“It’s very close,” said Nicole, “you will want to slow down.”
“You’re telling me that pendant corresponds to our map?” asked Pepe. He had watched Nicole place the pendant on the map and use the makeshift device the same way Cameron and he were trained to use lensatic compasses in the Legion, the difference was that their military field compasses had magnetized needles. Nicole’s decoder did not have a way of telling true north that Pepe could see, and he did not see how she knew her bearings without a the magnetized needle.
“It only needs to give me the general direction. I will know what it is I am looking for when I see it,” said Nicole.
The corners of Pepe’s mouth dropped to form an upside down smile. Pepe realized that the scale of the map, large or small, did not matter if whoever was decoding with the key knew what they were looking for. The pendant truly was a key, and a good one, that could be used with any map that had the correct landmarks.
“There,” said Nicole. She pointed at a line on the map designating a two-track utility road. “That is where we need to turn.”
The road came up quickly as Nicole predicted. Though Cameron had been driving slowly he did not see the two-track until the Chevy was upon the road. There were no signs and they drove past before braking. The mouth to the two-track was overgrown and could easily have been mistaken for an old logging trail.
Cameron stopped the Chevy, backed up to the mouth of the two-track, and then turned off route eight onto the overgrown utility road.
The Chevy plodded over the old road for some time. Regardless of how gently Cameron tried to maneuver, the deep weather worn dips rolled their stomachs. Sections of the two-track were so crowded by brush and fallen branches that Cameron had to stop several times so that he and Pepe could clear the path. They continued at a slow pace until, a far distance from route eight, the evergreens turned to hardwoods, and the two-track became a groomed dirt road.
Cameron looked into the rearview at Pepe. Pepe shrugged in response.
They had drove for another fifteen minutes when Pepe leaned forward between Nicole and Cameron. “In the trees,” said Pepe. He pointed to the tree line to the left of the Chevy. Cameron slowed to a crawl so that he could peer into the woods. Behind the tree line, visible in some places, hidden in others, a wooden split rail fence ran parallel with the road. From what they could see, the fence was an amalgam of new and aged rails ranging from barn-wood black and grey to fresh-cut blonde. Many of the posts had fresh dirt mounds near their base no more than a few winters old. For being in the middle of the forest, the fence was very well maintained.
Not much farther past where Pepe first saw glimpses of the split rail fence, the Chevy came to a lane that veered up a slight grade toward an opening in the trees. At the top of the grade stood a tall wrought iron gate, blocking the entrance to a clearing behind. The gate and the two tall supporting stone pillars were out of place between the split rail fences that squeezed the portal on either side.
“Something’s back here,” said Cameron.
* * * * *
Chapter 49
Nova Scotia
“We are here,” said Nicole. “Please stop the car.”
Cameron did as Nicole requested and stopped the Chevy in the middle of the road. Nicole stepped out of the Chevy before Cameron had even switched off the ignition. She walked around the front of the Chevy toward the gate. Cameron got out and joined Nicole. The two stood silently between the Chevy and the gate.
Pepe shifted across the backseat toward his door. Pepe wanted to join Cameron and Nicole outside of the Chevy. He stopped when he saw a young man in a canvas jacket come out of the trees, rifle tucked under his arm, steps ahead of where the Chevy had stopped. The man was dressed like a hunter. Pepe thought there was something odd about the man and decided to stay where he was. As the hunter stepped onto the road, another young man wearing the same type of canvas jacket came out from the trees across the road from the first. The second man had a rifle tucked under his arm as well. The two hunters paired up in front of the Chevy and then wordlessly approached Cameron and Nicole.
Without moving his upper body, Pepe pulled the mosquito from under his shirt.
Nicole turned to the men as they closed in and lightly bowed her head, the hunters responded in kind. Nicole said to Cameron, “These men are my friends. They will watch over me.”
“Hello,” said Cameron. He tapped his pant leg with the tips of his fingers. Pepe recognized the subtle gesture. The finger tap was a signal to lower the mosquito that Cameron knew was just out of sight. The two hunters did not verbally respond to Cameron, choosing to offer the same slight bow they had exchanged with Nicole instead. Cameron nodded back. When Cameron’s head was bowed he noticed that the hunters were each wearing an emerald ring in the same style as Nicole’s pendant, except their rings also had a symbol on them that Cameron recognized. Cameron had seen the familiar symbol for the first time only a few days before and now understood the significance. The emerald green tiepins worn by the bodyguards in the library of Le Dragon Vert were embossed with the same small design.
The young hunters turned toward the gate in unison, walked over, and then stopped to wait for Nicole.
Nicole faced Cameron, “I cannot thank you enough Mister Kincaid. You are bon homme, a good man,” Nicole glanced at Pepe sitting in the back seat, “so is Mister Pepe.” Nicole smiled at Pepe and he responded with a quick wink and a nod. She turned back to Cameron, “You should live your life purer, but do not worry too much if you cannot. You will have a better chance in your next life, without the hardships that you have had to endure in this one.”
