The Somali Deception (Cameron Kincaid Book 2)

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  Upon seen his cohort disappear behind Cameron, the first Black Tee went rooster, his chest filling with rage and emotion, a critical flaw. The Black Tee raised his arms, his delts, pects, and lats pumped full. Cameron was sure steroids had dumbed down this giant. When the grizzly of a man was close, Cameron surprised the man with a quick Gunnun Sogi stance, a solid step forward followed through with a full on thrust to the Black Tee’s breadbasket. The Black Tee’s eyes screamed wide and his knees buckled. The tribal pulse of the music bore into Cameron’s center. Another Black Tee thundered toward Cameron.

  Cameron and Pepe exited the lounge. Pepe met the Black Tee first.

  This third Black Tee was thinner, compact, and more agile than the first two. What he lacked in mass, he made up for in skill. Seeing Cameron’s style of maneuver, the Tee approached in a Taekwondo fighting stance, rattled off two strikes that Pepe easily repelled and then fluidly went into a back-L stance, one foot on the ground, the other a flying kick toward Pepe’s head. The blow may have been fatal had the man not failed at rule number one, know your audience. Pepe of course practiced Taekwondo. Pepe practiced Kung Fu. Pepe practiced Karate. Pepe was a master at Judo. Pepe effortlessly dodged the nimble assailant, his rotund upper body gyrating on his lowered knees, his head slipping back out of the way, his forearm sliding up to gently assist the younger man’s leg away. Well trained, the Black Tee used Pepe’s assist to thrust him into a spin and as his body curled around, raising his other leg to smash Pepe’s ribs, forcing him to the wall. Pepe grimaced, the air crushed from his lungs. He dropped his arm over the young Black Tee’s leg and rolled himself hard forward against the wall, splitting the limb out sideways away from the knee, the action and young man’s anguish silent beneath the electronic beat, ever increasing to a mind blowing rate.

  Everyone else on the platform seemed oblivious to what had happened. No one left for the other room or even sat up. No one appeared to notice, no one except for Annalisa. Outside the entrance to the lounge, Annalisa had lost expression.

  “C’mon!” screamed Cameron.

  Annalisa did not hear Cameron. He seized her arm, alerting her back from wherever she had checked out to. She turned her still vacant face toward him, and a glint of recognition filled her eyes. Cameron tilted his head toward Pepe and the stairwell and in a normal voice said, “Let’s go.” He was sure that beneath the volume of the pulsing unearthly music, she could not hear him.

  Annalisa nodded and then began to move toward the exit.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 66

  Stratosphere, Ibiza

  As more of a matter of training than formal protocol, Cameron remained by the door while Pepe led Annalisa down the metal stairs to the catwalk. He mentally divided the VIP level into quadrants and then scanned them one by one in search of anyone that was not subdued by a drug heavy trance or that appeared to be taking too much interest in him. Both he and Pepe had seen cameras hidden among the overhead lights. Regardless of whether the occupants of the VIP level had paid attention to their tussle with security, in a facility this size, someone was watching. Reinforcements were on the way. Confident the level was clear, Cameron twisted, clutched the rails of the stairwell, and slid down. They had almost crossed the catwalk when a Black Tee appeared from the exit, took two strides, and then nimbly sprung forward into a front facing stance. Pepe fluidly dropped into a shallow standing squat, an agile position giving him the flexibility to launch both attacks and defences against the formidable Tee.

  The open catwalk was a maelstrom of electronic pulses, bass beats, and a sublime and ethereal swooning female chorus.

  Panicked by the appearance of the Black Tee at the exit, Annalisa spun back toward Cameron. Her eyes flashed in horror, alerting him. He ducked and twisted short of an attack from a second Black Tee that had managed to elude him on the VIP platform and shadow them down.

  Electric dance music was not something Cameron ever listened to, yet fighting was like dancing, and he was exhilarated.

