The Somali Deception (Cameron Kincaid Book 2)

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  Nikos’ study is where they found their single clue. Much much simpler than his father’s, the study’s walls had the same ivory white as every other room, the desk a small wooden table, the shelves vacant of any collection of books. Of interest, though, was the picture-covered wall. Like his father and grandfather’s thousand photos covering every bit of hall space in the chalet and villa, and most likely every other estate and home the family owned, these photos were of Nikos with an assortment of people. Yet the people pictured in these photos were no dignitaries or titans of business, all of these pictures were of Nikos and his friends. There was a picture that they had seen before, the one with Alastair by his side; a small brass tab on the frame said ‘Kenya.’ What drew Cameron and Pepe’s interest was another photo. A picture of Nikos and another man, arm in arm, a half naked woman held by the waist on either side, surrounded by the colorful party array of a rave. Etched in the small brass plaque tacked to that frame were the words ‘Ibiza, Stratosphere.’

  Cameron and Pepe looked at each other knowingly. The Stratosphere was a club of repute where famous deejays flew in to host regular parties. The name had not clicked before.

  Pepe tapped the bottom of the picture. “This is a great picture. Where was this taken?”

  “Oh, that is Stratosphere, a fabulous club that Nikos co-owns. Very fun, you should try to visit—” she caught herself and stopped.

  Pepe appeared jovial, “Stratosphere, a great name for a club. A nice play on words.” He lifted his hands, molding some invisible clay. “A nice play on names.” Then his tone shifted, “Is that where Nikos will be tonight?”

  Annalisa’s jaw tightened and her head shifted to the side to help fortify her resolve. She obviously realized she had said too much and that there was no backing away.

  This was the time for Cameron to turn on his charm. He smiled subtly, and then with a low confident tone he asked Annalisa, “This club, Stratosphere, we are going to find him there, aren’t we?”

  Annalisa’s eye darted from one side to another, searching for anyone that may be watching, or perhaps come to save her from betraying her employers. Then with obvious reluctance, she matched her eyes to Pepe and then to Cameron, and nodded her head, an affirmative yes.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 63

  Ibiza

  The taillights of the Aston Martin Rapide in front of them glowed unevenly against the late tangerine sky.

  “Your boss doesn’t know one of the LEDs is out on the right side,” said Cameron. “I bet he won’t be pleased.”

  Annalisa sighed, “I’ll have the garage fix the light in the morning.”

  Pepe shuffled uncomfortably in the backseat. “How much farther do we have?”

  “The club is off the main road between Ibiza Town and San Antonio,” said Annalisa, “in walking distance to San Rafael.”

  “Near Amnesia?” asked Cameron. Cameron had one hand on the wheel and the other arm resting on the open window. The warm air of the island breezed into the car and washed over them.

  “Stratosphere is between Amnesia and Privilege, Ibiza’s other two famous nightclubs,” said Annalisa. A subtle undertone to her voice told Cameron that Annalisa was still tense. Cameron had sized up Annalisa. She had not meant to lead them to Nikos, that was obvious, and the slip had her deeply concerned. Cameron also understood that describing the world around her comforted the beautiful Annalisa. He had met many people before that relished in dissociative context. Stratos had given Pepe and Cameron access to Annalisa and if Cameron wanted to turn her to his advantage he first needed to calm her. To get her talking before they reached the club. The club excited Annalisa and she’d lowered her guard. She had mentioned Stratosphere and then had she slipped. Stratosphere was a perfect topic for discussion. “Stratosphere is pretty famous,” said Cameron. “I never put the two together, Stratos, Stratosphere. I can’t say I’m surprised, yet I’m curious. How did Nikos end up with his own club?”

  Cameron had been correct. He glanced into the rearview and caught a wink from Pepe. Annalisa’s eyes lit up. “Stratosphere is one of the top three nightclubs on the island. My favorite, then again maybe I’m partial, and the story is a testament to Nikos.”

  “How’s that?” asked Cameron.

  “Like his father, if Nikos wants something he finds a way.”

  “And he wanted a club? That does not sound like such a challenge for the son of a billionaire.”

