The Somali Deception (Cameron Kincaid Book 2)

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  Five minutes from the Gstaad Palace hotel, the valley’s monument to prestige, Pepe found the driveway to the home of Demetrius Stratos. Demetrius’ home, arguably the most expensive estate in Gstaad, audaciously boasted two massive chalets on the inclined field, two heads attached to a far larger beast below.

  Pepe and Cameron were fresh, clean, and in surprisingly good spirits. The death of the Somali warlord Ibrahim Dada at Pepe’s hand was an apparent catharsis. Though he had not yet found his sister Christine, taken from the hijacked yacht Kalinihta, Pepe was jubilant, almost his old jolly self. Pepe’s mood in turn lightened Cameron’s. The violence of the previous evening and the day before, of every day of the past week in Somalia, Dubai, London, and Paris, had become a perverse normal. The reinforced conditioning and training of his younger super commando self had overridden any morality play his mature psyche had applied to the events of the preceding days. Cameron was, after all, stoic by nature; that had been a key factor in his promotion to the Green Dragons. He accepted, believed, that the actions of the past could not be prevented or changed, only avenged, and that was what they were here in Gstaad to do. Avenge Pepe’s sister, Cameron’s former lover, Christine, for the wrongdoing at the hands of Nikos Stratos.

  Neither Pepe nor Cameron had spoken of Alastair Main. Three days prior, their friend Alastair had been by their side. He had split off to piece together information that could help them in their search. That the two had not mentioned him did not mean their friend was absent from their thoughts. Alastair had a history with Nikos. To openly speak of their friend could lead down a path that neither wanted to walk.

  Without words, Cameron and Pepe had made the mutual decision that they alone would deal with Nikos.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 58

  Gstaad, Switzerland

  Despite the prominent portion of Demetrius Stratos’ estate being hidden below them, deep beneath the earth, what was above ground still gave the impression of grandeur. The first of the two mammoth wood faced chalets towered above them. The Greek shipping tycoon was obviously immune to the visible height limit imposed on the mere millionaires that peppered the mountainside around him. To their front was a garage door that Cameron calculated, by the dimensions, was the entrance not to the garage proper, rather to an auto elevator designed to transport the Stratos fleet of unique Ferraris and Lamborghinis to and from the depths below. Attached to the garage overlooking the valley was a building aligned in style with the two brethren above, yet miniature in size and status.

  Cameron gazed out over the town of Gstaad in the valley below and then, momentarily unsure, asked Pepe, “Demetrius is expecting us?”

  “He is expecting us,” said Pepe.

  “And he knew who you were?”

  “I believe he knows who we are, he has been funding our expedition. Anyway, I did not speak to him, I spoke to an assistant.”

  The heavy wooden door of the miniature chalet opened and from within stepped an exquisitely beautiful young woman. She wore tight fitting slacks and a wool sweater, predictable Alpen garb.

  “This must be her,” said Cameron.

  The young woman said nothing. As the door pulled shut behind her, she looked fixedly at Pepe and Cameron. Her eyes appeared to pair with each of them. That her sultry gaze was at the same time obviously innocent yet seductive was provoking. She reminded Cameron of paintings he had seen, the Mona Lisa, or the Girl with a Pearl Earring, the way the women in the portraits poured out in a gaze, fixed on the observer, in silent communication. She offered them a pleasant smile, the knowing kind of smile that said, Feel at home, you are welcome here. Her light hair was full, blown out, and her relaxed nature implied a woman on holiday rather than an assistant to an industry mogul. Cameron pondered that she could easily have been a model, or an actress, and that perhaps at one time she had been.

  The young woman’s voice was full and confident, “Hello, you must be Mister Laroque and Mister Kincaid.”

  “Yes,” said Pepe, he stepped toward the front of the Volvo to meet their greeter. “I am Pepe Laroque, and this is my colleague, Cameron Kincaid. Please call me Pepe, mademoiselle.”

  “And please, call me Cameron.”

  “Okay, Pepe, Cameron, I am Mister Stratos’ assistant, Annalisa Droukos. Please call me Annalisa. Mister Stratos is expecting you, if you could follow me.”

