The Somali Deception Episode II (A Cameron Kincaid Serial)

by Smith, Daniel Arthur

  “Oh my,” said Alastair. “That is wrong.”

  “Cameron,” said Pepe, “find her and get her out of there.”

  Cameron released one of Mary’s hands to ease her around to the front of him in a way that allowed the tie to encircle her and then, his head bowed, he pulled the strip of silk to bring her against him, so that they pressed cheek to cheek. The heat of her breath burned into him. He slid his lips across her face into her mouth.

  Cameron kissed Mary deeply and she tasted sweet. His kiss excited her. She pressed herself into him, to devour him. She clutched the sides of his shirt and pulled. He tightened the hold of the tie around her upper shoulders to stay her arms. She fell to her knees and frantically positioned herself to take him into her mouth.

  “Hold on,” said Cameron. “Not too fast. Let me help you to the bed.”

  With a smile, Mary gazed up at Cameron and then rested herself into the slack of the tie. “You’re the boss,” she said. The tie became Mary’s reins and Cameron held the ends tightly. Playfully she maneuvered herself over to the bed. Cameron let loose of the tie as she climbed onto the mattress.

  Mary rose to her knees to where Cameron stood at the end of the bed.

  “So how does an American girl end up in Dubai?” asked Cameron.

  “I knew that enticed you.” Mary clutched the sides of Cameron’s open shirt again. She opened her mouth wide to fully kiss him, pushed her tongue against his chest, and then slowly raked her teeth closed, once then twice, and then tilted her head up. “I was doing an escort trip with an older man, an American, to Kuwait city and one of Abbo’s men discovered me.”

  “Discovered you? You were abducted?”

  “No silly, though that’s kinky. I was offered a two year contract for more money than I ever thought I would see, and that was three years ago.”

  “A contract?”

  “Sure, all of the girls here are under two year contracts. I am the exception. Not bad for a girl from Iowa.”

  “No I suppose not.”

  Mary nuzzled against Cameron again, “I would do you for free though, even if Abbo had not asked. I have to admit I’m a bit of a celebrity groupie. A celebophile.”

  Alastair spoke in Cameron’s earpiece, “I think I’m becoming ill.”

  “So nobody is here against their will?” asked Cameron.

  Mary rested down on her shins and peered deep into Cameron. “Not at all,” she lifted the silk tie from the mattress. “But, I suppose if you like your concubines tied,” she wound the silk around her wrists and then raised them to Cameron, “we can play that game.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Someone said something to me about the new girl.”

  “I assure you that little French whore got a great contract. She used to be a model I think.”

  “Now Cameron,” said Pepe.

  “Where is she, the new girl?”

  “Why do you care? You have me.”

  Cameron lifted Mary close to deliver a passionate kiss. He inhaled as he kissed her, taking the air from her, causing her to swoon. He eased back. A faint plea of a breath slipped from her, his charm overwhelming. He lowered his voice, “I was thinking maybe…”

  Mary was anxious, “Oh you are greedy.” She bit her lower lip and then said, “I’d rather have you to myself, but that could be fun. I have wanted to try her out since she came in. C’mon let’s go get her.”

  Mary spryly launched herself from the mattress towing Cameron by his shirt.

  “You know I interviewed her.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Mary, comfortably nude in the dim light of the suite, glanced back at Cameron with a coy smile, “Wouldn’t you love to know.”

  The hallway from the master bedroom led toward the center of the suite that sprawled almost the entirety of the floor. Mary walking naked through the corridor had no affect on the other tenants, all of which were in different stages of dress, most topless in only panties, others fully nude.

  “To interview means I look for what the sheikh likes and make sure flaws do not slip through. I have been with him the longest and know quite well what demeanor fits best.”

  They crossed the lounge area of the suite and entered the hallway leading into the other wing.

  “So you actually interview?”

  “In all kinds of places, all around the world. This is her room here.” Mary knocked lightly on the closed door, “Babette, it’s me Mary. I have a handsome present for you.”

