The Somali Deception Episode IV (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) Page 2

  “Those daggers are a very rare find,” said Stratos, before either Cameron or Pepe spoke. He crossed the room to join Cameron and Pepe near the glass-covered wall.

  Pepe began to speak, “Mister --,”

  Raising a quick hand, Stratos cut Pepe off, “Yes, yes, we can forego the formality of introductions. You know who I am, I know who you are. Now let me tell you about these daggers you are admiring.” From his pocket, Stratos pulled a small fob, similar to one used as a car key. He subtly tapped a button with his thumb and the glass began to slide to the side, disappearing into the end of the shelved wall. When the glass cleared the fifty daggers, Stratos removed one from the section that appeared among the oldest. Stratos chose one of the few with a hilt, a white hilt. “These daggers are very rare finds,” said Stratos. He held the dagger to demonstrate the peculiarities. “Take this specimen for example. Fine metallurgy, a perfect balance, and the hilt --,”

  “Made of bone, correct?” asked Pepe.

  “Yes,” said Stratos, pleased by Pepe’s question. He held the dagger by the blade between his knuckles and thumb so that the hilt was fully revealed. “In fact this hilt is made of bone, as are a few others. Some collectors have asserted the bone is from a large mammal, a cow or a horse, others say a predator. They are wrong of course. I had a DNA test performed, not on this blade alone but the other bone handled daggers in this collection. You know what I found?”

  “They are all human,” said Pepe.

  “That is correct.” Stratos handed the blade to Pepe. “Each one, including the one you are holding, proved to be human bone. European as a matter of detail.”

  Pepe inspected the dagger, twisting the blade from one side to the other. “For an older knife this has fine craftsmanship.”

  “I agree. The articulate manner of the metal craft around the top and bottom of the hilt, and the delicate inscription along the blade, all of the daggers share this, that is what ties the collection together, yet the style of lettering on this dagger. Well the intricacy is unique.”

  “‘Caedite eos! Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius,’” said Cameron. “Kill them all. Surely the Lord discerns which ones are his.”

  “That is right Mister Kincaid. Your Latin and vision are both spectacular. I find the inscriptions difficult to read in this light.”

  “We’ve actually come across these before,” said Cameron.

  Stratos peered into Cameron’s eyes, his expression knowing, “So I’ve been told.”

  Cameron’s throat slightly tensed. With his best face, he pretended not to have been surprised by the statement. Besides, Stratos must have heard him wrong. Stratos could not possibly guess that Cameron and Pepe once had Rex Mundi daggers in their possession. Stratos could not possibly be aware of how the daggers, worn by the Rex Mundi operatives, came into their possession, by the death of Rex Mundi agents. Perhaps Stratos was aware of the terrorist cult. Maybe Stratos was quite comfortable that these instruments of death were all tokens of a cult. A cult, Cameron and Pepe realized, went back hundreds of years, as dear Marie had told them before she died.

  Stratos did not let the conversation pause. Cunningly, he changed the subject so as not to linger on his statement. “Well,” he took the dagger back from Pepe to place back into the special reserved space in the collection. “I do want to welcome you. I want to thank you for saving my son, and insist you share a drink with me in thanks.” Stratos turned toward the sidebar across the room. “I of course want to offer my condolences for your sister Pepe. Dreadful these animals.” He spun around to face them approaching the bar blindly. “And I do mean animals. I could not begin to tell you the trouble I have had with them in the past.” At the bar, he again turned his back to them and began preparing three rock glasses of scotch. “Hijacking, hostages, the disregard for life and property. I understand the two of you have been pursuing her whereabouts.” He spun back around, a scotch glass in each hand for the two men. “Here, have a seat.”

  “You should sit with us,” said Cameron.

  “Certainly I intend to.”

  “Um, that is not what I meant. You see we have found Christine, or at least finally know where to find her.”

  “That’s fabulous,” said Stratos. “We should be toasting.” Cameron and Pepe each took a seat on the cushioned leather chairs in the center of the room. Stratos joined them.

  “You might not think so in a moment,” said Pepe.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will,” said Pepe. He placed the small digital recorder on the display case table between them.

  “You see,” said Cameron. “We spoke with Abbo and Dada about your relationship with them.”

  Stratos’ brow dropped.

  “And we don’t really care about that. But there is something else Dada shared with us. Well, you should hear this yourself. Pepe if you please.”

  Pepe placed his index finger on the top of the recording device and pressed play.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 60

  Gstaad, Switzerland

  After listening to the torture of Ibrahim Dada and the coerced warlords account of the hijacking of the Kalinihta, subsequent kidnapping, and the claim that responsibility fell on Nikos Stratos, Demetrius Stratos straightened in his chair. He ran his finger around the rim of his scotch glass, sipped, and then relished the alcohol for a moment.

  Cameron sensed the cognitive dissonance plainly on Stratos. The inconsistent beliefs in the deceitful spoiled playboy Stratos knew his son to be, conflicted with his implicit faith the boy would never be disloyal to his father. Cameron could not fault Stratos for believing the best of his only son. Every parent should be on the side of their child.

  “That man would have said anything,” said Stratos. Affirming the reaction Cameron had predicted.

