The Somali Deception Episode IV (A Cameron Kincaid Serial)

by Smith, Daniel Arthur

  “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 was changed into a revealing full bikini top, and a flowing white wrap around her waist. When Cameron had first met her at the chalet he was taken by her stunning beauty, yet her well-endowed proportions had been hidden beneath the slacks and wool sweater.

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

  The tour, Annalisa had said, and her description could not have been more precise. The two did follow, 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 over warmed 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. Yet, 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.

  In Nikos’ study however is where they found their single clue. Nikos’ study was much simpler than his fathers, the walls 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 grandfathers 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 DJ’s 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 Mister Stratos,” Annalisa was referring to Nikos, how confusing she must be to the staff, “at Stratosphere, a fabulous club that he 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’ 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. Subtly he smiled 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. That she had not meant to tell them that the location in the picture was Stratosphere or that Nikos would probably be found there was obvious, a slip that 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 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 DJ-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 DJ.”

  “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 DJ, 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 DJ Nikos.”

  “That’s because he uses an alias to DJ and wears a costume,” said Annalisa. “You must have heard of DJ 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 Tee-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 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 dance 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 to the electronic tones a physical quality. 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 entry way was a velvet-curtained foyer. The main dance floor split out to the right, and to the left, a set of stairs 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 increasing 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 ladies 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 were happening behind the privacy veil. The DJ 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 DJs come to the island in between touring and play at Stratosphere. Some of the most famous DJs run their own weekly nights right here. They use Ibiza for presenting new songs.”

  “Is that so?” asked Cameron. He raised his brows.

  “You can barely hear me?” asked Annalisa.

  Cameron smiled and nodded his head.

  Annalisa nodded and gestured 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 DJ, Annalisa punched a keypad. A 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 th
e 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 base 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. You will 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 gentleman.”

  “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.