  “Babette?” asked Cameron.

  “Yes, I told you she is French, from Marseille I believe.”

  The door opened to a beautiful green-eyed girl.

  “It’s not her,” said Cameron.

  “Excuse me?” said Babette.

  Cameron spun around and pushed open the door across the hall, startling a girl painting her toenails on her bed. “What are you doing?” asked Mary. Cameron continued down the hall, opening one door, and then the next, “She’s not here. She must be upstairs.”

  “Understood,” said Pepe. “I am on my way.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 34

  Burj Khalifa Level 104, Dubai

  Cameron backed into the corridor, holding the door of Abbo Mohammed’s 104th floor harem suite slightly open with the toe of his shoe. He slipped on his Armani dinner jacket, extended his arms, and then flexed his neck side to side. From the inside of his jacket, he retrieved two smooth stainless steel cylinders, the size and shape of cigar flasks. He twisted the metal dials affixed to the ends of the tubes to wind each counter clockwise and then held them up to ensure they were slowly spinning clockwise again. Cameron tossed each, one at a time, with a swift underhand pitch, back into the heart of the suite. From the door, the far glass wall lent a vastness to the space. “These are going to be enough to gas the whole flat?” From the tiny device resting inside of his ear canal, Alastair replied, “The compression on those canisters will disburse the gas across the entire floor. If you sent two cans into the central area, they’re going to waft in an amnesia fog.”

  Pepe added, “In a few moments they will never remember that celebrity chef Cameron Kincaid paid them a visit.”

  “Hmm,” said Cameron. “Their loss.” He smirked and then gently eased the door closed with his cuff.

  That part of the mission finished, Cameron snapped his fingers on both hands then reached up to fasten the knot of his tie, spinning on his outward foot toward the elevator.

  In the center of the corridor, a muscular man in a dark suit was peering at Cameron. Cameron smiled at the man and sauntered past him to the front of the elevator, the whole while adjusting the knot of his tie.

  “Excuse me sir,” said the man, now behind Cameron’s shoulder.

  “Yes,” said Cameron. He focused on his dull reflection in the stainless steel doors, and then quaffed his hair with the palm of his hand.

  “What did you throw into that suite?”

  “I’m sorry?” Cameron ran his index finger over his brows, indifferent to the man’s inquiry.

  “You threw something back into the suite when you stepped out. What was it?”

  “Oh,” Cameron gestured his thumb back to the door, “you mean when I…”

  “Yes, when you exited the door.”

  “Well those were gas canisters. Like knockout gas, except those were for forgetting, kind of roofied them all at once if you will.”

  The man drew a handgun from the inside of his jacket and directed the business end into Cameron’s back. “Sir, you better step away from the elevator.”

  “Okay,” said Cameron. He slipped one foot far to his side and then slowly began to drag his other foot to meet the first. The gunman’s muzzle followed Cameron. Above them, the digital floor indicator dinged and the doors to the elevator began to slide open. The doors were divided no wider than a fist when the sound of two mosquitos whizzed past Cameron into the forehead of the gunman. Two men in technical service jumpsuits emblazoned with the swirling lo
go of the Dubai Fountain stood in the elevator. Each of the men wore a heavy utility belt, had a balaclava mask drawn down over his face, and held an MP-5 submachine gun in hand.

  Cameron entered between the two and then spun around to face to opening.

  “We done here?” asked Pepe.

  “Yep,” said Cameron.

  Pepe and Alastair let loose of the doors.

  “You seem back in the game,” said Pepe. From a duffel bag at his side, he removed another MP-5 and balaclava facemask for Cameron.

  “Reluctantly,” said Cameron, rapidly inspecting the weapon.

  Alastair slid the keycard the Saudi had given them into the elevator console. “I never lost mine,” said Alastair. He tapped the numbers one, zero, and five and then punched the code, eight, two, and three.

  “Going up,” said Alastair.

