The Somali Deception Episode IV (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) (3 page)

“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.

* * *
* *

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.
 
“Business 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.”

* * *
* *

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.

* * *
* *

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.