  The bass beat was pounding at a crushing speed. Bright flashes of brilliant color punctuated lightning fast punches. Cameron kept Annalisa in his peripheral. She appeared disoriented, stunned by the rapid strikes and blows, her head switching from one side to the other. Pepe moved uncomfortably close and she almost caught an elbow. She shuffled toward Cameron to a near miss as a foot flew past her face. She sidestepped up and down the catwalk, dodging feet, elbows, and open hands. There was never a need for her concern. Neither Pepe nor Cameron broke a sweat or an expression. The young Black Tees were fluid mechanized warriors. Every move made, whether by Cameron, Pepe, or the two agile security men, was cool and flowing, and occurring at a rate that, especially with the deep trance beat, was incredibly rapid, and remarkably predictable. The maneuvers were textbook, the only moves to make. As was the maneuver that made Annalisa gasp, when in unison, Cameron and Pepe positioned themselves on the far sides of the catwalk fight and their opponents close to her.

  Between punches, Cameron caught Annalisa’s eyes go wide and bright, and he shot her a devious smile. If she guessed the move was choreographed, she would have been right. Cameron and Pepe had practiced the move for staged bar brawls and the next part was Cameron’s favorite. The two gave each other a nod when they were ready, and then each thrust a body blow to their opponent, penetrating to the true solar plexus, the dense cluster of nerve cells located behind the stomach, right below the diaphragm. The blow was intended to cause great pain, knock the wind out of the Black Tees, and most important, the simultaneous action was designed to shove the Tees into each other. The modification was that Annalisa was between them. The move worked. For a split second, the Black Tees’ attention was drawn away from their opponents to the overwhelming pain in their gut, and to Annalisa between them. In that opportune slice of time, when the Tees turned toward her, Cameron and Pepe squeezed each by the back of the head, seized them by the crotch, and then flung the Tees airborne over the side of the catwalk.

  In that sudden instant, as the two Black Tees arced high above the crowd, the thunderous backbeat that had shaken the building in a constant quake abruptly stopped. Silence, an unworldly hush, descended over the crowd, and then, echoing through the cavernous building in a soft repetitive whisper, “All for you, all for you, all for you—”

  Cameron peered out into the hall, into the writhing mass gone calm, and then he looked up at Deejay MooreHouse. Deejay MooreHouse, way too cool in his sunglasses and heavy headphones, was smiling widely at Cameron. The deejay nodded his head, extended his arm, and then pointed his index finger straight to Cameron. “All for you, all for you, all for you—” Cameron smiled up to the deejay and shot his finger back, and then Deejay MooreHouse, in a dramatic motion, swung his arm up and around to jab down on the soundboard. The maelstrom of sound returned tenfold and the crowd of faithful thousands rallied. Deejay MooreHouse nodded at Cameron again, and Cameron returned the gesture.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 67

  Stratosphere, Ibiza

  The two muscle bound Black Tees waiting at the valet stand were no surprise to Cameron. The calm of the fresh evening air, or maybe the reality shift of stepping out of the club, had subdued him. Cameron felt no need to launch into another confrontation.

  Cameron smiled, sucked in a breath, and then said, “Gentlemen, the Aston Martin Rapide please.”

  The two men appeared uneasy. Their focus slipped past Cameron to Annalisa. “Miss Droukos,” one of them said, “we have strict instructions from Mister Stratos that the gentlemen that came with you are to remain here until he returns.”

  Stepping forward Annalisa sighed, “I am sure you do. However, we are ready to go, so...” She shrugged her brows and reached for the velvet rope.

  The second Black Tee found some confidence and moved to block Annalisa. “I’m sorry, Miss Droukos. Mister Stratos was very—” He paused searching for a word.

  “Explicit?” offered Annalisa.

  “Yes, expl
icit.” He scowled, then said, “You need to go back in the club now.”

  Pepe put himself between the Black Tee and Annalisa to undo the velvet rope himself. His voice was stern, “I don’t think that is going to happen.”

