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

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?”

* * *
* *

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.

“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.”