The Somali Deception (Cameron Kincaid Book 2)

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  Pepe paced the rhythm of the nervous man’s breathing with the sway of the .50 caliber, and when the small cannon was pointed at the wall beside Nikos’ head, he acted. A shell from the MP-5 made a small clink against the floor and blood from the man’s head sprayed Nikos.

  “Bloody hell!” said Nikos, his eyes wide, his feet shuffling him into the wall in a failed attempt to put space between himself and the recently departed.

  A fleeting moment passed and Nikos sucked in a deep breath, tossing his head back against the wall.

  “Êtes-vous d’accord!” said Pepe. “Everything is okay.”

  Nikos ran his fingers across his face then, seeing blood on the ends, flexed them in an odd attempt to rid them of the stain, “You just blew a hole through Feizel’s bloody head.”

  “Are you okay?” asked Pepe.

  “Yes,” said Nikos. He began to stand, “I’m fine.”

  “Where’s Christine?” asked Pepe.

  “She’s gone. They took her,” said Nikos. He went to the bar across the billiards table. “By helicopter, two, three days ago.”

  “Who took her?” asked Cameron. “Did Abbo take her with him?”

  “No. Not Abbo. He was never here.” Nikos surveyed the bar, then found a bottle of seltzer. “It was the man who boarded the yacht,” he doused his hands with the seltzer, “A Somali. A really tall bald fellow.”

  Cameron flashed his eyes at Pepe, “I think we’ve met.”

  The sound of rapid fire and single shots rose up from the courtyard.

  “We have multiple shooters out here,” said Alastair into the headset. When the shooting had begun, he had gone down to secure the door leading out of the building into the courtyard.

  Cameron put his finger to his headset, “Are you engaged?”

  “No,” said Alastair. “They’re shooting at shadows and each other. We better get out of here though. I have a feeling it’s going to get pretty hot. You have the packages?”

  “We have one package and we are on are way,” said Cameron.

  Nikos paced to the side of the room, both of his hands clasped behind his head. He spun back to Cameron and Pepe, “This is shit. We’re dead. Do you know who you just killed?” Nikos waited for a response that was not coming. Cameron and Pepe watched him with still faces. “Well, do you?” asked Nikos again. “You just blew a hole through the head of Abbo Mohammed’s son. We are so dead.”

  Cameron glanced down at the corpse sprawled below the billiards table, “Is that who that was? Pepe did you know who that was?”

  Pepe did not take his eyes away from Nikos, “No.”

  “Pepe did not know who that was,” said Cameron. “I’ll tell you this though. If we don’t get out of here, you are dead. Your friend Alastair is downstairs if that makes you feel any better.”

  The presence of someone familiar appeared to calm Nikos, “Alastair is here?”

  “For the moment,” said Pepe. “Shall we?”

  Nikos lowered his hands slowly at first, then dropped them to his sides. “Yes, let’s go.” Though Nikos was clean, fed, and dressed, his face was horribly bruised. There was no mistake that Nikos had taken a beating.

  The three began to walk around the divider. “Wait,” said Nikos. He bent over and relieved dead Feizel’s still warm hands of the .50 caliber Desert Eagle.

  “You sure?” asked Cameron.

  Nikos lifted the .50 caliber and pulled the slide back from the barrel, allowing a round to flow into the chamber, “Unlike Feizel, I know how to use this weapon.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 19

  Abbo’s Compound

  Alastair nodded toward the door that led to the harbor. “We head out onto that beach there is no way to guarantee that inflatable stays inflated.” He shifted his gaze to Nikos. Beads of sweat poured from the young Greek. Alastair pursed his lip. “The zodiac is out of the question.”

  Nikos’ tone was rushed, “So that was your plan?”

  From the courtyard came a booming concussion, then a barrage of rapid machine gun fire followed by the ever closer rhythmic chopping of rotors.

  Alastair stretched the back of his neck, extending his height. “No, that’s our plan,” Alastair arched a brow, “You remember Ari?”

  Nikos bobbed his head, “Of course, right.”