  “You know who the man was on the recording,” said Cameron. “You know Ibrahim Dada.”

  “Of course. I know that man is a scoundrel and despite his title as admiral or general or his diplomatic status, he is not much more than a common thug.”

  “We know of your dealings with Abbo, and we know Dada was trying to work with you.”

  Stratos raised his hands. “So you know. Business on the high seas is very complex. Since you have obviously come into some information I will tell you that many men do business with these and other unsavory people, small things, unavoidable, necessary evils.” His face shrugged. “You have to imagine I run, not one, rather several fleets of tankers and commodities.” Stratos leaned in to the display case between them, resting his elbows on his knees. He set his rock glass on the table and then clasped his hands together. “That is why I find this impossible to believe. The idea my son would stage his own kidnapping in a plot to undermine me, a ridiculous notion. My son is many things, conniving and clever yes, disloyal he is not.”

  “Believe what you will,” said Pepe. “We conducted more than one, shall we say, intense interviews. I do not believe these men were wanting to lie.”

  Stratos smirked at Pepe, “Interviews? A more precise description would be interrogations. Everyone knows tortured men will say anything. Dada was in fear of his life, and rightfully so if I understand correctly, and Abbo, what you did to him, really.” Demetrius shook his head. “The local papers reported a high altitude gas accident. Don’t forget I financed your endeavor. I know you two were behind the whole thing. Blowing him out the window of the Burj Khalifa.” Stratos shook his head again. “That was unnecessary. Abbo was a lecherous greedy man yet he did business wisely. He kept his people reigned in and he was good for his word.”

  “I am sure Abbo was a great man,” said Cameron.

  Stratos appeared disgusted. He spoke coolly, “I am only saying that Abbo was not merely a thief,” he flashed his eyes between them, “or a pirate. He knew how to do business in a way that was mutually beneficial to all persons.”

  “You call what you do there business?” asked Pepe.

  Stratos rolled his eyes. “Busin
ess of a sort. I thought you were here to discuss something else.”

  “We are,” said Cameron sensing the blood rising between Pepe and Stratos. “We do not wish to offend. We believe Nikos can help us to find Christine.”

  In contemplation Stratos wrapped his knuckles against the top of the display case glass in slow repetition, pausing between each tap. Then after a long pause, he congenially spoke again. “I will indulge you because you saved my son, and I understand your concern for the missing girl. Annalisa tells me that when Nikos left Lamu he went directly to Monaco, then sailed our yacht down to Ibiza. Apparently, he plans to stay at our Ibiza estate to do some sailing and clear his head. I will fly the two of you down there to confront Nikos. Then we can settle this once and for all.”

  “Ibiza you say?” asked Pepe.

  “Annalisa will have my jet prepped. I have a few things to tend to. Someone will be along to sort you so you can freshen up and we will leave in --,” Stratos put his finger to his ear as Annalisa had earlier. “Yes, we can leave within the hour. I will meet you at the chopper.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 61

  Paris, Years Ago

  The bathroom floor was covered with layers of newspaper. Cameron had cleared one of little Moby’s messes earlier, and already there was another pool in the corner. Christine sat on the edge of the bed gazing down at the small brown ball frolicking at her feet. “He is so cute,” she said, “this petit doggy.”

  Ten million years of evolution coursed through Cameron. He had made Christine happy and countless sparking endorphins issued his biological reward with a sense of elation, a euphoric wellbeing. The wine and chocolate did not hurt either. In his hand, he held the last of the wine, a half bottle of vin rouge pulled from the top of their short refrigerator. In his other hand, two small fruit glasses were pinched between his fingers. Cameron winked at Christine, put the bottle to his mouth, pulled the cork with his teeth, and then with a huff sent the plug flying across the room.

  Christine giggled. She spoke softly, seduction in her eyes, “So gallant.”

  Cameron filled the two small glasses with a single pour and then offered one to Christine. “I aim to please Mademoiselle.”

  “Merci Monsieur,” said Christine. She sipped then stopped, overtaken by another giggle.

  Cameron leaned forward to give Christine a quick peck. When he placed his mouth upon hers, she hooked an arm around his neck and squeezed, lifting herself from the bed to pull him down. Caught in the embrace, Cameron’s balance wavered and he began to sink forward. The farther he leaned the more passionately she kissed, melting into him, drawing him to the mattress. Awkwardly contorted, he continued to kiss her until he could lean no farther without spilling wine. He shifted his foot to correct himself and lowered her gently back onto the bed, extending his arm up and away to balance the glass in his hand.

  Free of her weight, Cameron unlocked the kiss and rubbed his nose against Christine’s. “Careful, unless you want a wine shower.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  Cameron scrunched up one side of his face. “Maybe white wine would be better.”

  Christine set her glass of wine down on the bedside table, raised her arms up to embrace an invisible shower, and exclaimed, “Bathe me in a shower of champagne?”

  “You would like that would you?”

