The Somali Deception (Cameron Kincaid Book 2)

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  Another broken pane and the sound of more glass breaking followed. More shots were being fired.

  “Take cover!” yelled Cameron.

  Ms. Lacroux and the two women shrank to the floor. The man stayed seated, a black bullet hole burned into his forehead. No one screamed.

  Dagger in hand, the assassin pushed up from the floor toward Cameron. Cameron threw his arms toward the man and effortlessly gripped the assassin’s wrist. Using the man’s own momentum, Cameron pulled the assassin close and off balance. Then without a breath or pause Cameron threw an arm around the assassin’s head and cupped the man’s chin. With a sudden twist and a crack, the assassin went limp.

  Cameron had not even thought about what he was doing.

  The tinted window of the Escalade closed up as the large black SUV pulled away from the curb.

  “Is there a back way out of here?” asked Ms. Lacroux.

  “Sure, why?” asked Cameron.

  “It will not be safe to go out the front. They know we are in here.”

  “Right, follow me.”

  Cameron stood and helped Ms. Lacroux to her feet. “I’m fine. Take them,” she gestured at the two women, the older helping the younger to her feet. “They are the ones in danger.”

  “This way.” Cameron waved them toward the door of the library. There would be time to ask questions later.

  At the door stood a busboy, a young Mexican named Alex. Alex had heard the breaking glass and, not realizing the glass was from the library’s small windowpanes, had grabbed a small broom and dustpan from the waiter’s station.

  “Get Claude,” Cameron told the young Mexican. “He will need to call the police.”

  “No,” said the older of the two women. Cameron detected a French accent, not surprising since the woman was with Ms. Lacroux.

  “No police,” said Ms. Lacroux.

  Cameron eyes jumped between the two women and then back to the busboy. “Guard the door. I’ll get Claude myself, and I don’t want anyone coming into this room except Claude.”

  “Si, se puede,” said Alex.

  “C’mon,” Cameron said to the women.

  Cameron scanned the front of the house, the faces of the guests, the faces of his staff. His observation of the room vigilant, he deemed it clear. Cameron then led the two women out of the library and back through the dining room toward the kitchen. The dining room now seemed surreal, bustling with the guests unaffected by what had just happened in the library. Their adrenaline coursing, Cameron and the women could have been walking through an empty hall, their pace purposeful. He focused on the kitchen door. The women focused on Cameron.

  From behind the bar, François saw Cameron’s brow furrowed and eyes set.

  “Everything good?” asked François.

  “Yes,” said Cameron as he led the women past. “Keep everyone away from the library.”

  Cameron and the two women entered the kitchen.

  “This will just take a moment,” said Cameron.

  Cameron gestured to Claude, then stepped into the small office. When Claude came to the office door, he saw Cameron taking his SIG P226 9mm and a stack of cash from the safe.

  “What is happening?” asked Claude.

  “I don’t know, but I have four dead men in the library and I need to get these two out of here.” Cameron shifted his eyes toward the women now embracing each other by the worktable. “I need you to take care of the library.”

  The old Frenchman did not flinch. “Ms. Lacroux?”

  “She’s waiting for you. I’ll call you in a little while,” said Cameron.

  Claude smiled. “Call me when you can.”

  Claude stepped back out of the office followed by Cameron.

  “Be safe mesdames, you are in good hands,” said Claude. He bowed his head.

  “Merci, c’est vraiment gentil de ta part,” said the older woman. She asked Cameron, “What if there are others waiting in the back?”

  “There may be. That is why we are taking the side door. After you,” Cameron lifted his arm toward a door by the office.

  “I would rather you go first, please,” said the woman.

  “Certainly,” said Cameron. He opened the door and led them into a large wood paneled room. In front of them, a grand wooden stairwell led up to a balcony.

  “What is this place?” asked the woman.

  “This is the back lobby of the Hotel West. The restaurant was part of the hotel before Claude and I took over.”

  “Hmm,” said the woman.

  “We will be going through here,” Cameron gestured to a door behind the stairs. “My car is parked in the hotel garage. I can take you home.”

  The older woman kept her arm held tight around the younger one as they walked into the underground garage. Cameron’s black Mercedes was parked behind a concrete column not far from the door. The car chirped as he remotely unlocked the door with his key chain. The woman looked at him with disgust, “This is an expensive car.”

  “Let’s say it’s an indulgence of mine,” said Cameron. He opened the passenger doors for the women.

  The woman stuck her head into the backseat of the car and smirked. She stood up and helped the young woman into the backseat, shut the back door, and then sat in the front. Cameron’s eyes darted over the other cars of the garage. He tilted his head, looking to see if any shadows were moving behind any of the underground garage’s concrete columns. Cameron tossed his keys up in the air then caught them, circled around the front of the car and opened the driver-side door. He scanned the garage one more time and then got into the driver’s seat.

  “Where am I taking you?” asked Cameron.

  “We are staying at Ms. Lacroux’s townhouse a few blocks away, on 82nd, but that will not be safe. We can go to 39th Street, by the tunnel. There is a place for us there. A safe house.”