  Annalisa offered another pert smile and then led them to an entrance set in the stacked boulders that composed the lower wall of the chalet. From a treetop to the left of the mammoth chalet came a sharp flash of light. Cameron met Pepe’s eyes to see if he had noticed the sniper in the trees, obviously a member of the Stratos’ security team. Pepe winked back and subtly nodded, shifting his brow in the direction to the eave above Cameron’s shoulder. Cameron casually looked back over the valley and then forward again, catching the subtle red LED adjacent to the buttonhole camera that undoubtedly filled the screen of some internal security room deep in the belly of the estate. Though Annalisa did not wait for any signal or clearance, Cameron was sure he heard a faint click the second before she touched the handle of the door. If she had heard a lock releasing, she appeared not to notice, pulling the door open as casually as one goes from one room to the next.

  The interior of the chalet was radically different from the fairy tale facade. The walls were rosewood paneled midway up to a small ledged molding, and then papered deeply red the remainder of the way up to an intricately carved wood ceiling. The indirect light cast the illuminating effect of oil lamps or candles, reminiscent of a train car or old Victorian manor. Along the crimson wall were photographs spaced every half meter. In an automated rehearsed fashion, Annalisa began to list off the people pictured by rote.

  “On the wall you will find photos of some of the illustrious guests of the chalet as well as friends of the Stratos family. Pictured with Mister Stratos’ father you will see Mister Churchill and in the next, you will see Mister Stratos himself, with the Queen, and in the next with Prince Charles and Princess Diana.” Cameron recognized the Greek shipping mogul from the photo back at Alastair’s cottage on the Laikipia plateau. Demetrius’ well-groomed midnight hair was slicked back and below his chin; he wore a cravat, and on his finger, a wide gold ring with a red ruby setting. His hair, the cravat, and ring were consistent, no matter the age of the photo. Cameron had a brief imaginative flash of Demetrius as a small schoolboy with the same slick hair, silk cravat, and large gold ring.

  As they continued through a maze of corridors and stairwells, Annalisa continued describing the endless pictures and shelved artifacts. Along the way, they passed several dark lacquered doors that appeared, after a few hallways, confusingly the same; the same crystal knobs, the same order of sconces, and the portraits only subtly different than the last. Occasionally there would be an open room or a few open rooms together. Always the tour pressed on, focusing on the portrait collection of the world’s elite. Initially, Cameron thought the tour a mere embellishment on the part of Demetrius, showing off the aristocrats, new and old, which were friends of the Stratos family. Then Cameron deduced the true purpose of the tour. The trivial information was meant to distract guests as they were led through the complex interior of the mansion.

  After fifteen minutes of photos and trinkets, they came to a set of wooden double doors, black lacquered as the many before. Again Cameron heard a faint click before Annalisa reached for the lead crystal knob.

  “This is Mister Stratos’ library,” she said. “Please wait here and he will join you shortly.”

  The Stratos library, in the same manner as every other part of the chalet they had been shown, resembled a museum. The walls of the large library were entirely covered, with the exception the wall bordering the door. The wall was rosewood paneled midway and topped with the same crimson that papered the hallway. On either side of the door were recently stocked sidebars, one with assorted cheeses and meats, and the other with decanters and a crystal bowl of ice.

  Th
e ceiling was a continuation of exaggerated ornate woodcarvings, including two wooden cherubs at the base of a high backlit stained glass dome in the center. The sidewalls were shelved, floor to ceiling, with dark hued leather bindings, bright with accents of pressed gold and silver letters. On one shelf was a solitary device to detect moisture, and in another section, backlit behind glass, were ancient and rare tomes. The entirety of the back wall was also an exhibit behind glass. Covering the back wall from one side to another was an array of modern and ancient weapons. On the right side, a glass door shielded a recessed anteroom, the size of a large closet, lined with handguns of every age and make. The rest of the wall was adorned with antique edge weapons. Neatly displayed were row after row of swords, scimitars, spears, knives, and daggers. In the center of the room was a low table display case housing aboriginal blowguns, each surrounded by various feathered darts. Around the low table were four heavily cushioned dark leather chairs, and another four sat on the outer edge of the room, one in each corner.