  “Oui,” said Christine, her voice cute. “Then you can clean me.” She lifted her arms open to him. Cameron had another sip of his wine, set the glass near Christine’s, and then settled into her embrace, this time falling with her onto the mattress. She touched her lips softly to his, her mouth open, not a full kiss, a precursor, a tease of what was to come next. She pulled slightly away and then kissed him again, this time with more intensity, more passion, and then the two rolled on their backs. They gazed up at what could have been a field of stars yet was merely plaster, dinged in spots, and yellowed in others. Cameron raised his forearm and Christine coiled hers so that the palms of their hands met and their fingers could clasp. This happened so naturally, in unison, their bodies, and minds synchronizing.

  Christine’s voice was musically dreamy, “Today was perfect. I want you to be with me always.”

  “That would be nice,” said Cameron. He wanted to be calm, truthful, and not let the reality of the short time they had together slip from him. Moments such as these, he thought Christine had tossed reality away, and that concerned him. Not in the sense he thought her irrational, rather he did not want to see her hurt.

  Christine continued, “You could stop with the Legion, and then you could come to Paris, to always be here to look after me.”

  “One day I will,” he said. “You know I am under contract.”

  Christine sighed. “Oui,” she said. She rolled onto her side and brought her free arm around to run her fingers across his chest. She continued to softly rake him for a long moment and then, with a tint of intrigue asked him a question.

  “Cameron?”

  “Yes Christine.”

  “What if something were to happen to me?”

  Cameron tilted his head toward hers. “What do you mean something happen to you?”

  Christine raised her brow. She had not actually thought of any one particular thing. “I don’t know. What if somebody tried to hurt me, take me away in a grand kidnapping?”

  “No one is going to kidnap you.”

  “What if somebody did? What if they try to steal me and you are not here to protect me? What if you are across the sea with my brother on some mission, doing who knows what?”

  Cameron rolled to face Christine. “I promise. If anyone ever tries to take you, I will come to your rescue.”

  “You promise? You will be mon chevalier?”

  “I promise on my honor,” said Cameron, and then he kissed Christine again, harder than before, embracing her until their passions were satisfied.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 62

  Ibiza

  The group enjoyed a four-course dinner aboard Stratos’ private jet. The meal consisted of salad, fresh Maine lobster, Wagyu steak, and black currant custard, and lasted the flight from Gstaad to Ibiza. No sooner had the dessert plates been collected than the jet prepared to touch down at the Ibiza airport, where two four-door Aston Martin Rapides were waiting. Stratos and his assistant Annalisa drove one, Cameron and Pepe the second. Because of his familiarity with the island, Cameron drove.

  Cameron’s past visits to Ibiza had not been as a chef. His time on the island had been spent as an agent of the Legion, posing as a civilian. His missions were of the same nature as those in Gstaad. Though not as exclusive as the Swiss enclave, Ibiza was simply another playground for celebrity, wealth, and the unscrupulous.

  Tiers of holiday villas appeared to pop out of the ocean side hills surrounding the town of Ibiza, in the same fashion as the chalets that filled the mountainsides of the Bernese Oberland. On Ibiza, the facades peering down to the sea were all glass, rather than carved wood, yet they created the same illusion of multi-dwellings peppering the island heights. The glass facades, the same as the wooden, were actually multi-levels of single homes, stealthily attached within the sparse forest and hillside. Hidden as well from the beautiful bay below were the sun decks, infinity pools, and the rear garages that housed high-end sports cars of all makes.

  The wealthy occupants residing in the hills far above the crystal blue ocean, predominantly young foreigners, collectively slept until noon, napped late in the day, and then clubbed all night, making the sunrise their second sunset, what those of their ilk tagged as a ‘disco sunrise’. The authorities highly tolerant, blasé attitude toward the illicit behavior of the hill dwellers, and Ibiza hippie kids that slept on the beach, had earned the small Spanish island the well-deserved moniker, the ‘Gomorrah of the Med’.

  With the huge help of Annalisa’s congenial demeanor and feminine wilds, Stratos had worked to calm the intentions of Cameron and Pepe. Requisitioning them a car from his fl
eet was part of the effort to build trust. Stratos had Annalisa call the staff ahead of the group’s arrival to determine if Nikos was at the compound. Apparently, he was not. So, when Cameron drove the Aston Martin into the parking bay, their expectation was that Nikos was already out for the evening. The playboy was surely at a café, preparing to watch the sunset, and would soon be partaking one of the islands famed mega-clubs. Nikos’ absence suited Cameron fine. Without games or confrontation, the search for Christine would be easier.

  The Stratos Ibiza compound was architecturally similar to the chalet in Gstaad at a smaller scale. When Annalisa led Cameron and Pepe into the principal dwelling, the main difference from the Gstaad decor was that the walls were ivory as opposed to the crimson paper they had seen during their small tour of the chalet. The walls were lined with photographs, as the chalet had been, however there were no signs of the antiqued Victorian motif. The décor of the Ibiza villa was youthful, modern, and topical. The central room opened to a high ceiling and the rooms of the next level shared the glass walled cerulean blue ocean view from the interior balcony. A tall bright tapestry hung on one side of the room and a large Britto multicolored pop canvas spanned the height of the other. Large fronds shot out of planters near the edge of the room and large puffy brilliant colored pillows covered the three white sofas and floor.