Read The Somali Deception Episode IV (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) Online
Authors: Daniel Arthur Smith
The Somali Deception Episode IV (A Cameron Kincaid Serial)
THE SOMALI
DECEPTION
EPISODE IV
By
Daniel Arthur Smith
This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only.
Your support and respect for the property of this author is
appreciated.
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
The Somali Deception EPISODE I
The Somali Deception EPISODE II
The Somali Deception EPISODE III
The Somali Deception EPISODE IV
The Somali Deception THE
COMPLETE EDITION
The Literary Series
The Potter’s Daughter
Opening Day: A Short Story
* * * * *
For Susan, Tristan, &
Oliver, as all things are.
&
To all of the others that choose
to use crayons to color their rainbows.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * *
* *
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 pulled 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.