  Cameron peeked past the edge of the window. The courtyard was full of silhouettes backlit by the stucco of the compound’s other buildings, and from above by the indigo glow of the brightening predawn sky. Some shadows were frozen in position while others were frantically trying to evade the sheets of strafing fire from the copter.

  “What do we have, Al?” asked Cameron.

  “They’re consolidated in building four as we suspected,” said Alastair. “The three you see scurrying are positioning from there. From the sounds of it Ari has compromised tower one.”

  “You left the gifts Eazy packed?”

  “I found a beautiful place to stash the satchel.”

  Cameron nodded and then touched his headset, “H2, check in.”

  “This is H2,” said Ari over the headset. “Are you ready to come home?”

  “Affirmative, H2. Four to pick up, repeat, four to pick up. Ready when you are,” said Cameron.

  “Now is good,” said Ari. “Landing zone one, repeat, landing zone one.”

  The rhythmic chop of the Dark Star rotors grew louder as Ari maneuvered the copter to the clearing they’d designated as landing zone one across the courtyard. The commandos instinctively did a periphery check of their gear, a rapid weapon inspection, and an up down of each other, the type of actions trained into their core.

  Cameron placed his hand on the handle of the door. “Nikos, you’re going out with Alastair first, then Pepe, you’ll go. I’ll cover from the back. Straight to the chopper, got it?”

  Nikos nodded his head and then Cameron pulled the handle of the door.

  Cameron peeked out, his nose filling with the pungent fumes of the burning tower hidden from his view by the barracks. He then threw the door open wide, “Go, go, go!”

  Outside warmth flooded into the doorway with the thunderous rotor of the Dark Star copter touching down directly across the courtyard. Nikos and Alastair broke from the building in a dead run. The courtyard was far brighter outside than when Cameron had peered through the window. The silhouettes and shadows now had detail, though nothing showed true color, rather varying hues of blue with the exception of the stucco and stone wall which appeared in odd scales of grey. In a few quick heart pounding seconds, Nikos and Alastair were in the copter.

  “Go!” said Cameron.

  Pepe launched from the doorway toward the copter.

  When Cameron heard the Kalashnikov, he instinctively turned. The rotors muffled the rapid burst, yet the compound walls surrounding the courtyard created a loud echo trail back to the barracks. Fortunately, the shooter had been leading his target too far, so Pepe had seen bullets pummel the top of the stone well at the center of the courtyard in time to dive safely below the line of fire.

  Cameron fired at the barrel of the Kalashnikov protruding from the doorway of the barracks. The shooter still had a clear bead on the well and when Pepe tried to ease out of cover, he was chased back with a rapid succession of rounds.

  Pepe was pinned down at the well by the shooter.

  Cameron expected the inside of the barracks to be wide open and without walls, so he targeted the windows. The barrel in the doorway still did not waver. He decided to go in close and broke into a run toward the side of the barracks. The gunman in the doorway paid no attention to Cameron running along the side of the courtyard. When Cameron reached safety behind the corner, he pulled a grenade from his pocket.

  Across the courtyard, Cameron saw another fighter running up behind Pepe’s position.

  Pepe launched himself from behind the well toward the assailant. One hand to a shoulder and the other to the waist, he hurled the man onto the ground out into the open, away from the well.
Like a cat to his feet, the man was back at Pepe fist-to-fist, hand-to-hand. Cameron raised his MP-5. The two men were moving too quickly for Cameron to target and fire.

  Alastair’s voice shot over the headset, “We have an RPG.”

  “Where?” asked Cameron.

  “The other side of the barracks. Can you get to him, Kincaid?”

  Cameron engaged the grenade he still held and then lobbed the small bomb blindly around the front into the direction of the RPG.

  A second later there was an explosion.

  Debris shot past the corner where Cameron stood, and a bloody flesh-filled boot landed near his feet. “Did I get him?” asked Cameron.

  “No,” yelled Alastair over the mic. “The shooter ran out and got in the way. I have a shot. Ari can you lift us up?”