“I will do my best,” said Cameron. He wondered if Nicole somehow knew something about his past and then let the thought pass. “You try to stay out of trouble yourself.”
“Au Revoir, Mister Kincaid,” said Nicole. She walked toward the gate to join the two young men. As she approached the hunters, one of them opened a small panel on the stone pillar revealing a numeric keypad. The hunter tapped in a code and a buzz came from the panel followed by metallic thud inside the gate. The other hunter pushed the heavy wrought iron door open.
Nicole stepped behind the gate and then turned back toward Cameron and Pepe and gave a gentle wave. She waited there and watched the two men return to the Chevy, turn the car around, and start back toward route eight.
Cameron did not look into the rearview mirror as he drove back down the dirt road. There was no real reason to look back. Cameron knew that the gate would disappear from view as quickly as had found the mysterious portal. Whatever was hidden behind those iron doors was hidden well. Cameron had promised that he would get Nicole to safety and he was satisfied that she would be safe with this order of men living out in the woods. Nicole was a treasure after all.
* * * * *
Chapter 50
Nova Scotia Tuesday 1330 hours
Cameron and Pepe stopped to fuel up in Clementine, before turning onto 101. Pepe stood at the old gas pump outside of Cameron’s window watching the numbers roll by as he filled the Chevy with gas.
Cameron took his cell phone off the seat and tapped the power on. Nothing happened, he had nursed the cell phone battery as far as possible. Cameron rolled down the window and waved the cell phone in front of Pepe. “This thing is dead. Any juice left in yours?”
Pepe slipped his hand in his pocket and then took out his phone for Cameron.
“This thing is ancient,” said Cameron. He turned the old clamshell phone as if he had not seen one in years. “Does it even work?”
“Ha, ha,” said Pepe. “It works.”
“This thing is an antique.” Cameron flipped open the clamshell and the screen lit up. “No color? I don’t believe it.”
“Less features is longer battery,” said Pepe, his brow stern. “Now do you want to use it?”
“Yeah, yeah, relax,” said Cameron.
“Don’t complain,” said Pepe.
Cameron winked at
Pepe and Pepe flashed a smile back. These men had been friends for so long they had become brothers.
Cameron rapidly dialed a number and waited for the other end to pick up.
“Hello,” said a voice. The voice was Claude, another old friend and brother.
“Claude, hey there, it’s Cameron.”
“I have not heard from you. Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be coming back right after I return Pepe to Montreal.”
“Pepe is there with you?”
“Sure, he says hello.” Cameron gave Pepe a knowing glance.
“Bonjour, mon ami,” said Pepe. Cameron continued, “He says bonjour.”
“I heard him,” said Claude, “bonjour.”
Cameron looked up at Pepe again, “Claude says bonjour.” Pepe gave a small wave to the phone accompanied with the same smile he had flashed at Cameron a moment before.
“So you will be back soon?”
“Yes Claude, and thank you for covering. I’m sure a lot of people have been asking questions about the other night.”
“Funny thing,” said Claude, “no one is asking questions.”
* * * * *
The End
Cameron Kincaid returns in
The Somali Deception EPISODE I
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The Somali Deception EPISODE II
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The Somali Deception EPISODE III
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The Somali Deception EPISODE IV
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Or
The Somali Deception THE COMPLETE EDITION
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* * * * *
* * * * *
A Note from the Author
Thank you for reading The Cathari Treasure. The seed of this novel began some years ago prior to the birth of my second son. I was renting a small office space across the street from the famed Chelsea Hotel in search of an idea for a new novel. The floor of the office was inhabited with a cadre of talented writers at different career stages. Having found the genre of literary fiction a challenge to publish I was indecisive as to which of my interest to nail down and spent much time conversing with the other desk dwellers. The veteran travel writer in the next office over turned me onto the idea of utilizing all of the cities I had traveled to in a series of adventure stories and the comedian at the end of the hall, only known at that time as the voice of a baby on a series of famous television commercials, inspired the idea of a former Legionnaire that had become a celebrity chef. I also discovered from the travel writer that a previous tenant to my writing space was Stephen O’Shea and at that desk he authored his history on the Cathar, The Perfect Heresy. Having been fascinated with the Cathar during my religion studies years past I found this to be serendipitous and with some sprinkling of fiction the first Cameron Kincaid novel was written. There is a bit more to that tale. My second son was born after the inception of The Cathari Treasure so I traded the office for crib duty and wrote for the most part during late night feedings throughout the spring and summer of 2010 with one hand holding a baby bottle and the other typing away.
If you enjoyed The Cathari Treasure I would appreciate if you would share your thoughts in a review. Reviews help other readers that may have similar interest as you decide whether or not this is a story they would like to read.
And again thank you.
* * * * *
About the Author
Daniel Arthur Smith is the international bestselling author of The Cathari Treasure and The Somali Deception. American born, Daniel has traveled to over 300 cities in 22 countries, residing in Los Angeles, Kalamazoo, Prague, Crete, and New York.
