THE SOMALI DECEPTION
EPISODE IV
By
Daniel Arthur Smith
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The Somali Deception
EPISODE IV
Original Copyright © 2010 by Daniel Arthur Smith
Copyright © 2013 by Daniel Arthur Smith
All rights reserved Holt Smith ltd
Also for Kindle by Daniel Arthur Smith
The Cameron Kincaid Adventures
The Cathari Treasure
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Somali Deception EPISODE I
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Somali Deception EPISODE II
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Somali Deception EPISODE III
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Somali Deception EPISODE IV
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Somali Deception THE COMPLETE EDITION
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Literary Series
The Potter’s Daughter
UK Kindle US Kindle
Opening Day: A Short Story
UK Kindle US Kindle
* * * * *
For Susan, Tristan, & Oliver, as all things are.
&
To all of the others that choose to use crayons to color their rainbows.
* * * * *
Table of Contents
EPISODE IV
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Connect with Me Online
* * * * *
EPISODE IV
* * * * *
Chapter 57
Gstaad, Switzerland
The Volvo was travelling far faster than the posted limit, and as they traversed the incline of the winding road, Pepe continued to accelerate. The engine loaded RPMs onto each gear in succession, amplifying the illusion of speed and momentum. Cameron felt the sensation of being thrust up, out, and around the curves. He would have preferred to drive yet had to defer to Pepe. Before leaving Paris, Pepe had secured the car, so there was never a question or an option for Cameron to do more than ease back and take in the Alps.
Of things to see in the world, the scenery of the Alps was among the most beautiful. A Mozart sonata filled the car. Cameron tapped his knee to the exhilarating tempo. The thinner air of the higher elevation gave the shimmering surface of Lake Geneva a fairy tale glisten. The iconic Alps, the pastoral valleys, and glacier groomed slopes, were all postcard perfect. From the French Alps through the Swiss, the villages became evermore ornate. Even the jumbled architecture of Montreux, spanning from medieval snapshots of eras past to modern symbols of culture and the utmost wealth, had an enticing appeal.
Cameron and Pepe would soon arrive at their destination in the Bernese Oberland, a fairy tale in the Alps, brought to life by the architectural wonders of the Gstaad super rich. Each chalet a paradise, an oasis, a manifestation of the vanity of artisans, architects, and interior designers with no budget limitation. The breathtaking uniform chalets, ornately carved from local wood, each hid a literal underground to which Cameron was familiar. The picture perfect facades, a modest three-meters above the surface, hid high-tech fortresses, five times as large, in the depths of Oberbort, Gstaad’s most fashionable area. Reinforced by nuclear bomb proof concrete, these mansions under the earth held in their bellies, swimming pools, fitness centers, spas, movie theaters, vintage car stocked garages, and wine cellars large enough to store a small vineyard. Cameron had been here several times before, as a chef, and to play, and years ago as an agent. Quieter than St. Moritz, and far more exclusive, the unscrupulous found comfort amongst celebrity and wealth.
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 a stoic by nature, a factor in his promotion to the Corsican Green Dragon special ops group of the French Foreign Legion. 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 was 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 pu
lled 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 says -- 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 was.
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 eve 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 manner. 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, focused 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. The 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 side bar,” 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. She smiled and then tiled her head toward the wall, her sultry gaze 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, a promise, “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. 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 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 suspicion. 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 soldiers response was to mirror Stratos with a stern gaze to set him at ease. A stare that would instill in the rich man that Cameron and Pepe were not mere fortune hunters. So, Cameron and Pepe returned the stare.
The Somali Deception Episode IV (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) Page 1