  The elevator floated to the next level in an instant. The interior console dinged with the same tone that the digital floor indicator had resonated in the corridor below. This time the doors did not separate. A thin crimson LED rectangle lit up high up on the console panel in front of Alastair’s face. Within the rectangle glowed a crimson LED circle.

  “I figure thirty seconds before downstairs looks in on us,” said Cameron. He fit the facemask over his head.

  “I wouldn’t worry about the cameras. I was able to rig the elevator on a loop,” said Alastair. He eased his head to the side to inspect the ocular scan from a different angle and then reached out his hand in front of Cameron. Pepe unsnapped the leather cover of one of the front utility belt pockets. From within he retrieved a hard sunglass case, a Ray Ban logo imprinted across the top.

  Alastair saw the case in a side-glance, and then shifted his head around, “Oh you didn’t. I was looking for that. That’s my sunglass case.”

  “I had to put them in something safe,” said Pepe. He flipped open the case to reveal a plastic baggy filled with ice and the two plump eyes of Taufiq Sawar. “This is a good case, strong.”

  “Just hand the thing over,” said Alastair.

  Cameron sucked in his chest as Pepe passed the cadaver specimen across the elevator. He curled his lip. He was not disturbed the two gruesome jelly orbs peering up from the case, rather he was displeased with Taufiq’s fate.

  “It was necessary,” said Pepe. “You see that now.”

  Cameron cleared his throat and rolled his eyes to Pepe. “I knew that then. I don’t have to like the situation.”

  Pepe was undeterred by his friend’s suggestion of empathy. “Did I hear you correct that all of the women in Abbo’s harem look like Christine?”

  “This should do fine,” said Alastair. He held the case up to the ocular scanner. The backlit LED circle and rectangle flicked from crimson to emerald.

  “Yeah,” said Cameron, “he has a fetish for caucasian women with green eyes and chestnut hair.”

  “Then I have no problem with the situation,” said Pepe. “Get ready.”

  The elevator doors separated.

  Outside of the elevator were two suit dressed security men, each with a hole in his forehead before he could draw his own weapon. With a mechanical rhythm stemmed from engrained training, Alastair stowed Taufiq’s eyes, secured his duffel, and then entered the corridor. Alastair’s comrades followed in fluent motion, Cameron holding left, and then Pepe squat, to drag his duffel out between the two dropped men. Pepe methodically sifted through the clothes of the corpses for radios and access cards. Alastair merely reached back to receive the coming bounty, his gaze fixed on the door of the 105th floor master suite.

  Pepe finished rifling through the suited dead, and then set a charge beneath the sleeve of one. He snapped into formation next to Alastair, and then gave Cameron a nod. In unison the three men, as much commandos now as they ever were, edged toward Abbo’s door. They had studied the floor layout, were beyond well trained, and had one single objective left in their mission, the safe extraction of Christine Laroque from the 105th floor of the Burj Khalifa.

  After years focusing on building a reputation as a restaurateur, Cameron was now executing the second direct action infiltration and exfiltration in a week.

  The three stopped at the door, each in position to charge and indiscriminately fire. Alastair pressed the muzzle of his MP-5 firmly against the surface of the door. He placed three fingers on the steel latch and between his index finger and thumb held the access card to the mouth of the slot. Calmly he asked, “Ready?”

  The responses were as cool. “Clear,” said Pepe.

  “Clear,” said Cameron.

  Alastair slid the access card into the slot below the latch. The crimson LED on the top of the access reader blinked off and the neighboring LED lit bright emerald.

  “Viva Legionne,” said Alastair as he pressed down on the latch with his other three fingers and forced the door open with the muzzle of his MP-5.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 35

  Abbo’s Suite, Burj Khalifa Level 105, Dubai

  The guard assigned to monitor the close circuit video of the corridor outside of Abbo’s 105th floor suite had his back to the door, and his feet up on the small table that made up his makeshift security desk. Rather than watching the small screen in front of him, he was flipping through a comic book. He did not so much as flinch when Alastair forced the door with his MP-5. Too many years babysitting the secure suite had made the man complacent. Perhaps the guard thought one of the men from the corridor was coming in to use the restroom, or perhaps he did not hear the door as he was so wrapped up in the colored pictures of his magazine. Whatever the reason the guard did not bother to react did not matter. Alastair, Pepe, and Cameron would never find out. Before the door swung wide, the cheap pressed paper of the comic book was soaked with blood and brains.