  The room was magnificent.

  “You can help yourself with a drink from the sidebar,” said Annalisa. “Is there anything special I can have brought in for you?”

  Cameron raised his brow. “I believe we’re fine, Annalisa.”

  “Excellent,” said Annalisa. She gestured to an intercom near the door. “Just tap that button if you need anything. Mister Stratos will be with you shortly.” She put a finger to her ear revealing a small emerald that mirrored the glint in her eyes. An earpiece. She smiled and then tilted her head toward the wall, fixed intently on a conversation that Cameron and Pepe were not privy to. Then Annalisa nodded her head, removed her finger, and returned her attention to the two men. “He is still on a call, so please make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you,” the two said in near unison.

  “And Mister Kincaid, um, Cameron,” said Annalisa.

  “Yes?”

  “I enjoy your shows.”

  Cameron near winced. Though he had received many unexpected compliments that had caught him off guard, Annalisa’s was different. He had begun to forget about his celebrity chef persona.

  “Thank you for watching, I am glad you enjoy the shows.”

  Annalisa’s gaze appeared more intense, more eager to please, “As I said, if you need anything.” Her last word hung in the air as she left them alone in the library.

  Cameron shifted his eyes to Pepe. “Don’t start.”

  “Dragon Chef,” said Pepe haughtily. He winked at Cameron.

  Neither took the offered drink, rather they both went to inspect the weapons display at the back of the library. Though Cameron and Pepe were not exactly weapons enthusiasts, they certainly had a predilection. Cameron’s curiosity drew him toward the gun closet. Pepe, by no surprise to Cameron, was instinctively drawn to the edge weapons. The handguns in the recessed display case were no doubt some of the rarest, and those that were more common, Cameron surmised, had a special property or past. Cameron imaged a man of Demetrius’ wealth would have the gun that killed Hitler if that device was obtainable.

  “Cameron,” said Pepe, his voice low. “Come here for a moment. I want you to see this.”

  Cameron joined Pepe, scanning the iron and steel as he passed the wall. “What did you find?”

  “You are not going to believe this,” said Pepe.

  In the case in front of Pepe, a series of fifty daggers were pinned to the red velvet wall, in two rows of twenty-five. The daggers appeared to be arranged by age. Some of the daggers were very ornate, others mere missiles, all of them with the same Latin inscription, ‘Caedite eos! Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius.’

  Cameron translated the familiar phrase, “Kill them all. Surely the Lord discerns which ones are his.”

  “Can you believe he has these?” asked Pepe.

  “Well, he is a collector, and we have a few of our own.”

  “You think they belonged to the agents of the same clandestine group we met up with?” asked Pepe. “Some of these are very old.”

  “If you would have asked me before Quebec, I might have said something different. Marie said the Rex Mundi has many agents, knowing and not knowing. Who knows how far back in history the cells go. Marie said they went back to the beginning.”

  “The beginning of what?” asked Pepe.

  From the door of the library came a deep voice, “To the beginning of the world.”

  The two spun to see Demetrius Stratos enter the room. Stratos lifted a finger in the direction of the case. “You find the daggers interesting?”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 59

  Gstaad, Switzerland

  Well-tanned and debonair, Demetrius Stratos could have been posing for a portrait. Framed between the library doors, the crimson at his back exaggerated the brilliance of his pressed white shirt, and, as in every photo, his dark hair was slicked back, around his neck he wore a silk cravat, and the gold ruby ring, as crimson as the backdrop, was on his hand. Stratos’ blue eyes penetrated the room. The kind look on his face did not disguise the fact that he was intensely and steadily assessing his two visitors.