  The brave Black Tee threw his hand flat up against Pepe’s chest and said, “I believe that’s exactly what is going to happen.”

  Pepe slowly tilted his head up from the rope to meet the bouncer eye to eye with a look that let the Black Tee know he had made a mistake.

  Annalisa scrunched her nose. Cameron winced an eye near closed, the image of a jet about to collide with a train and knowing that nothing could stop what was about to happen.

  The velvet rope was no longer an issue as the bold Black Tee tore the hardware away when Pepe threw him into the driveway. The other bodyguard responded out of a sense of loyalty to his friend and duty to his job, yet only half heartedly, as he did not actually strike a punch at Cameron. He raised his fist into a boxing stance a safe distance away so he would still appear in play. The tossed down Black Tee began to stand. Pepe had taken two strides toward him when, from inside the nightclub, two more Black Tee security guards appeared. These two upped the game, as they each had Taser sticks in hand.

  Pepe shook his head. “Really?” Then from the back of his waist he produced his Beretta M9, triggering Cameron to draw his Ruger.

  The four Black Tees looked at each other and then the bold one said, “You cannot shoot all of us.”

  “I cannot believe you just said that,” said Cameron.

  The four Black Tees shared a glance, and then, bending forward, began to move toward Cameron and Pepe.

  Annalisa screamed, “Stop! Stop!”

  Everyone looked at Annalisa. They did stop. Right where they stood.

  Annalisa spread her hands out, pressing them to the air, and spoke calmly at first, her voice rising as she went on, “Okay, this is enough. These two men are obviously trained killers. Unless you all want to die, I suggest you prepare the car, and I will smooth things over with Mister Stratos.”

  The first bold Black Tee eyed Cameron and Pepe thoroughly, then asked, “Trained killers, Miss Droukos?”

  Cameron flashed his brow.

  “Get the car!” said Annalisa.

  “Yes, right now,” said the jolted Black Tee. “I’ll get the car.” He scurried toward the Aston Martin while the other three Black Tees began cleaning up the pieces of their broken velvet rope.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 68

  Ibiza

  The bi-xenon headlamps sprayed the road to Ibiza Town bright blue, far beyond the flying Aston Martin Rapide.

  Pepe tapped his knuckles against the back window. “Can’t you make this car go any faster?”

  “It’s an illusion,” said Cameron. “We’re moving fine.”

  “Huh?”

  “We’re almost to Ibiza Town.”

  Pepe curled his lip. He pushed his forehead against the glass and peered up through the darkness into the starry sky. In a low voice, he muttered, “Rich or not, who buys an Aston Martin with an automatic transmission.”

  Cameron flashed his eyes briefly from the road to the rearview, then dropped them back again. “A stick wouldn’t move us any faster. Besides, they only make this model in automatic.”

  Annalisa reached for the stereo. “Mister Stratos is partial to Aston Martins. A close friend once owned the company.”

  Cameron placed his hand on Annalisa’s. “Please, enough music for a little while.”

  Annalisa pulled her hand back to her lap. Cameron considered her situation. The situation Nikos and his father had put her in.

  “Hey,” said Cameron. “I thought you told us the garage in Gstaad was full of Lamborghinis and Ferraris. Are you telling me he has close friends in every one of those companies?”

  Annalisa lowered her head, a bit embarrassed, and grinned. “You wouldn’t believe it but, yes,” she raised her head and looked at Cameron, “he does.”

  “In every one?” said Cameron.

  “In every one,” said Annalisa. Then they both began to laugh.

  Annalisa sighed. “I guess it all sounds kind of ridiculous.”

  “He is who he is,” said Cameron. He let the Aston Martin decelerate. On the road ahead of them, an unmoving line of red taillights trailed toward the glow of Ibiza Town on the near horizon.

  “Is there always this much traffic on this little island?” asked Cameron.

  Annalisa lifted her head in an attempt to see up and around the cars in queue ahead of them. “After sunset people are finding their way to dinner I guess.”

