. The assault during the Fajr dawn prayer was meant to minimize confrontation.

  Still, someone had locked that metal security door behind the first two shirtless men, and somewhere in this building or th
e next, someone was holding Christine.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 18

  Abbo’s Compound

  At the beach level, the sheer walls of the compound were windowless in defense of monsoon force or tsunamis that could clear the small harbor breakwalls. The top two stories of the ocean facing building were walled in industrial glass, allowing the dull, blue hued low morning light to wash through. Easily confused with a penthouse suite from any metropolitan city, the upper two floors of the five-story compound were adorned with an array of modern art, luxurious sofas, panel televisions, and flowing white panel curtains that punctuated the ocean vista.

  Cameron and Pepe entered the top floor, an open loft space, from a spiral staircase in the center of the room. From where they stood, the room was clear, their only blind spot a short wall behind the stair. The two each chose a different side and circled the divider.

  On the other side of the division wall was a lounge. A wooden bar was at the far end and occupying the space between them was an Olympic size billiards table. Seated on the floor at the end of the billiards table was Nikos, his back against the division wall. Nikos was clean, well dressed, and although very shaken and bruised, he appeared otherwise unharmed. Also sitting on the floor, at the end of the billiards table, was a thin man of dark Somali complexion. This second man was also clean and well dressed, yet holding a large golden handgun. He held the gun tightly with both hands wavering to either side of Nikos’ head. He held the gun too tightly, as the weapon quivered in his hand.

  The gunman did not move his watery glazed eyes away from Nikos. He waved the cannon side to side, his breathing getting noticeably heavier.

  Though muffled by the glass and the five floor distance to the courtyard below, yelling could be heard as men rallied to discover what had caused the beach cacophony a few moments before.

  Pepe waited and watched the heavy gun, a gold-plated .50 caliber Israeli Desert Eagle, hover in front of Nikos’ face. He eyed the man holding the expensive weapon, dressed in a silk shirt, linen slacks, and Prada shoes. Pepe was certain this man had never fired the fancy trophy that he was now waving dangerously in the air. Pepe also knew that the action on the .50 caliber was sensitive and that if this man became any further stressed, there was going to be a hole through Nikos, on through the wall, and into the next building.