  “That’s not what Nikos wanted. Since the sixties, the large discothèques of Ibiza flourished as the destination clubs of the Mediterranean. When disco died, techno music took the Mediterranean and the rest of Europe in a wave that would not catch on in the United States for almost another twenty years. The eclectic blend of deejay-led dance music, Balearic house, emerged as the new sound of Ibiza. The mega nightclubs evolved with new names and images for a new clientele, and Nikos Stratos was ripe for the birth of the ecstasy filled rave scene.”

  “Right,” said Cameron. Annalisa had gone into rote brochure mode. “He was a rich playboy even then. I bet he wanted to be a deejay.”

  “That’s right,” said Annalisa. He was fascinated with techno. He owned a Roland TR-909 drum machine, and an array of top of the line electronics and turntables to create his own music. He even hosted a couple of nights.”

  “I get it. Daddy would not let him be a musician. Let me guess, did he threaten to cut off the piggy bank?”

  “Not quite, we are Greek, we indulge our children. His father did, of course, frown on the idea of Nikos being a deejay, so they came to an agreement his father would condone. Nikos picked up a premiere nightclub. The venue had been a successful discothèque back to the early seventies, yet had not made the transformation. Then he renamed the place Stratosphere. Like Privilege, the world’s largest nightclub, the dance floor is the size of an aircraft hangar with a twenty-five meter high roof. There is also a splendid open-air back patio with a fountain between two swimming pools.”

  Cameron saw Pepe roll his eyes at Annalisa’s rote tour description.

  “Sounds more like a testament to Demetrius,” said Cameron. “He convinced his son to give up his dream in exchange for a nightclub.”

  “Just the opposite,” said Annalisa. “Nikos convinced his father to let him continue to pursue his hobby and develop the club. The club is successful, and so is Nikos. He has a regular night there as well as nights in London and Vegas.”

  “I don’t keep up with the scene. Still, I don’t believe I have ever heard of Deejay Nikos.”

  “That’s because he uses an alias to deejay and wears a costume,” said Annalisa. “You must have heard of Deejay Roboto.”

  Pepe leaned forward, “No, really? He is famous.”

  “I told you. Like his father and his father before him, Nikos always has what he wants.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 64

  Stratosphere, Ibiza

  When the Aston Martins reached the Stratosphere nightclub, the last remnants of fuchsia lined the western sky. A large crowd of excited clubgoers hovered outside the main doors. Cameron could hear and feel the deep base thump of the trance music playing inside. Stratos led Cameron to the VIP entrance around the side of the building. A team of valets in tight black t-shirts sprinted to the doors of both cars. When Stratos and Annalisa exited the Aston Martins, two muscular security guards at the door sporting the same tight black tees as the valets snapped to attention and unclipped the velvet rope that gated the entrance. Annalisa was stunning. She wore the wrap she had changed into at the villa with the addition of a sheer white blouse to cover the bikini. Stratos had provided Cameron and Pepe with lighter attire appropriate for the warmer Ibiza evening and the sure to be stifling club interior. Stratos himself wore white linen slacks and shirt and, of course, a thin cravat tied tightly around his neck.

  Cameron was beginning to wonder what Stratos was hiding beneath the silk necktie.

  Through the threshold, the electronic rhythm of the da
nce music washed over the group. The soup of pulsing digital notes thickened, tactile as mist or fog. Flashing multicolor lights synched to the sound system added a physical quality to the electronic tones. The effect was compulsory autonomic acceleration of the heart and lungs. Cameron’s nervous system heightened, high on contact with the interior rave dimension. He glanced at Pepe and the two shared a knowing glint.

  The private entryway was a velvet-curtained foyer. The main dance floor split out to the right, and to the left, a set of stairs was ghostly shadowed by the bright blinking lights in the cavern above. Stratos led the group the route of the stairs. The first landing of the staircase opened up to a suspended catwalk that stretched along the length of the oversized tunnel to the next set of stairs. Across the stadium-sized dance floor, thousands of club-goers were already gathered, their arms waving together as a collective organism to the increasingly electric trance beat.

  Spread throughout the writhing crowd were more than a dozen circular bars, the stainless steel bar tops lined with pyramids of bottled water. One of the bartenders poured a fluid onto a bar top and with a lighter created an instantaneous crescent of fire. This triggered other bartenders to do the same. As Stratos led the group across the catwalk, a cascade of small eruptions of flame burst from the stations across the dance floor. The fountains of flame burning off among the thousand blinking lights reminded Cameron of a chemical facility in full process. He was not far off. The group ascended a metal stairwell. Directly below, in a small sectioned off booth, a shirtless tattooist was inking a young lady’s thigh, while next to him another partier reclined back in a barber chair rhythmically rolling her head side to side to the techno beat as a heavily inked bald girl slid an immensely long needle through the upper edge of her belly button.