Daniel was born and raised in Michigan, graduating from Western Michigan University where he studied philosophy and comparative religion. He has been a teacher, bartender, barista, poetry house proprietor, technologist, and a Fortune 100 consultant across America and Europe. Daniel resides and writes in Manhattan with his wife and young sons.
Connect with Me Online
Discover more at http://www.danielarthursmith.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/authordasmith
Facebook: http://facebook.com/danielarthursmith
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6893816.Daniel_Arthur_Smith
And the serial site: http://thecatharitreasure.com
* * * * *
Excerpt
Read on for an excerpt from the next Cameron Kincaid Adventure
THE SOMALI DECEPTION
* * * * *
The Somali Deception
Copyright © 2010-13 by Daniel Arthur Smith
* * * * *
Chapter 1
Seychelles Tuesday 02:35 hours SCT
Christine woke to yells from the decks above. She slid her hand to the still warm spot where Nikos had been sleeping and then began to raise herself. Wine and darkness pulled Christine back toward her pillow. She pressed her hand down hard on the mattress to steady the spinning bed and then pushed herself up further.
Softly Christine spoke to the darkness, “Nikos.”
No one answered.
Christine again said his name, this time louder, “Nikos.”
The yacht was still.
Christine shifted to the side of the bed, dizzy from the subtle movement. The shouts above were scattered, unclear, and the voices strange.
The yelling stopped. The darkness, stillness, and silence enveloped Christine. The cabin air became thick and the remnants of the wine again pulled at her forehead, down her neck, into her stomach. The blood rushing through her core gagged her.
The handle of the cabin hatch came to sudden life.
The stillness broken, Christine’s chest went tight. Breathing ceased. Her lungs held hostage by muscles squeezing deep into her neck, chin, jaw, the sensation of falling back and away, the urge to vomit, to escape, and then, a rapid eruption of adrenalin. Christine’s body was overcome in a wave of forced compensation as all of her muscles released. Her breathing returned, faster than measure. Clenching the edge of the blanket, she pulled the velour in tight to her lips to stifle the sound of her low feeble sobs. Hard forced clicks from the latch filled the stateroom. Though the cabin was a shroud of black, Christine set her eyes wide in the direction of the imminent intrusion. Futilely she began to back pedal against the slick silk sheets, sinking deep into the cushioned headboard.
Across the room metal slapped against metal, then repeated, two, three times, and then, abruptly stopped.
Though the hatch was locked the chemicals pounding through Christine offered no quarter, the flood had begun, the invasion merely delayed. Christine was alone on the master bed, in the darkness, stillness, immersed in near silence. Muffled whimpers continued to betray Christine despite her efforts to shield her mouth and the hot rapid breaths that coursed through her nose were thunderous. Through out her chest and throat, her mouth and nose, the sensation of more breath out than in.
A volley of gunshots followed by a barking shout interrupted the silence.
Christine broke down what was happening on the yacht into a series of actions spaced eternally apart. Each silent divide an escalating stretch of anxiety towering the last.
Nikos had assured Christine that to anchor on the far side of Curieuse was safe. They were so close to Mahé, so close to Victoria. The beach and marina were in view from the deck, a far swim at most in bath water warm blue water.
From the edge of the room, Christine heard the smooth metallic rub of a key being slid into the hatch and then tumblers falling into place.
Christine wanted Nikos to be the one turning the key.
With a final click of the lock, the hatch smoothly fell ajar. A seam of light sliced through the cabin. Christine winced. Her eyes tightened, opened, then tightened again. The hatch opened smoothly.
Christine was initially blinded by the glare of the hall, then her eyes adjusted to the form before her.
The ope
n hatch was cut with the backlit silhouette of a towering man, his arms contoured, his head a smooth sphere. Two other men of smaller stature stood behind the first. Christine’s green eyes tuned to the indirect lamps of the hall. The two men behind the silhouette were both dark Africans, one in a light soiled t-shirt, the other shirtless, each with a Kalashnikov strapped over a thin shoulder.
The tall bald man hunched down into the stateroom. Christine watched the outline of the fingers of one hand spread wide then slip away into the dark inside edge of the doorway. The man’s arm snaked up until he found the switch he was seeking. With a click, the wall sconces fastened above each side of the master bed illuminated the cabin with an amber glow. The man, an African darker than the others, surveyed the room. His eyes scanned the dressers snug under the side berth and cabin windows. He inspected the closet doors, and the opened entrance to the head. Not once did the bald giant’s eyes focus on the near naked woman, a model by trade, peering at him from the master bed.
With a wave of his hand, the tall man gestured the two gaunt Kalashnikov bearers into the stateroom. The men reached down between them and from the floor lifted a shirtless caucasian. Limp in their grasp, the two men effortlessly dragged the unconscious man toward Christine.
The Cathari Treasure (Cameron Kincaid) Page 17