THE SOMALI DECEPTION
EPISODE II
By
Daniel Arthur Smith
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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 II
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
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Somali Deception EPISODE I
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Somali Deception EPISODE II
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Somali Deception EPISODE III
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Somali Deception EPISODE IV
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Somali Deception THE COMPLETE EDITION
UK Kindle US Kindle
The Literary Series
The Potter’s Daughter
UK Kindle US Kindle
Opening Day: A Short Story
UK Kindle US Kindle
* * * * *
For Susan, Tristan, & Oliver, as all things are.
&
To all of the others that choose to use crayons to color their rainbows.
* * * * *
Table of Contents
EPISODE II
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Connect with Me Online
* * * * *
EPISODE II
* * * * *
Chapter 20
Shela Village, Lamu
Nikos’ frantic blubbering had driven Cameron out of the suite. He stood alone on the veranda watching the Lamu dhows glide by, the tall full single sails lifting the crafts forward. The ageless sailboats brought him a soldiers Zen. Then the commotion to his back subtly dulled. Cameron sensed someone was physically blocking the chatter. He decided to acknowledge the friend at his back. “Graceful isn’t she?” he said. “The way the Captain maneuvers that giant lateen sail as effortlessly as a jib.”
“Like a photo,” said Alastair from behind.
Alastair may have stood in the doorway the whole of the afternoon lest he disturb Cameron. With his friends acknowledgement he sauntered to the edge of the veranda.
The two brown glass bottles Alastair held by the necks were perspiring. The hotel suite interior was far cooler then the veranda by contrast yet nowhere near as comforting as the quieter adjacent space. Cameron had not said much to Alastair, or anyone else, since they arrived in Lamu. Eazy and Isaac had handled the logistics of docking the Kalinihta and transportation to the Peponi Hotel. Cameron did not need to say much as everything had gone according to plan. Well almost everything. The primary goal of the mission was to liberate Christine, yet she was not even at Abbo’s compound. Christine had been moved by the warlord days prior.
As if to himself Cameron said, “They look a lot like the jolly-boats up in the gulf.”
“Lamu dhows are jihazi, similar to the jalibut,” said Alastair.
“Jihazi? Doesn’t that mean...”
“It’s a Persian word for ship I think.”
Cameron allowed himself some levity and let out a slight grunt. Alastair offered him one of the brown bottles, “Here, Charlie dropped a few of these by before he went to check on the crew. They’re cold,” he shrugged, “well, sort of.”
Cameron held the beer up. On the label was a black stencil of an elephant head. “Finest Quality Lager eh?”
“Try it, Tusker is pretty good. Best you’ll get here in Lamu anyway.”
“What does this mean on the label? Bia yangu, Nchi yangu.”
“Swahili,” said Alastair, “it means, ‘my beer, my country’.”
Cameron drank from the brown bottle and let the cold fizz down his throat.
“I told you it wasn’t bad,” said Alastair.
“Hmm. Thanks,” said Cameron. “I was meaning to tell ya, for being out of service, that was a quite maneuver you and Ari pulled on the chopper, despite the rocket.”
“Oh the rocket man. Well we tag rhino that way,” Alastair wobbled his head to the side and back and then sipped his lager, “and the odd poacher.”
“The odd poacher?”
Alastair raised his Tusker, “Conservation. I noted you still handle yourself quite well.”
Cameron raised his Tusker, “Viva Legionne.”
Exiting the suite behind them, Pepe added, “The Legion is our strength.”
Cameron and Alastair allowed themselves to smile for a moment. Pepe and Isaac joined them on the veranda. Pepe’s mere presence reminded Cameron all too quickly of the dread of the day.
“Nikos is talking,” said Pepe. His eyes were dark and drawn in.
“What is he saying?” asked Alastair.
Isaac spoke for Pepe, “He is saying the Volunteer National Coast Guard kidnapped him and Christine to leverage his father.”
Cameron arched one brow, dropped the other, then twisted his head slowly away from the Lamu dhows, toward Isaac and Pepe, “He said what?”
Isaac continued, “Abbo Mohammed was attempting to leverage Demetrius into increased protection of his shipping fleet.”
“So this wasn’t merely a ransom. He told you two this?” asked Cameron.
“No, no,” said Pepe. “Nikos finally reached his father directly and was quite loud when he spoke to him. We could not help to overhear.” Pepe shook his head, “The yammering.”
“Tell me about it,” said Cameron.
“Anyway,” Pepe locked eyes with Cameron, “Demetrius is apparently paying the Coast Guard to allow passage, and whatever that amount is, Abbo decided should be more.”
Isaac walked to the edge of the veranda next to Alastair, “That explains why the Kalinihta was never officially reported missing. This was a business maneuver from the beginning.”