  Another story higher, the stairs opened to a raised platform. An intimate crowd of less than fifty lounged on the sofas, apparently oblivious to anyone not touching them, and a few were involved in some heavy touching. A few people, a bit more coherent, held company near the bar at the wall. A raised silk sheet, glowing peach from behind, lined the end of the platform farthest from the outer dance floor. Cameron imagined the extremes of the touching that was happening behind the privacy veil. The deejay was working some type of voodoo on a raised tier at the end of the platform. Surrounded by an array of small screens and electronic components, the Pied Piper of sorts enchanted, what appeared to Cameron as a mass of protoplasm, with musical mayhem.

  Annalisa leaned into Cameron’s ear. “He’s great, isn’t he?”

  Cameron could barely hear Annalisa. “Who is he?”

  “He calls himself MooreHouse, like more house, get it?”

  “Clever,” said Cameron.

  “During the summer top producers and dance deejays come to the island in between touring and play at Stratosphere. Some of the most famous deejays run their own weekly nights right here. They use Ibiza for presenting new songs.”

  “Is that so?” asked Cameron, raising his brows.

  “You can barely hear me?” asked Annalisa.

  Cameron smiled and nodded his head.

  Annalisa nodded and gestured for Cameron and Pepe to follow her, and then nodded to Stratos. Stratos returned the nod and headed toward the bar. At the wall past the deejay, Annalisa punched a keypad. The door opened to a small private lounge. The three stepped inside. The lounge was not that much different than a private box at any large stadium, the outer wall a pane of glass overlooking the entirety of Stratosphere. Once inside, Cameron noticed that there were several similar panes surrounding the upper level. The room was furnished with oversized stuffed sofas like those on the outer platform and the necks of champagne protruded from two buckets of ice.

  Annalisa closed the door behind them, her voice clear and lowered to a normal level, “Would you be so kind as to pour, Mister Kincaid?”

  The noise dissipation of the small lounge had an immediate sobering quality.

  Cameron and Pepe each shifted their jaws opened and closed.

  “Sorry,” said Annalisa. “The room is soundproof,” she shirked her shoulders, “also pressurized.” Next to the door, Annalisa pressed a button on a small console and the remainder of the music dropped away. Even the incredibly deep thumps of the bass had disappeared.

  “That’s better,” said Annalisa. “Now we can hear ourselves. Should I order something to eat?”

  “No,” said Pepe. “We should not be here so long.”

  Annalisa smiled, “Why, of course not. Will you indulge me with champagne, though? I admit I love the bubbles.”

  Pepe gave Annalisa a gracious smile. “Certainly, where are my manners? Kincaid, let me do the honors.” Pepe removed one of the bottles from the ice and began to prepare three glasses.

  Annalisa moved to the edge of the sofa. “May we sit, gentlemen?”

  “Certainly,” said Cameron. “After you.”

  The lounge was surreal in a way the world outside of the door was not. With the speaker to the sound system adjusted so low, the soundproofing and air system had the effect of sterilizing the environment. When they had first entered the room, Cameron had thought of the huge window as a voyeuristic display into the esoteric world beyond the glass. His perspective was shifting. Sitting with Annalisa on the sofa, he felt, with the long pause silences, that they could be on exhibit.

  Cameron’s mind raced. Perhaps they were on exhibit. “Will Demetrius be joining us?”

  “Shortly, I believe,” said Annalisa. She reached for the champagne Pepe offered and then raised the glass. “I would like to make a toast.”

  “I will further indulge you,” said Pepe. He and Cameron were not aloof to Annalisa stalling and, though they were sympathetic to the beautiful assistant, their mission was not to be subdued.

  “To a wonderful evening,” said Annalisa.

  “Cheers,” said Cameron and Pepe.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 65

  Stratosphere, Ibiza

  Holding her champagne close, Annalisa peered deeply at Cameron. Her eyes burning coals, her hair blown and flowing, Annalisa began to slowly ease the sheer white blouse over her shoulders, in a very nonchalant, purposely seductive action.

