The Somali Deception (Cameron Kincaid Book 2)

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  “You should sit with us,” said Cameron.

  “Certainly, I intend to.”

  “Um, that is not what I meant. You see, we have found Christine, or at least finally know where to find her.”

  “That’s fabulous,” said Stratos. “We should be toasting.” Cameron and Pepe each took a seat on the cushioned leather chairs in the center of the room. Stratos joined them.

  “You might not think so in a moment,” said Pepe.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will,” said Pepe. He placed the small digital recorder on the display case table between them.

  “You see,” said Cameron. “We spoke with Abbo and Dada about your relationship with them.”

  Stratos’ brow dropped.

  “And we don’t really care about that. But there is something else Dada shared with us. Well, you should hear this yourself. Pepe, if you please.”

  Pepe placed his index finger on the top of the recording device and pressed play.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 60

  Gstaad, Switzerland

  After listening to the torture of Ibrahim Dada and the coerced warlord’s account of the hijacking of the Kalinihta, subsequent kidnapping, and the claim that responsibility fell on Nikos Stratos, Demetrius Stratos straightened in his chair. He ran his finger around the rim of his scotch glass, sipped, and then relished the alcohol for a moment.

  Cameron sensed the cognitive dissonance plainly on Stratos. The inconsistent beliefs in the deceitful spoiled playboy Stratos knew his son to be conflicted with his implicit faith the boy would never be disloyal to his father. Cameron could not fault Stratos for believing the best of his only son. Every parent should be on the side of their child.

  “That man would have said anything,” said Stratos, affirming the reaction Cameron had predicted.

  “You know who the man was on the recording,” said Cameron. “You know Ibrahim Dada.”

  “Of course. I know that man is a scoundrel and despite his title as admiral or general or his diplomatic status. He is not much more than a common thug.”

  “We know of your dealings with Abbo, and we know Dada was trying to work with you.”

  Stratos raised his hands. “So you know. Business on the high seas is very complex. Since you have obviously come into some information I will tell you that many men do business with these and other unsavory people, small things, unavoidable, necessary evils.” His face shrugged. “You have to imagine I run, not one, but rather several fleets of tankers and commodities.” Stratos leaned in to the display case between them, resting his elbows on his knees. He set his rock glass on the table and then clasped his hands together. “That is why I find this impossible to believe. The idea my son would stage his own kidnapping in a plot to undermine me, a ridiculous notion. My son is many things, conniving and clever, yes. Disloyal he is not.”

  “Believe what you will,” said Pepe. “We conducted more than one, shall we say, intense interviews. I do not believe these men were wanting to lie.”

  Stratos smirked at Pepe, “Interviews? A more precise description would be interrogations. Everyone knows tortured men will say anything. Dada was in fear of his life, and rightfully so if I understand correctly, and Abbo, what you did to him, really.” Demetrius shook his head. “The local papers reported a high altitude gas accident. Don’t forget I financed your endeavor. I know you two were behind the whole thing. Blowing him out the window of the Burj Khalifa.” Stratos shook his head again. “That was unnecessary. Abbo was a lecherous, greedy man, yet he did business wisely. He kept his people reigned in and he was good for his word.”

  “I am sure Abbo was a great man,” said Cameron.

  Stratos appeared disgusted. He spoke coolly, “I am only saying that Abbo was not merely a thief,” he flashed his eyes between them, “or a pirate. He knew how to do business in a way that was mutually beneficial to all persons.”

  “You call what you do there business?” asked Pepe.

  Stratos rolled his eyes. “Business of a sort. I thought you were here to discuss something else.”

  “We are,” said Cameron sensing the blood rising between Pepe and Stratos. “We do not wish to offend. We believe Nikos can help us to find Christine.”