  Having previously met a number of people associated with wealth or celebrity, Cameron was not put off by the man’s scrutiny. The pause was becoming slightly uncomfortable when Cameron realized Stratos was exercising a familiar technique. The confident gaze was to give the impression that Stratos could judiciously size up a man. Cameron and Pepe were to understand him to be serious and reliable, or that Stratos had tallied their flaws. Cameron deduced that the magnate probably thought the two men had come to Gstaad for an additional fee for saving his son Nikos from the coastal pirates. The correct soldier’s response was to mirror Stratos with a stern gaze to set him at ease. A stare that would instill in the rich man the impression that Cameron and Pepe were not mere fortune hunters. So Cameron and Pepe returned the stare.

  “Those daggers are a very rare find,” said Stratos, before either Cameron or Pepe spoke. He crossed the room to join Cameron and Pepe near the glass-covered wall.

  Pepe began to speak, “Mister—”

  Raising a quick hand, Stratos cut Pepe off, “Yes, yes, we can forego the formality of introductions. You know who I am, I know who you are. Now let me tell you about these daggers you are admiring.” From his pocket, Stratos pulled a small fob, similar to one used as a car key. He subtly tapped a button with his thumb and the glass began to slide to the side, disappearing into the end of the shelved wall. When the glass cleared the fifty daggers, Stratos removed one from the section that appeared among the oldest. Stratos chose one of the few with a hilt, a white hilt. “These daggers are very rare finds,” said Stratos. He held the dagger to demonstrate the peculiarities. “Take this specimen for example. Fine metallurgy, a perfect balance, and the hilt—”

  “Made of bone, correct?” asked Pepe.

  “Yes,” said Stratos, pleased by Pepe’s assessment. He held the dagger by the blade between his knuckles and thumb so that the hilt was fully revealed. “In fact this hilt is made of bone, as are a few others. Some collectors have asserted the bone is from a large mammal, a cow or a horse, others say a predator. They are wrong, of course. I had a DNA test performed, not on this blade alone but the other bone handled daggers in this collection as well. You know what I found?”

  “They are all human,” said Pepe.

  “That is correct.” Stratos handed the blade to Pepe. “Each one, including the one you are holding, proved to be human bone. European, as a matter of detail.”

  Pepe inspected the dagger, twisting the blade from one side to the other. “For an older knife, this has fine craftsmanship.”

  “I agree. The articulate manner of the metal craft around the top and bottom of the hilt and the delicate inscription along the blade, all of the daggers share this. That is what ties the collection together, yet the style of lettering on this dagger... Well, the intricacy is unique.”

  “‘Caedite eos! Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius,�
�” said Cameron. “Kill them all. Surely the Lord discerns which ones are his.”

  “That is right, Mister Kincaid. Your Latin and vision are both spectacular. I find the inscriptions difficult to read in this light.”

  “We’ve actually come across these before,” said Cameron.

  Stratos peered into Cameron’s eyes, his expression knowing, “So I’ve been told.”

  Cameron’s throat slightly tensed. With his best face, he pretended not to have been surprised by the statement. Besides, Stratos must have heard him wrong. Stratos could not possibly guess that Cameron and Pepe once had such daggers in their possession. Stratos could not possibly be aware of how the daggers, worn by the Rex Mundi operatives, came into their possession—by the death of Rex Mundi agents. Perhaps Stratos was aware of the terrorist cult. Maybe Stratos was quite comfortable knowing that these instruments of death were all tokens of a cult. A cult, Cameron and Pepe realized, that went back hundreds of years, as dear Marie had told them before she died.

  Stratos did not let the conversation pause. Cunningly, he changed the subject so as not to linger on his statement. “Well,” he took the dagger back from Pepe to place back into the special reserved space in the collection. “I do want to welcome you. I want to thank you for saving my son, and insist you share a drink with me in thanks.” Stratos turned toward the sidebar across the room. “I of course want to offer my condolences for your sister, Pepe. Dreadful, these animals.” He spun around to face them, approaching the bar blindly. “And I do mean animals. I could not begin to tell you the trouble I have had with them in the past.” At the bar, he again turned his back to them and began preparing three rock glasses of scotch. “Hijacking, hostages, the disregard for life and property. I understand the two of you have been pursuing her whereabouts.” He spun back around, a scotch glass in each hand for the two men. “Here, have a seat.”