The Somali Deception Episode II (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) (5 page)

“How do you know?” asked the Saudi.

“Oh I know,” Cameron nodded at
Pepe, “tell him.”

“He knows,” said Pepe.

“You made a huge bet that you
cannot cover,” said Cameron.

“You do not know what you are
talking about.
 
Gambling is
forbidden here,” said the Saudi.

“Maybe so, maybe so.”

“No maybe.
 
Forbidden, I am no fool.”

“I have a feeling that you are
in a position to make a deal and give us Abbo,” said Cameron, “and that little
piece of electronics tells me so.”

“What are you saying?
 
What is this?”
 
The Saudi held the small piece up, a
black plastic cube with small pins protruding from one side.

“That there is the device, or
like the device that tells me you are in trouble.
 
Or maybe, that is the device or like the
device that tells your camel he is in trouble.”

The Saudi’s eyes now pierced Cameron.
 
“Did you tamper with my robot?”

“Doesn’t matter, you lost and
you owe and we are the only friends you have,” said Cameron.

Pepe smiled at the Saudi, “What
do you say we take a moment.
 
Things
have changed from half an hour ago.
 
Our mutual friend will not be happy with you.
 
Maybe you see things our way now.”

The Saudi closed his eyes
briefly again, “Perhaps you’re right.
 
Meet me tonight.”
 
From his
bag, he retrieved a card.
 
“Here,
call this number this evening and I will tell you where I can meet you.”

“That’s not necessary,” said
Cameron.
 
“All we need to know is
how to get to Abbo and your problems and our problems are solved.”

The Saudi composed himself and
for the first time signaled his driver to step forward.

“Call me,” said the Saudi.
 
“We will eat, start over.”

Cameron took another step
forward, “I would rather --,”

The Saudi threw up his hand in a
gesture for Cameron to stop and the driver slipped his hand into his thobe and
revealed the top half of a submachine gun.

Cameron threw his hands up and
stepped back, “Okay, okay.
 
Dinner
then.”

“Dinner then,” said the Saudi.

Cameron and Pepe stepped from
behind the Maybach to allow the Saudi into his car without further
discussion.
 
The luxury car backed
out of the parking space.

“What was that electronic thing
you gave him?” asked Pepe.

The car slowly moved past the
two men.
 
Cameron and Pepe smiled,
offered a gentle wave, and then bowed their heads at the dark tinted windows of
the Maybach.

“Part of the electric eye sensor
from the concession entrance.
 
I
figured that would throw him.”

“Clever.
 
I believe you succeeded.”

“Thank you, I think so too,”
said Cameron, he lifted the key fob Rehan had given him and tapped a
button.
 
The taillights of the
Mercedes flashed.

“You know,” said Pepe.
 
“He is going to try to make a deal with
Abbo to trade us for his debt.”

“Well he thinks he is,” said
Cameron.
 
“We are about to talk him
out of doing such a foolish thing.”

* * *
* *

Al Marmoom Camel Racetrack,
Dubai

Cameron let the Mercedes idle in
the shaded entrance of the parking structure as he and Pepe watched the Saudi’s
Maybach follow the service road out of the Al Marmoom Camel Racetrack.
 
When the Maybach reached the first
grandstand near the complex edge, Cameron accelerated into the sunlight.

Pepe leaned over the front seat,
“How far do you want to follow him?”

“Not far,” said Cameron.
 
“Clear of the racetrack, before the
Dubai Highway.”

“How about that stadium over
there, behind us?
 
The entrance is
on the left, right before the Highway 77 ramp.”

Cameron glanced into the
rearview mirror.
 
“You want to get
him into that large stadium back there?”

“That’s the Sevens rugby
stadium.
 
The place was empty when
we came in.”

“Sounds good,” said
Cameron.
 
“Hold tight.”
 
They turned toward the Alain-Dubai
road.
 
“This will only take a
minute.”
 
The engine revved as
Cameron punched the pedals, shifting to a higher gear.

To reach Dubai Highway, Highway
77, vehicles turned right out of the racetrack complex onto the Al Marmoom
service road, traveled the opposite direction of the highway a few hundred
meters, and then turned to cross the parallel two-lane Alain-Dubai road,
properly Highway 66, to reverse back.

The Maybach would be turning
onto Highway 66 in seconds and driving directly back toward, and then passing
the Mercedes.
 
If Cameron’s timing
was correct he would be turning right onto the service road at the precise time
the Maybach exited, giving him the opportunity to catch up before his quarry
turned back.
 
Cameron’s timing was
most always correct.
 
He evaded out
of habit rather than necessity.
 
Providing an evading pursuit out on this stretch of road really did not
matter.
 
The black Mercedes Cameron
was driving could have been any one of the many from the parking structure or
on the highway.
 
The only vehicles
more numerous than the luxury sedans this far from the city were the myriad of
high-end four-by-fours.

In less than a minute, the
Mercedes was on Highway 66 behind the Maybach and closing fast.

“Are we clear?” asked Pepe.

“Not another car on the road,”
said Cameron.

“This will be like the Algarve
job then?”

“Right, I will pinch the quarter
and you --,”

“Close the deal.”

“Viva Legionne,” said Cameron.

Pepe responded, “The Legion is
our strength.”

The driver of the Maybach could
not have known what was happening until too late, if he ever realized at
all.
 
Cameron’s years of training
and experience made the deadly task effortless in execution, and essentially
that is what the maneuver was, an execution.
 