  Cameron started the Mercedes then reached to put the car into gear.

  “Over there!” the woman exclaimed, pointing to the far wall.

  The black Escalade was in the garage and had turned into the aisle where the Mercedes was parked.

  “Duck down,” said Cameron. He pulled the P226 from his waist and set the handgun on his lap then smoothly slid his cell phone out of his pocket and up to the side of his head, partly shielding his face.

  The Escalade approached slowly and stopped in front of the Mercedes. Cameron did not look directly the black tinted windows. He talked into the phone, punctuating his imaginary conversation with his hands. The Escalade continued to pass, speeding up to round the next aisle.

  When the black SUV turned at the end of the aisle Cameron put the Mercedes in gear and eased out in the other direction.

  “Stay down,” said Cameron.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 4

  New York

  Cameron drove the black Mercedes out of the hotel parking garage onto the street. At the next block, he turned onto Broadway. He peered into the rearview mirror.

  “It’s clear. There doesn’t seem to be anyone following us.”

  The woman slid up into her seat and turned to the back, “Nicole, it is safe.”

  Cameron tilted the rearview to look at the young woman. Lying on her side, head on the armrest of the door, she gazed up vacuously at the buildings passing above the car.

  The young woman, dressed in a white blouse and slacks, wore no jewelry or makeup. The older woman was dressed the same, with just a little makeup on her eyes and lips and an emerald pendant low on her neck.

  “Nicole, that’s her name?” asked Cameron.

  “Je suis désolée. Yes, excuse me, I am sorry. Her name is Nicole. She is my ward. My name is Marie.”

  “Nice to meet you Marie. My name is Cameron, Cameron Kincaid. Would you like to tell me what happened back there? Why were those men trying to kill you and why there are four dead men back at my restaurant?”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Kincaid, you did not seem fazed by the shooting. You killed that man without hesitation. Ve
ry odd for a restaurateur. They teach you this in cooking school?”

  “That, well, I was not always a chef.”

  “You were a soldier?” asked Nicole.

  “Nicole, Mr. Kincaid is obviously a trained professional.”

  “It’s Cameron, and yes,” Cameron glanced up into the mirror, “I was with the Foreign Legion, but that was years ago.”

  “The French Foreign Legion?” asked Nicole. “You are French?”

  “Yes, the French Foreign Legion and no, I am not French.”

  “I did not know there were Americans in the Foreign Legion,” said Marie.

  “Well, there are. A few.”

  “And you were one,” said Marie.

  “Yeah, well that was some time ago. Now tell me, who were those people?”

  “It is complicated, Mr. Kincaid. Please take us to 39th Street and you will be rewarded. We are grateful. Je vous remercie de tout cœur, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  “I understand French, and it’s all right. I have to tell you, though, that I don’t take well to people shooting up my restaurant.”

  Marie turned her face to the side and glanced up at the lights of the mall in the tall Time-Warner building as they made their way around Columbus Circle. Cameron drove along the south side of the park. Though the sun was setting, horse carriages still lined the north side of the street. In the mirror, he could see that Nicole had sat up. She marveled at the horses and then peered down 5th Avenue as they crossed.

  Marie said nothing more.

  Cameron turned onto 2nd Avenue and drove quickly downtown toward 39th Street.

  “How do you know how to make all of the traffic lights?” asked Marie. “They turn green as we approach each one.”

  “It’s a trick a cabby showed me.” Cameron pointed at the digital speedometer. “The lights are timed so that if you stay at twenty-nine, you will catch them all.”

  At 39th Street, the Mercedes turned the corner.

  “Is it the townhouse up on the right?” asked Cameron.

  “Oui. How did you know?”

  “Unless those fellas are with you, the place is staked out.”

  In front of the townhouse, two men stood in heavy coats, too heavy for the time of year. Steps ahead of the two men another black Escalade was parked and idling.

  “They are not with us,” said Marie.

  “Duck down until we get around the block.”

  Cameron drove to the corner and turned north onto 3rd Avenue. “OK, you can get up. I don’t suppose there is another place I can take you.”

  “Not in New York. Can I please use your cell phone?”

  Cameron gave Marie his cell phone and she dialed a number. He tried to hear what she was saying. Marie had turned her head toward the window and was speaking softly. When Marie finished the call, she sighed and handed the phone back to Cameron.

  “So?” asked Cameron.

  “This city is no longer safe for us. Is there a place we can rent a car?”

  “Do you have a driver’s license?”

  “No.”

  “Then the answer is no. Where do you want to go?”

  “If we can get to Boston, there are others that can help us.”

  “Boston, eh.” Cameron clipped his phone into the Mercedes console and said, “Phone. Call Claude.”

  The sound system of the Mercedes began to ring and then Claude’s accent filled the car.

  “Cameron.”

  “Claude, is everything under control?”

  “Oui,” Claude’s voice was somber. “Ms. Lacroux made a call and some men quickly came to her aid. They are cleaners, Cameron. What is going on?”

  Cameron raised an eyebrow to Marie, “I wish I knew. The women are still with me.”