Pepe’s gaze was still locked, “A mistake that Abbo will not live long to regret.”
“You told me you took out Abbo’s son,” said Isaac. “That is no small thing.”
“That is nothing at all,” said Pepe.
“Not with these people,” said Isaac. “I know he has your sister, but I’m telling you that for men like Abbo Mohammed, the death of a son by another’s hand is a catalyst for a Godob, a Somali blood feud, and let me further tell you that all of these clans were established and perpetuated by blood vendettas going back hundreds of years. They live and breathe this. Abbo may be looking for us already.”
“Let him come,” said Pepe. “He should have thought of consequences before he took the Kalinihta.”
“I’m sure he did and this was nowhere on his radar,
” said Alastair. “If what Nikos is saying is true, Abbo never meant to harm him. He was flexing old school tribal muscle. I don’t think he ever meant to harm anybody. I mean bloody hell, we found Nikos with his son in a luxury apartment.”
“From Abbo’s perspective,” said Isaac, “his son was killed by a hit squad.”
“Isaac’s right,” said Alastair, “he’ll be seeking some bloody twisted flavor of Somali vengeance.”
“Then we need to hit first,” said Cameron. “Alastair, do you think we can get Stratos on board for more financing?”
“I don’t know why not. He’s a pretty honorable fellow, perhaps he can get Abbo to simply hand her over,” said Alastair.
“I doubt that is going to happen now that Abbo is less one son,” said Cameron. “If Isaac is right then Abbo may be under the impression Stratos offed the kid. Pepe, can your contact back in Montreal put us back in touch with Dada?”
“I don’t know. I will make the call,” said Pepe.
“Why would you want to contact Dada?” asked Isaac.
“We may need some additional connections and intel to hit Abbo and if we’re doing Dada a favor he can do us one.”
“That’s a dangerous game,” said Isaac.
“I game we’re already playing Isaac,” said Cameron, “and it’s too late for Pepe and I to quit. Pepe do you suppose your contact would know where to find Abbo?”
“Perhaps, I doubt they are that informed,” said Pepe.
“If not I have another friend close by,” said Cameron.
“Here in Kenya?” asked Alastair.
“Here in Lamu.”
* * * * *
Chapter 21
Shela Village, Lamu
Maggie Soze was a socialite cum journalist that had found her way through the world and somehow landed in Africa. Cameron had become acquainted with Maggie in New York. When stateside she was a frequent guest of Cameron’s restaurant Le Dragon Vert. Maggie had moxie, something Cameron appreciated. She was as likely to order a rock glass of scotch as a glass of wine.
“It’s like we are on a boat,” said Maggie, “floating right through the channel along with the dhows.”
“Yeah,” said Cameron. “The suite I’m in is recessed behind the beach and lawn, no air flow. I think there is actually a breeze here.”
Maggie eased her eyes shut, tilted her head back, and inhaled deeply through her nose. “I do believe there is.”
Maggie slowly brought her head forward and opened her pool blues into a fixed lock onto Cameron’s. “You know I love the Peponi. You picked a great hotel. The food here is outstanding. Is that what brought the Dragon Chef?”
“Ha ha, no, though I am a bit hungry. What do you suggest?”
Maggie relaxed her gaze. She slid her turtle shell glasses over the bridge of her nose and reached for the one sheet menu. “Well, let’s see what’s special today,” she peeked over the rim of her glasses, “the Peponi is not Le Dragon Vert but still pretty good.” She veered her attention back toward the menu, “Oh yes, you’ll love the prawns.”
“Right, I read about them in the New York Times.”
“Is that how you heard about this place? I have to say I was surprised when Claude called me.”
“Yes I did read about the Peponi in the New York Times but no that is not why I am here. Actually a friend made the arrangements for us.”
“Us?” The corner of Maggie’s mouth curled up mischievously.
“Us as in a group of friends,” said Cameron. “Men. We were in Laikipia and...”
“Oh and wanted to get to the coast. I get it. I can’t be land locked too long either. There's nothing like a seafront stroll through Shela. Did you know this is a world heritage site? UNESCO.” Maggie arched her eyebrows and then removed her glasses, holding them away from her in the air for a moment to inspect, and then finding no flaw, she set them on the table.
“I was not aware of that,” said Cameron.
“That’s why there are no cars. Have you been on the seafront when the fishermen bring in the afternoon catch?”
“No why?”
“Quite a spectacle, cats by the herds show up.”
“You don’t say.”
Maggie sat back in her chair and straightened her back. “Spit it out. What’s up?”
Cameron sighed then furrowed his brow. “Remember that article you wrote a while back on the kidnappings near here.”