  Cameron rested his forearm on the steering wheel. They would have to wait for traffic to begin to move. With the tips of his fingers, he began to tap the top edge of the dashboard, a nervous habit that went with his mind wandering to where he may find Nikos, to where he may find Christine, because with one, would be the other.

  Cameron tilted his head to the side and absently peered ahead to the roundabout. “There they are,” he said.

  “Where?” asked Annalisa. “Where do you see them? How do you know it’s them?”

  “Up there in the roundabout. The LED in the taillight is out. They didn’t get far ahead of us.”

  Annalisa craned her head closer to Cameron for a clear view of the roundabout. “I don’t see them.”

  Cameron shifted his fingers on the dashboard to the left. “They took that turnoff. They’re not going to the house or airport.”

  Pepe put his hands on either side of Annalisa’s seat and pulled himself forward. “Where are they going, Miss Droukos?”

  Annalisa’s eyes, fresh a mere moment ago, were dark and tired. Cameron winked at Annalisa, triggering a frail smile in return. “I’d love to drive around all night, but we do need to help a friend.”

  This time Annalisa was quick to respond, “That turnoff leads to the port. They are going to Mister Stratos’ sailing yacht.”

  “Of course,” said Pepe, “that’s why there were no signs of Christine. Nikos is hiding her on the yacht.”

  Cameron gripped the steering wheel and switched his head side to side. Driving forward to maneuver around the queue of cars was not an option. To the right was an iron fence and a boundary of boulders, and to the left was a meter high concrete median. Cameron and Pepe needed to uncomfortably bide their time until they made their way to the roundabout. After an eternal five minutes, they were clear of the median barrier on the left. Cameron gunned the accelerator and the Aston bounced up onto the curb. Dirt, dust, and stones flew up behind the car as Cameron tore through the loose dry sandy soil and shrubbery of the median and into the opposing lane. Circumventing the frozen traffic that had held them, he aimed the Aston toward the roundabout, ignoring any vehicles in his way. A small VW station wagon turned off the roundabout and into the lane, head on with the accelerating Aston. The horn of the oncoming Volkswagen blared as the vehicle swerved to miss the Aston Martin, then stopped abruptly as the car slammed up against an olive tree. Having barely missed crashing into the VW, the Aston entered the roundabout against traffic. The surprise chance of near collision sent the oncoming barrage of brilliant lights veering into rapidly deviating directions.

  The Aston Martin had been still, a whirlwind, corrected, and then was again travelling smoothly. Cameron tweaked the rearview mirror to see if traffic in the roundabout was correcting as well. “You can relax now,” he said.

  “I’m not sure I can,” said Annalisa. Her clawed hands were each clutching a part of the interior dearly, one hand the dash, the other the door.

  “Which way now?”

  “Um, turn right at the next roundabout then go all the way to the end. Mister Stratos keeps the yacht moored in Talamanca Bay.”

  The cadmium yellow lights that illuminated the white stucco buildings blanketing the hillside Ibiza Town, appeared an anachronism to the flowing headlights that weaved in and out of view. The harbor’s forests of masts towering the mammoth powerboats pr
oduced the same sense of mixed century.

  Cameron slowed as he approached the next roundabout that led down toward the port. The other Aston Martin was far ahead of them, yet in view, skirting the rows of the docked sailboats and cruisers populating the port. Cameron watched Stratos enter the far roundabout and then exit the spoke that led to the second harbor, Talamanca Bay. When Stratos had cleared his view, Cameron killed the lights of the Aston so he could shorten the distance to his quarry in stealth. The plan was good because when Cameron entered the far roundabout, he saw Demetrius and Nikos exiting their sports car at the shoreline parking area, mere meters away. Barely above an idle, the Aston loomed from the spoke onto the side street. The Aston came to rest curbside under the shadow of a tree. Hidden in the darkness, Cameron killed the engine and then decided to slip the key fob into his pocket.