  Ari did not hesitate at Alastair’s request. The Dark Star lifted to hover above the ground and gently spun to the side. Alastair immediately shot toward the grenadier Cameron could not see. Alastair fired too late or missed, from the far side of the barracks, a rocket flew.

  The ghastly slow white smoke trail of the rocket cut across the courtyard, not to the copter as intended, but toward the center of the courtyard. The stone well blew to pieces. Cameron threw one leg in front of the other, almost falling. He could no longer see Pepe or the other man. Cameron put his other leg forward, strong yet slushy. The next moment across the courtyard felt like an eternity. When Cameron reached what was left of the stone well, he found Pepe, struck down by the rocket.

  * * * * *

  “Let’s go!” screamed Alastair over the headset. Cameron suddenly realized Alastair had been screaming for a while. He lifted his head toward the copter and saw Alastair waving his arms. Nikos, his face contorted, was beside Alastair, shooting a submachine gun out into the courtyard. Across the courtyard, soldiers were running and falling. Cameron dropped his head down again to Pepe. Pepe was bloodied and half buried by heavy stone and limbs. Cameron hovered above him in an elongated moment stretching in time and pain, then dropped to his knees to shift the weight of the stones.

  The intense roar of the rotors and gunfire around him faded. Smoke billowed throughout the rubble, pushed down to the ground by the rotating blades of the Dark Star, close, yet far away. Cameron realized that Alastair was kneeling down in front of Pepe.

  Alastair was trying to lift Pepe. Alastair screamed at Pepe again, still all muffled, this time without the headset. Then Alastair struck Pepe. Pepe’s eyes sharpened and cut into Alastair’s. Pepe shook his head violently side to side. Wherever he had gone, he had now returned. He let Alastair lift him by his shoulders. Alastair pulled Pepe up from the rubble and the mutilated remnants of the Somali fighter, and then sent the large man running past Cameron.

  Cameron still did not move. Real time did not return until Alastair shoved his shoulder. Sound returned to normal. He heard Alastair yell, “Let’s go, let’s go!” With that, Cameron turned behind Alastair and followed him to the waiting chopper.

  Cameron climbed in with a liquid motion. In position, he pointed his weapon pointed out the door. As Ari began to lift the Dark Star, Cameron saw a fighter run into the courtyard from the far side of the barracks. Cameron dropped the man thoughtlessly without wasting a second round.

  “Eazy, check in, this is H2,” said Ari. “We have cleared the compound.”

  “H2, this is Eazy, do you have the package?” asked Eazy.

  Ari peered over to Alastair, “We have the package.”

  “Bombs away,” said Eazy.

  Ari glanced at Alastair again. Alastair reached into his pocket and pulled out a small detonator, radio linked to the satchel of explosives Eazy had given him to leave on the first floor of the main building. With his thumb, he flipped back the safety cover then crushed the igniter. Back in the main building of the compound below, large explosions began that dwarfed all of the early detonations, and as they flew south over the beach berm the sky filled higher and higher with the aftermath of the incendiary devices.

  Cameron did not watch the fireworks above the exploding compound. He found solace deep in the eyes of his brother-in-arms. Pepe, his face blackened and bloodied, held his head high, his gaze fixed on the ocean abyss, and though Cameron had no words, he felt no need to search for them. Cameron and Pepe were committed to a shared resolve. Finding Christine.

  * * * * *

  EPISODE II

  * * * * *

  Chapter 20

  Shela Village, Lamu

  Nikos’ frantic blubbering had driven Cameron out of the suite. He stood alone on the veranda watching the Lamu dhows glide by, the tall full single sails lifting the crafts forward. The ageless sailboats brought him a soldier’s zen. Then the commotion to his back subtly dulled. Cameron sensed someone was physically blocking the chatter. He decided to acknowledge the friend at his back. “Graceful, isn’t she?” he said. “The way the captain maneuvers that giant lateen sail as effortlessly as a jib.”

  “Like a photo,” said Alastair from behind.

  Alastair might have stood in the doorway the whole of the afternoon, hesitant to disturb Cameron. With his friends acknowledgement he sauntered to the edge of the veranda.