“Hmm, the Manda island abductions across the channel. How could I forget? After I wrote that article I had to watch my back, as did every other journalist. Various mzungu and wazungu around Lamu --,”
“Mzungu and wazungu?”
“Foreigners and whites, Swahili dear,” Maggie arched her brows again and nonchalantly looked to either side of the table for eavesdroppers. “I was threatened more than once by foreigners and whites with business interests in the tourist sector, and in one case I was physically assaulted because I wrote that magazine article.”
“You were physically assaulted?”
“Well I wasn’t beat up. I was doused with a bucket of ice water. Kind of refreshing in a hot place like this actually, the intent was there though. Hey, I just wrote the article and the Associated Press picked it up. No fault of mine if there is no security over on Manda. Tourist cancellations started coming in way before I wrote a story about the pirate-slash-tourist kidnappings in Kenya. I mean they have three police patrol boats that never leave the dock because the money that’s earmarked for hotelier security ends up in some politicians pocket.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah, this place is paradise but there is a reason they call the government serekali.”
“Swahili again, and why is that?” asked Cameron.
“As I understand the Swahili words siri and kali mean secret and fierce.”
Cameron nodded his head. “And the pirates?”
“Probably no different than the rest of them, taking payoffs. Those abductions were just some strays, off the reservation if you will. As were the other abductions, you have heard about. The female journalist that was held and raped a few years ago, and the aid workers, thugs took those poor people, the equivalent of teenage street gangs. Those gangs are not the real power up there. There is a lot more going on.”
“Like Abbo Mohammed?”
Maggie’s eyes lit up, “Wow, now we cut to the quick. You picked a hell of a name to drop.”
Cameron let his smile go subtly coy, “So is he a local player or what?”
Maggie sat silent for a moment smiling at Cameron.
“You’re sizing me up,” said Cameron.
“You’re a chef,” said Maggie.
“Among other things,” said Cameron. “So off the record, what can you tell me about Abbo.”
“Off the record?”
“All off the record. I like to keep private.”
“Okay, I’ll play. So, Abbo Mohammed is ‘the’ local player. If you did not know, he runs a little group not far north from here called the Volunteer National Coast Guard, and that little group, like some other groups up the coast has a nasty reputation as a band of pirates. But they’re not.”
“They’re not?” asked Cameron.
“No they are not. Well they are and they aren’t, semantics.”
“What are you saying?”
“Their designation as pirates is a bit of a misnomer. A better word might be...”
Maggie pursed her lips pondering a word choice.
“Warlord, militia,” said Cameron.
“Cartel,” said Maggie. “Their reputation as pirates has actually helped them in the past, creates this picture of a rag tag group of unwashed men in rags tearing around in little wooden skiffs. Detracts from what they actually are.”
“And what is that?”
“The strong arm of the northern horn of Africa. They control shipping in the Indian and western Pacific oceans, parts of Indonesia and South America now too, and they run grift across all of these waters.”<
br />
“Grift?”
“That’s their big money. All of those yachts, ships, and freighters that are picked up bearing precarious flags, a good portion of them are prearranged insurance scams, or illegal cargo transfers under the guise of a siege. There’s protection money for the giant fisheries, and lord knows what they’re dumping in the waters out there.”
“That sounds like a lot,” said Cameron.
“It is. As pirates they’re documented around 120 million US dollars a year. I hear the real numbers are more like 3 billion.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah,” said Maggie, “probably still a lowball. It’s never where you see it.”
“I guess not. No wonder they have such a strong foothold.”
“They’re allowed a foothold because they’re suppressing Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula. The cartels are clan driven and even though Al Shabaab is predominantly intertwined, the cartels are the decision makers. As long as they’re funded, they are in charge,” said Maggie.
“Al Shabaab means the youth,” said Cameron.
“And the clans are run by the elders.”
“And Abbo is an elder.”
“Technically a sheikh maybe, I don’t know. He is the Cartel elder.”
“Where can I find him?” asked Cameron.
“You want to find Abbo Mohammed?”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Sure I know. He’s not that hard to find. He holds up where all the shady billion dollar deals take place. You’ll find Abbo Mohammed in Dubai. What do you plan to do, march in and cook him something?”
“You’d be surprised,” said Cameron. “Actually, we have a friend to help us make contact, Ibrahim --,”
“Ibrahim Dada!”
“You know the name?”
“Don’t be fresh. You should be real careful of the friends you are making lately.”
“I can use the help so right now I am going with the old saying ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’,” said Cameron.
Maggie leaned back and peered into Cameron’s eyes, “I hope you know what you’re doing. The old saying you should be concerned with is ‘with friends like that who needs enemies’?”
The Somali Deception Episode II (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) Page 1