  In a mindful instant, the three men surveyed the hallway before them. The commandos had studied the floor layout from an acquired set of blueprints. Abbo’s suite was supposed to mirror the harem suite a floor below, so far the entrance appeared as expected. They had entered into a hallway that opened to a larger central room. Along the hall were two doors. They expected one to be the bathroom and the other, they had decided, was a room for the guards. Cameron flipped the power switch for the light. The other switches were at the far end of the hallway, past the doors, before the central room. Neutralization or reduction of an interiors primary light source is a standard commando infiltration tactic prior to a sweep. Commandos thrive in little to no light and excel in the darkness. Even Pepe, forced to wear glasses to read, was at home in the dark. The three edged forward. Light music rose from another far off room in the suite, as well as deep bellowing laughter, the unmistakable laughter of Abbo Mohammed. Cameron slipped into the first side door, a darkened bathroom, and then, confident no one was hiding inside, eased back behind Alastair. Pepe ducked into the room on his side of the hall and then returned with a nod designating that space also clear.

  Each planted small charges along their path.

  The three stopped at the end of the hallway. Mere meters away from where they stood, the edge of the suite met the Dubai night. The Middle Eastern horizon beyond was crystal clear from this height.

  Cameron had already been through the harem suite below. Level 104 had not been modified from the layout they had read. Since the entrance hall and the two side rooms matched the plans, Cameron was confident that Abbo’s suite would be similarly unchanged. From the blueprints, they learned that a central room encompassed a large area of the suite. To the left would be the kitchen, dining room, and a few small bedrooms, similar to where Mary led him to Babette in the floor below. Wrapping to the right, would be another small bedroom, and then Abbo’s master bedroom. The Burj Khalifa tower utilities and other elevators made up the rest of the floor on the opposite side of the corridor.

  The number of guards in the suite was an unknown factor and a major risk. Striking the lights in the central room could signal additional guards and unwanted issue. There had been no immed
iate response the clack of Alastair’s spent MP-5, loud even with the attached suppressor. That was a good sign, yet the burnt odor already filled the confines of the hallway and would shortly be spreading through the suite, demanding attention.

  The bellow of Abbo’s laughter echoed again. The warlord’s laughter paired with images of Christine shot a pang through Cameron he did not recognize. He wanted to charge the master bedroom regardless of the plan.

  A greater will seized him.

  The tactician within Cameron introduced a scenario.

  Cameron had deduced the warlord must be in the master bedroom, in the bedroom with Christine. That was the direction Abbo’s laughter was coming from. Cameron had been in the master bedroom below with Mary. The room Abbo used on his visits to the harem. Cameron figured an easy gamble, for Abbo’s own comfort, the harem suite and this floor, would share roughly the same decor. He tapped Alastair’s shoulder and then eased himself as forward as he could without entering the central room. Directly outward from their position at the end of the hall the glass walls formed a corner. Relying on the reflective surface of the wall they surveyed the room. From the reflection they could see two large sofas to their right.

  Cameron’s suspicions were correct.

  Cameron calculated there would be at least one guard in that direction. Somebody more important than a guard, somebody Abbo could call on to fetch something. There had been a bodyguard in the restaurant, a dark Somali the size of a titan. Abbo had called the bodyguard Theal. That bodyguard had not gone down to the harem and was not one of those the three shot upon entering the suite. Cameron tilted his head out a bit farther, wary that reflections show two ways.

  On one of the sofas, Cameron could see a man reclining, facing out into the night. A large black man with his eyes closed, possibly sleeping. The man was Theal. Cameron signaled to Alastair. Alastair understood there was a man sleeping around the corner. Cameron also gestured to Pepe that he would march out around toward the kitchen.