  In contemplation Stratos wrapped his knuckles against the top of the display case glass in slow repetition, pausing between each tap. Then after a long pause, he congenially spoke again. “I will indulge you because you saved my son, and I understand your concern for the missing girl. Annalisa tells me that when Nikos left Lamu he went directly to Monaco, then sailed our yacht down to Ibiza. Apparently, he plans to stay at our Ibiza estate to do some sailing and clear his head. I will fly the two of you down there to confront Nikos. Then we can settle this once and for all.”

  “Ibiza, you say?” asked Pepe.

  “Annalisa will have my jet prepped. I have a few things to tend to. Someone will be along to sort you so you can freshen up and we will leave in—” Stratos put his finger to his ear as Annalisa had earlier. “Yes, we can leave within the hour. I will meet you at the chopper.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 61

  Paris, Fifteen Years Before

  The bathroom floor was covered with layers of newspaper. Cameron had cleared one of little Moby’s messes earlier and already there was another pool in the corner. Christine sat on the edge of the bed gazing down at the small brown ball frolicking at her feet. “He is so cute,” she said, “this petit doggy.”

  Ten million years of evolution coursed through Cameron. He had made Christine happy and countless sparking endorphins issued his biological reward with a sense of elation, a euphoric well-being. The wine and chocolate did not hurt either. In his hand, he held the last of the wine, a half bottle of vin rouge pulled from the top of their short refrigerator. In his other hand, two small fruit glasses were pinched between his fingers. Cameron winked at Christine, put the bottle to his mouth, pulled the cork with his teeth, and then with a huff sent the plug flying across the room.

  Christine giggled. She spoke softly, seduction in her eyes, “So gallant.”

  Cameron filled the two small glasses with a single pour and then offered one to Christine. “I aim to please, mademoiselle.”

  “Merci, monsieur,” said Christine. She sipped, then stopped, overtaken by another giggle.

  Cameron leaned forward to give Christine a quick peck. When he placed his mouth upon hers, she hooked an arm around his neck and squeezed, lifting herself from the bed to pull him down. Caught in the embrace, Cameron’s balance wavered and he began to sink forward. The further he leaned the more passionately she kissed, melting into him, drawing him to the mattress. Awkwardly contorted, he continued to kiss her until he could lean no further without spilling wine. He shifted his foot to correct himself and lowered her gently back onto the bed, extending his arm up and away to balance the glass in his hand.

  Free of her weight, Cameron unlocked the kiss and rubbed his nose against Christine’s. “Careful, unless you want a wine shower.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  Cameron scrunched up one side of his face. “Maybe white wine would be better.”

  Christine set her glass of wine down on the bedside table, raised her arms up to embrace an invisible shower, and exclaimed, “Bathe me in a shower of champagne?”

  “You would like that, would you?”

  “Oui,” said Christine, her voice cute. “Then you can clean me.” She lifted her arms open to him. Cameron had another sip of his wine, set the glass near Christine’s, and then settled into her embrace, this time falling with her onto the mattress. She touched her lips softly to his, her mouth open, not a full kiss, a precursor, a tease of what was to come next. She pulled slightly away and then kissed him again, this time with more intensity, more passion, and then the two rolled on their backs. They gazed up at what could have been a field of stars yet was merely plaster, dinged in spots, and yellowed in others. Cameron raised
his forearm and Christine coiled hers so that the palms of their hands met and their fingers could clasp. This happened so naturally, in unison, their bodies and minds synchronizing.

  Christine’s voice was musically dreamy, “Today was perfect. I want you to be with me always.”

  “That would be nice,” said Cameron. He wanted to be calm, truthful, and not let the reality of the short time they had together slip from him. Moments such as these, he thought Christine had tossed reality away, and that concerned him. Not in the sense he thought her irrational, rather he did not want to see her hurt.

  Christine continued, “You could stop with the Legion, and then you could come to Paris, to always be here to look after me.”

  “One day I will,” he said. “You know I am under contract.”

  Christine sighed. “Oui,” she said. She rolled onto her side and brought her free arm around to run her fingers across his chest. She continued to softly rake him for a long moment and then, with a tint of intrigue asked him a question.