  Across the table, Pepe’s lips tightened. Cameron could almost feel bad for this girl. So obviously put to task.

  “Miss Droukos,” said Pepe.

  Annalisa kept her gaze locked on Cameron. “Annalisa, please,” she said.

  “Miss Droukos,” Pepe repeated. “We have been waiting quite some time. Either Demetrius has found Nikos or he has not. Either way, I believe we are finished here.”

  “I told you. Mister Stratos will be along shortly. Please share some of this champagne with me. This second bottle is better than the first.” Annalisa smiled softly. “You must tell me what it is like to be the famous Dragon Chef.” She slid her hand across the cushion in Cameron’s direction. “Women love a man that can cook. I bet you get a lot of attention.”

  Cameron sighed and straightened his back. “I am sorry. We are here for one reason. I think it’s time we speak to Nikos. His father has obviously found him.”

  Annalisa leaned forward, her breast revealed and almost falling away from the top that held them.

  “Unless your next move is to strip off that bikini top and wrap and share your pleasures with us, I assure you, you have run out of game,” said Pepe.

  Annalisa sat upright. “Mister Laroque—”

  “And I should further advise you that in this special instance, even the temptation of fruit such as yours will not restrain our pursuit of Nikos Stratos.”

  Annalisa went stone-faced for a moment. “Five more minutes, Cameron. Mister Stratos is on his way.”

  “Why five minutes?” Cameron’s eyes flashed wide. “The earpiece. She hears them.”

  Cameron dashed to the windowpane. Demetrius and Nikos were fleeing to the exit off the edge of the catwalk below.

  “We will be leaving now,” said Cameron.

>   “Please, let Mister Stratos handle this and I am sure everything will be fine.”

  “Get her, the door is locked,” said Cameron.

  Pepe offered his hand to Annalisa. “May I help you up?”

  “Why?” asked Annalisa.

  “We need you to get us out of here,” said Pepe.

  “I suggest you do as he asks, Miss Droukos,” said Cameron. “You will be very easy to carry, conscious or unconscious.”

  Annalisa stood and then finished her champagne in one drink. “They are not going to let you leave.”

  Cameron flashed his eyes up to Pepe. “I believe we can convince them.”

  Pepe reached for Annalisa’s arm. She defiantly jerked away and went to the console. She tapped a short code. “Stay and there is no trouble.”

  “I find that is seldom the case,” said Cameron. “Stand back.”

  At the first crack of the door, the heavy trance beat bass flooded the room. The sense of urgency, the adrenalin, the force that was pushing Cameron, accelerated in intensity. He pulled the door in wide. The light of the lounge must have caught the peripheral of the deejay. Deejay MooreHouse shifted his gaze from his console to Cameron. The deejay held a sunglass stare that looked into and through Cameron, and then with a nod, slid a fader on one of his boards, leveling up a new rapid mix. Cameron returned the nod, unsure what prompted the deejay.

  Instantly, Cameron had an answer.

  A muscle bound Black Tee, locked onto Cameron, emerged from a dark shadow across the platform. Not to be too obvious to the approaching thug, Cameron relaxed and went into a subtle relaxed Taekwondo attention stance, the Charyeot stance. His body already in an upright standing position, his legs side by side, heels touching, toes slightly apart, Cameron dropped his hands parallel to his body and relaxed, proper to his training. To the arrogant Black Tee, Cameron would appear to be standing in the door waiting unprepared for a confrontation. Cameron was waiting, yet very prepared. Already ultra focused, the techno added a hypersensitivity. Cameron saw a slight acknowledgement in the approaching Black Tee’s eyes, not toward Cameron, but to someone to the side of the door. When the second Black Tee spun into the doorframe, Cameron was expecting him. This Tee, a crew cut blonde, held up his flat hand in front of Cameron in a signal that the group should not move. Then in an action of brawn and inexperience the massive Tee smirked at Cameron and made the brutal mistake of shoving his meaty hand forward. The ape must have only seen a blur as Cameron slid to the side, clutched the man lightly by his wrist, and with little effort, used the man’s own momentum to send him flying into the lounge. As he flew by Pepe, he received a solid elbow to the base of his skull that sent him crashing to the floor.