  The two brown glass bottles Alastair held by the necks were perspiring. The hotel suite interior was far cooler then the veranda by contrast, yet nowhere near as comforting as the quieter adjacent space. Cameron had not said much to Alastair, or anyone else, since they arrived in Lamu. Eazy and Isaac had handled the logistics of docking the Kalinihta and securing transportation to the Peponi Hotel. Cameron did not need to say much as everything had gone according to plan. Well, almost everything. The primary goal of the mission was to liberate Christine, yet she had not even been at Abbo’s compound. Christine had been moved by the warlord days prior.

  As if to himself, Cameron said, “They look a lot like the jolly-boats up in the gulf.”

  “Lamu dhows are jihazi, similar to the jalibut,” said Alastair.

  “Jihazi? Doesn’t that mean...”

  “It’s a Persian word for ship, I think.”

  Cameron allowed himself some levity and let out a slight grunt. Alastair offered him one of the brown bottles, “Here, Charlie dropped a few of these by before he went to check on the crew. They’re cold.” He shrugged, “Well, sort of.”

  Cameron held the beer up. On the label was a black stencil of an elephant head. “Finest Quality Lager, eh?”

  “Try it, Tusker is pretty good. Best you’ll get here in Lamu, anyway.”

  “What does this mean on the label? Bia yangu, Nchi yangu.”

  “Swahili,” said Alastair, “it means, ‘my beer, my country.’”

  Cameron drank from the brown bottle and let the cold fizz down his throat, letting out a satisfying sigh.

  “I told you it wasn’t bad,” said Alastair.

  “Hmm. Thanks,” said Cameron. “I was meaning to tell ya, for being out of service, that was a quite maneuver you and Ari pulled on the chopper, despite the rocket.”

  “Oh, the rocket man. Well, we tag rhino that way,” Alastair wobbled his head to the side and back and then sipped his lager, “and the odd poacher.”

  “The odd poacher?”

  Alastair raised his Tusker, “Conservation. I noted you still handle yourself quite well.”

  Cameron raised his Tusker in return, “Vive la Légion.”

  Exiting the suite behind them, Pepe added, “The Legion is our strength.”

  Cameron and Alastair allowed themselves to smile for a moment. Pepe and Isaac joined them on the veranda. Pepe’s mere presence reminded Cameron all too quickly of the dread of the day.

  “Nikos is talking,” said Pepe. His eyes were dark and drawn in.

  “What is he saying?” asked Alastair.

  Isaac spoke for Pepe, “He is saying the Volunteer National Coast Guard kidnapped him and Christine to leverage his father.”

  Cameron arched one brow, dropped the other, then twisted his head slowly away from the La
mu dhows, toward Isaac and Pepe, “He said what?”

  Isaac continued, “Abbo Mohammed was attempting to leverage Demetrius into increased protection of his shipping fleet.”

  “So this wasn’t merely a ransom. He told you two this?” asked Cameron.

  “No, no,” said Pepe. “Nikos finally reached his father directly and was quite loud when he spoke to him. We could not help to overhear his yammering.” Pepe shook his head.

  “Tell me about it,” said Cameron.

  “Anyway,” Pepe locked eyes with Cameron, “Demetrius is apparently paying the Coast Guard to allow passage, and whatever that amount is, Abbo decided it should be more.”

  Isaac walked to the edge of the veranda next to Alastair, “That explains why the Kalinihta was never officially reported missing. This was a business maneuver from the beginning.”

  Pepe’s gaze was still locked, “A mistake that Abbo will not live long to regret.”

  “You told me you took out Abbo’s son,” said Isaac. “That is no small thing.”

  “That is nothing at all,” said Pepe.

  “Not with these people,” said Isaac. “I know he has your sister, but I’m telling you that for men like Abbo Mohammed, the death of a son by another’s hand is a catalyst for a Godob, a Somali blood feud. And let me further tell you that all of these clans were established and perpetuated by blood vendettas going back hundreds of years. They live and breathe this. Abbo may be looking for us already.”

  “Let him come,” said Pepe. “He should have thought of such consequences before he took the Kalinihta.”