  “Cameron?”

  “Yes, Christine?”

  “What if something were to happen to me?”

  Cameron tilted his head toward hers. “What do you mean, something happen to you?”

  Christine raised her brow. She had not actually thought of any one particular thing. “I don’t know. What if somebody tried to hurt me, take me away in a grand kidnapping?”

  “No one is going to kidnap you.”

  “What if somebody did? What if they try to steal me and you are not here to protect me? What if you are across the sea with my brother on some mission, doing who knows what?”

  Cameron rolled to face Christine. “I promise. If anyone ever tries to take you, I will come to your rescue.”

  “You promise? You will be mon chevalier?”

  “I promise, on my honor,” said Cameron, and then he kissed Christine again, harder than before, embracing her until their passions were satisfied.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 62

  Ibiza

  The group enjoyed a four-course dinner aboard Stratos’ private jet. The meal consisted of salad, fresh Maine lobster, Wagyu steak, and black currant custard, and lasted the flight from Gstaad to Ibiza. No sooner had the dessert plates been collected than the jet prepared to touch down at the Ibiza airport, where two four-door Aston Martin Rapides were waiting. Stratos and his assistant Annalisa drove one, Cameron and Pepe the second. Because of his familiarity with the island, Cameron drove.

  Cameron’s past visits to Ibiza had not been as a chef. His time on the island had been spent as an agent of the Legion, posing as a civilian. His missions were of the same nature as those in Gstaad. Though not as exclusive as the Swiss enclave, Ibiza was simply another playground for celebrity, wealth, and the unscrupulous.

  Tiers of holiday villas appeared to pop out of the ocean side hills surrounding the town of Ibiza, in the same fashion as the chalets that filled the mountainsides of the Bernese Oberland. On Ibiza, the facades peering down to the sea were all glass rather than carved wood, yet they created the same illusion of multi-dwellings peppering the island heights. The glass facades, the same as the wooden, were actually multi-levels of single homes, stealthily attached within the sparse forest and hillside. Hidden as well from the beautiful bay below were the sun decks, infinity pools, and the rear garages that housed high-end sports cars of all makes.

  The wealthy occupants residing in the hills far above the crystal blue ocean, predominantly young foreigners, collectively slept until noon, napped late in the day, and then clubbed all night, making the sunrise their second sunset, what those of their ilk tagged as a ‘disco sunrise’. The authorities’ highly tolerant, blasé attitude toward the illicit behavior of the hill dwellers and Ibiza hippie kids that slept on the beach had earned the small Spanish island the well-deserved moniker, the ‘Gomorrah of the Med.’

  With the huge help of Annalisa’s congenial demeanor and feminine wilds, Stratos had worked to calm the intentions of Cameron and Pepe. Requisitioning them a car from his fleet was part of the effort to build trust. Stratos had Annalisa call the staff ahead of the group’s arrival to determine if Nikos was at the compound. Apparently, he was not. So when Cameron drove the Aston Martin into the parking bay, their expectation was that Nikos was already out for the evening. The playboy was surely at a café, preparing to watch the sunset, and would soon be partaking one of the islands famed mega-clubs. Nikos’ absence suited Cameron fine. Without games or confrontation, the search for Christine would be easier.

  The Stratos Ibiza compound was architecturally similar to the chalet in Gstaad, but at a smaller scale. When Annalisa led Cameron and Pepe into the principal dwelling, the main difference from the Gstaad decor was that the walls were ivory as opposed to the crimson paper they had seen during their small tour of the chalet. The walls were lined with photographs, as the chalet had been, however there were no signs of the antiqued Victorian motif. The décor of the Ibiza villa was youthful, modern, and tropical. The central room opened to a high ceiling and the rooms of the next level shared the glass walled cerulean blue ocean view from the interior balcony. A tall bright tapestry hung on one side of the room and a large Britto multicolored pop canvas spanned the height of the other. Large fronds shot out of planters near the edge of the room and large puffy brilliant colored pillows covered the three white sofas and floor.