  “Uh huh,” said Claude.

  “I am going to be taking them to Boston. I should be back in the morning.”

  Marie spoke up, “Mr. Kincaid, you do not have to do that. You already have done so much.”

  “I decide what I do and don’t do. Besides, it will give you a chance to fill me in. I like complicated stories.”

  “I would listen to him, Madame,” Claude said over the speakers. “He is very stubborn, this one.”

  Marie turned back to the window. “Very well.”

  “Let the cleaners do their job. I will give you a call later,” said Cameron.

  “I intend to. Be safe my friend.”

  The sound system made a subtle click and the phone dimmed.

  The Mercedes had reached the FDR and the city soon fell behind.

  Marie and Nicole watched out the windows. They did not speak as Cameron drove.

  Thirty minutes north of New York Cameron’s thumb tapped a button on the steering wheel to turn on the radio. The sound of electric guitar filled the car. Marie spun her head. She reached toward the console to find the button that would stop the music.

  “You must stop this, it is foul,” said Marie.

  “OK, OK,” said Cameron. He quickly tapped another button on the steering wheel and classical piano replaced the electric guitar. “Not a rock connoisseur, I get it.”

  Marie crossed her arms and turned back toward the window. “It is inappropriate for Nicole to hear those sounds, that music.”

  “To each his own.” Cameron glanced up at the mirror. Nicole continued to gaze off into the night, her chin resting on her hand.

  “So are you going to tell me why we are going to Boston?” asked Cameron.

  Marie did not move.

  “And those men back at the restaurant?”

  “They were operatives of Rex Mundi,” said Nicole.

  “Nicole, he does not need to know this,” said Marie.

  “He has helped us. To not tell him would be to lie.”

  Marie looked at Nicole and then at Cameron, “I will tell you, but not now.” She looked again at Nicole. Cameron understood and continued to silently drive the Mercedes toward Boston.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 5

  New York

  Cameron adjusted the rearview mirror to see the rear bench seat of the Mercedes. Nicole was on her side, her eyes closed. “OK, she’s asleep,” said Cameron. “Now tell me about this Rex Mundi. Who is he and how do I get in touch with him?” Cameron shifted the mirror again. The lights from the car behind them flashed across his face. “He owes me for a window.”

  Marie checked to see if Nicole had indeed fallen asleep. She had. “Don’t be foolish. Rex Mundi is not a person.”

  “If they’re some kind of terrorist group, I haven’t heard of them. Is that what they are, some terrorist group?”

  “If only it were that simple. Rex Mundi is something greater. It is a force with many followers, knowing and unknowing.”

  “Knowing and unknowing?”

  “Some are true believers and others pawns, believing they are just in their deeds.”

  “True believers, what the world needs more of.” Cameron shook his head. “And what do they want with you?”

  “It is Nicole they are after.”

  “Nicole? Why could they possibly want her? She’s only a kid.”

  “They believe she will lead them to a treasure.”

  “A treasure?”

  “They believe she will lead them to a treasure that has been hidden for 800 years. Of course they are mistaken.”

  “Of course. Whatever gave them that idea?”

  “Somehow they found out we are on our way to Montreal. Nicole is to meet with someone important to us, an elderly woman. They believe that is where they will find the treasure,” said Marie.

  “And Ms. Lacroux?” asked Cameron.

  “Ms. Lacroux was helping us in New York. In Boston there is another safe house and others there that will help us get safely to Montreal.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? Because I do not wish to discuss it further. I am tired too and need to sleep.” Marie did not wait for Cameron’s reply. She placed her head on the back of her se
at, turned to the darkness outside her window, and closed her eyes.

  * * * * *

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  Excerpt from Agroland

  Read on for an excerpt from the New Supernatural Horror

  AGROLAND

  * * * * *

  Agroland

  Copyright © 2014 by Daniel Arthur Smith

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  ONE

  I’ve seen a lot of ugliness in the world. The evil things men can do, violent things. Things I chose to forget, to wipe clean. I’ve walked through what was left of a bombed out market, people blown apart, children blown apart. When a buddy of mine had his leg shredded by a roadside bomb, I gathered his boot with his foot still inside. All of those things, all of that war, none of it prepared me for what we found by the fire.

  When I left the Marines, I left the war. I joined a civilian firm assigned to babysit a sleepy little agro outfit out in the desert of north Jordan, not far from the Syrian border. We tagged the place Agroland. They were going to make crops grow in the desert, dates and olives, stuff like that. Jobs were scarce and they wanted vets, insurance to make sure no one showed up to spoil the party. So they got us, a mix of Brits and Americans pretending we were still soldiers. The only thing I had to do was patrol a square mile perimeter that never saw much more than sand and dust. Easy money.

  Every day, a couple times a day, I walked the little road lining the compound, making sure no one had cut through the fifteen-foot chain link, or tried to climb over the razor wire on top. I never expected to find anyone. The chain link was like a prison fence, as good at keeping people in as keeping them out, and lined up along the inside were waist high reinforced barriers to stop anyone from driving through. No one was getting in.