In a country notorious for reckless
speeding the driver of the Maybach most likely took no notice of the black
Mercedes rapidly approaching from behind to pass on his right.
 
He probably could have responded better
than to jerk the steering wheel to the left when the black car cut him off by
too quickly moving into his lane, had his head not been removed from his body
by two gun blasts from the other vehicles rear window.
 
Odds are he never saw Pepe or the muzzle
flash, both appearing in the brief instance that the corner of the Maybach’s
windscreen aligned with the back seat of the Mercedes.
 
Cameron was actually surprised as
well.
 
The maneuver anticipated
bulletproof glass and was meant to jar the driver into a wheelhouse jerk of the
steering wheel.
 
Despite the overkill,
the Maybach went exactly where Cameron and Pepe had wanted, a billiard ball to
Pepe’s bullet cue, right into the stadium side pocket.
 
One thing that Cameron and Pepe had not
anticipated was that there was no exit to the Sevens rugby stadium from their
far lane.
 
This portion of the
Alain-Dubai road was a proper multi-directional highway split by a median.
 
Fortunately, there were no dividers of
any kind, so coupled with luck, the Maybach made the journey across the median,
over the other lane, and onto the Sevens Stadium service road.

Cameron spun the Mercedes around
and crossed the median to follow their target.
 
The Maybach traveled a few hundred
meters toward the stadium, eventually slowed, and then finally came to a full
stop.

“He’s going to run,” said Pepe,
again leaning over the front seat, his handgun dangling in his clutch.

“They always run,” said
Cameron.
 
“That was an amazing
shot.”

A light grunt was the only sound
Pepe made.

Mere meters away the rear door
of the Maybach flung open and the Saudi awkwardly poured himself out of the
car.

“There he is,” said
Cameron.
 
Cameron tapped the
accelerator to shorten the tedious task of apprehending the Saudi.

“Oui,” said Pepe, “please make
this quick.
 
He is tripping over his
thobe.
 
Very pitiful.”

The Mercedes swerved up next to
the Saudi.
 
Pepe swung open the rear
door in front of the man.
 
The
Saudi, his pristine white thobe now sprayed bright crimson, threw up both of
his arms and stumbled backward, then dropped to his knees.

“Calm down,” said Pepe.

The Saudi veered up at Pepe and
then projected thick vomit onto the asphalt.

“Oh, that is disgusting,” said
Pepe.
 
“Listen, I promise you I will
not shoot.
 
See I give the gun to my
friend.”

Cameron reached up behind his head
to take the handgun from Pepe.

“Are you sure?” asked the Saudi,
his face also speckled with bright red spatter.

“Very sure, now get in before I
change my mind.”

The Saudi moved toward the
Mercedes, slowly at first, and then scampered into the backseat with Pepe,
perchance for safety.

“Excuse me,” said Pepe, as he
reached over the man to close the door trying not to rest his own thobe against
the blood of the Saudi’s.

 
“We all in?” asked Cameron.

“Oui,” said Pepe.
 
“Uh, take us around the back of the stadium
where we can talk in private.”
 
He
furrowed his brow to the Saudi, “Relax we are only going up here a bit.
 
Maybe we should buckle you in.”

* * *
* *

Sevens Rugby Stadium, Dubai

Cameron glanced into the
Mercedes rearview mirror.
 
The Saudi
had undergone a metamorphosis, caustic and threatening at the track, he had
become something other.

The Saudi rested his eyes
closed, letting his face and jaw go helplessly lax.
 
He appeared ill, his facial pallor
accentuated by brilliant crimson spatter.
 
He drew in a deep breath through his nose that did not give rise to his
chest, his body rejecting the cooler air of the Mercedes.
 
His full upper body quivered.

“He’s going to wretch again,”
said Cameron.

“No,” said Pepe in a soft
voice.
 
“No, he is calming.
 
Go ahead and breathe.”

The Saudi began to rapidly mouth
some words, a mantra, a prayer,
again and again
,
silently at first then to a whisper.
 
From the front seat Cameron could make out the mantra clearly, “A-ozu
billahi mena shaitaan Arrajeem, A-ozu billahi mena shaitaan Arrajeem.”
 
Cameron understood the Arabic, a Muslim
phrase, mainly used when one was feeling unsafe, or when scared by
something.
 
The phrase roughly
translated meant, ‘I seek refuge in Allah from the cursed Satan,’ and the Saudi
was repeating the mantra
over and over
.
 
Pepe also understood the meaning of this
phrase.
 
The overall meaning was
that the Saudi was right where they wanted him.

In a still soothing tone, Pepe
spoke again, “You pray for Allah to be with you.”
 
Pepe nodded his head, “The great Allah
is with you.
 
My friend and I, we
are not the cursed Satan.
 
Do not
feel unsafe, do not feel scared, try to relax.”

The Saudi opened his eyes, large
and round, wanting to escape Pepe.
 
“Relax?” he said.
 
“You could
have killed me.
 
You killed
Faheem!
 
You could have killed me!”

“Whoa, whoa, ‘could have’ is not
the same as did,” said Pepe.
 
“I did
not wish to kill Faheem.”

“Then why did you shoot him in
the head?”

“My goal was to scare him off
the road.
 
You did not have bulletproof
glass.
 
Who does not have
bulletproof glass?
 
I cannot believe
you did not have bulletproof glass.”
 
Pepe lifted his hands in frustration, sighed, clasped his hands, and
then continued, “Very unnecessary, you know we have bulletproof glass.
 
This is only a rental.”