  “Feel free to check every part of the house,” said Stratos. “Annalisa has shut down security and will open any door that remains locked. I want this to be settled once and for all.”

  Cameron detected the temper of the Greek man was sneaking in. He deduced that Stratos was sure the villa was empty. Stratos certainly would have had Annalisa ask the staff. “We’ll be quick,” said Cameron, and to keep Stratos’ temper from flaring added, “We appreciate the indulgence.”

  Already walking toward the white bar on the side of the room, his lip curled, his head nodding, Stratos turned his head back toward the two men. Precisely at that moment, Annalisa entered the room from behind them. She had excused herself to ‘freshen up’ on their arrival, and had changed into a revealing full bikini top with a flowing white wrap around her waist. When Cameron had first met her at the chalet he had been taken by her stunning beauty, yet her well-endowed proportions had been hidden beneath the slacks and wool sweater.

  Annalisa raised her hand toward the staircase as if she were a hostess greeting the two men at a spa resort. “Gentlemen, if you can please follow me, we can begin the tour.”

  Annalisa had called it a tour, and her description could not have been more precise. The two followed her through every luxurious upstairs room, each with fine furnishings and an oceanic view. They followed through the glass walled suites to the sides of the central room, each with hot tubs and other amenities. Along her tour, Annalisa described the photos on the walls of the hallway and the special aspects of each room, as she had done at the chalet. They returned to the lower level and then toured every room there, and then went through a subterranean passage to the other villas. They toured the fully industrial kitchen equipped to cater hundreds, the large courtyard containing two infinity pools and three spa bathhouses, and then the staff villa, with a private pool and bathhouse that alone could compete with any resort.

  For Cameron and Pepe’s satisfaction, Annalisa took the time to openly speak with each staff member they came across. For each maid and gardener, she made an introduction and asked if they had seen Mister Nikos and when they each replied yes with an overly warm, pleasing smile that barely masked their individual disgust for the young master, she would ask if he had brought any guest to the villa, to which each of them replied no, or they did not know, or referred another staff member better fitted for ratting out the boss.

  When they reached the wine cellar, Annalisa excused herself to get a key from the chef, explaining, “Some of the staff cannot resist temptation.”

  Alone, Pepe muttered to Cameron, “She knows we are not
going to find a sign of Christine here.”

  Cameron whispered back, careful not to move his lips, due to the camera he was sure had them in focus. “I came to that conclusion the moment we arrived.”

  “They are nervous, though,” said Pepe.

  “Yeah, something is up. She may not be here at the villa, yet they certainly don’t trust Nikos.”

  “I picked up on that as well.”

  Christine, of course, was not in the wine cellar, nor was she in the tree hidden security barracks, the movie theater, on the tennis court, or lastly, in the private rooms of Nikos and his father. These rooms were true examples of the extreme wealth of the Stratos clan. Annalisa was insistent that to visit the inner sanctum of Demetrius Stratos was a privilege granted to very few. Cameron imagined that to be true. There were plenty of other rooms to entertain any trysts the older bachelor may decide to partake, where the voluptuous Annalisa could assist him in other entertaining matters besides business. The study alone, the only darkened room in the compound, showed signs of wealth in every deep detail, from the soft leather paneled walls to the rare Brazilian hardwood desk.

  Yet in all of these rooms there was no sign of Pepe’s sister. Not even in Nikos’ private wing. Cameron and Pepe were a bit perturbed for being granted access to the rooms of highest suspicion last. Granted, as Annalisa led them through each immaculate room, they saw no signs of foul play. Neither of the two suspected any evidence had been hidden or washed away as they were being distracted with a tour of the rest of the compound. These were the last rooms to visit because they were not on the tour map, not part of Annalisa’s rote breakdown of each room and element.