The Somali Deception Episode IV (A Cameron Kincaid Serial)

by Smith, Daniel Arthur

  Cameron’s mind raced. Perhaps they were on exhibit. “Will Demetrius be joining us?”

  “Shortly I believe,” said Annalisa. She reached for the champagne Pepe offered and then raised the glass. “I would like to make a toast.”

  “I will further indulge you,” said Pepe. He and Cameron were not aloof to Annalisa stalling and, though they were sympathetic to the beautiful assistant, their mission was not to be subdued.

  “To a wonderful evening,” said Annalisa.

  “Cheers,” said Cameron and Pepe.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 65

  Stratosphere, Ibiza

  Holding her champagne close, Annalisa peered deeply at Cameron. Her eyes burning coals, her hair blown and flowing, Annalisa began to slowly ease the sheer white blouse over her shoulders, in a very nonchalant purposely-seductive action.

  Across the table, Pepe’s lips tightened. Cameron could almost feel bad for this girl. So obviously put to task.

  “Miss Droukos,” said Pepe.

  Annalisa kept her gaze locked on Cameron. “Annalisa, please,” she said.

  “Miss Droukos,” Pepe repeated. “We have been waiting quite some time. Either Demetrius has found Nikos or he has not. Either way I believe we are finished here.”

  “I told you. Mister Stratos will be along shortly. Please share some of this champagne with me. This second bottle is better than the first.” Annalisa softly smiled. “You must tell me what it is like to be the famous Dragon Chef.” She slid her hand across the cushion in Cameron’s direction. “Women love a man that can cook. I bet you get a lot of attention.”

  Cameron sighed and straightened his back. “I am sorry. We are here for one reason. I think it’s time we speak to Nikos. His father has obviously found him.”

  Annalisa leaned forward, her breast revealed and almost falling away from the top that held them.

  “Unless your next move is to strip off that bikini top and wrap, and share your pleasures with us, I assure you, you have run out of game,” said Pepe.

  Annalisa sat upright. “Mister Laroque --,”

  “And I should further advise you that in this special instance even the temptation of fruit such as yours will not restrain our pursuit of Nikos Stratos.”

  Annalisa went stone-faced for a moment. “Five more minutes Cameron. Mister Stratos is on his way.”

  “Why five minutes?” Cameron’s eyes flashed wide. “The earpiece. She hears them.”

  Cameron dashed to the windowpane. Demetrius and Nikos were fleeing to the exit off the edge of the catwalk below.

  “We will be leaving now,” said Cameron.

  “Please, let Mister Stratos handle this and I am sure everything will be fine.”

  “Get her, the door is locked,” said Cameron.

  Pepe offered his hand to Annalisa. “May I help you up?”

  “Why?” asked Annalisa.

  “We need you to get us out of here,” said Pepe.

  “I suggest you do as he asks Miss Droukos,” said Cameron. “You will be very easy to carry conscious or unconscious.”

  Annalisa stood and then finished her champagne in one drink. “They are not going to let you leave.”

  Cameron flashed his eyes up to Pepe. “I believe we can convince them.”

  Pepe reached for Annalisa’s arm. She defiantly jerked away and went to the console. She tapped a short code. “Stay, and there is no trouble.”

  “I find that is seldom the case,” said Cameron. “Stand back.”

  At the first crack of the door, the heavy trance beat bass flooded the room. The sense of urgency, the adrenalin, the force that was pushing Cameron, accelerated in intensity. He pulled the door in wide. The light of the lounge must have caught the peripheral of the DJ. DJ MooreHouse shifted his gaze from his console to Cameron. The DJ held a sunglass stare that looked into and through Cameron, and then with a nod, slid a fader on one of his boards leveling up a new rapid mix. Cameron returned the nod, unsure what prompted the DJ.

  Instantly Cameron had an answer.

  A muscle bound Black Tee, locked onto Cameron, emerged from a dark shadow across the platform. Not to be too obvious to the approaching thug, Cameron relaxed and went into a subtle relaxed Taekwondo attention stance, the Charyeot stance. His body already in an upright standing position, his legs side by side, heels touching, toes slightly apart, Cameron dropped his hands parallel to his body, relaxed, proper to his training. To the arrogant Black Tee, Cameron would appear to be standing in the door waiting unprepared for a confrontation. Cameron was waiting, yet very prepared. Already ultra focused, the techno added a hypersensitivity. Cameron saw a slight acknowledgement in the approaching Black Tee’s eyes, not toward Cameron, to someone to the side of the door. When the second Black Tee spun into the doorframe Cameron was expecting him. This Tee, a crew cut blonde, held up his flat hand in front of Cameron in a signal that the group should not move. Then in an action of brawn and inexperience the massive Tee smirked at Cameron and made the brutal mistake of shoving his meaty hand forward. The ape must have only seen a blur as Cameron slid to the side, clutched the man lightly by his wrist, and with little effort used the man’s own momentum to send him flying into the lounge. A blur would have been the most the Black Tee could have seen, because as he flew by Pepe, he received a solid elbow to the base of his skull that sent him crashing to the floor.

  Upon seen his cohort disappear behind Cameron, the first Black Tee went rooster, his chest filling with rage and, a critical flaw, emotion. The Black Tee raised his arms, his delts, pects, and lats pumped full. Cameron was sure steroids had dumbed down this giant. When the grizzly of a man was close, Cameron surprised the man with a quick Gunnun Sogi stance, a solid step forward followed through with a full on thrust to the Black Tee’s breadbasket. The Black Tee’s eyes screamed wide and his knees buckled. The tribal pulse of the music bore into Cameron’s center. Another Black Tee thundered toward Cameron.

  Cameron and Pepe exited the lounge. Pepe met the Black Tee first.

  This third Black Tee was thinner, compact, and more agile than the first two. What he lacked in mass he made up for in skill. Seeing Cameron’s style of maneuver the Tee approached in a Taekwondo fighting stance, rattled off two strikes that Pepe easily repelled and then fluidly went into a back-L stance, one foot on the ground, the other a flying kick toward Pepe’s head. The blow may have been fatal had the man not failed at rule number one, know your audience. Pepe of course practiced Taekwondo. Pepe practiced Kung Fu. Pepe practiced Karate. Pepe was a master at Judo. Pepe effortlessly dodged the nimble assailant, his rotund upper body gyrating on his lowered knees, his head slipping back out of the way, his forearm sliding up to gently assist the younger man’s leg away. Well trained, the Black Tee used Pepe’s assist to thrust him into a spin and as his body curled around, he raised his other leg to smash Pepe’s ribs, forcing him to the wall. Pepe grimaced, the air crushed from his lungs. He dropped his arm over the young Black Tee’s leg and rolled himself hard forward against the wall splitting the limb out sideways away from the knee, the action and young man’s anguish, silent beneath the electronic beat, ever increasing to a mind blowing rate.

  Everyone else on the platform seemed oblivious to what had happened. No one left for the other room or even sat up. No one appeared to notice, no one except for Annalisa. Outside the entrance to the lounge, Annalisa had lost expression.

  “C’mon!” screamed Cameron.

  Annalisa did not hear Cameron. He seized her arm, alerting her back from wherever she had checked out to. She turned her still vacant face toward him, and a glint of recognition filled her eyes. Cameron tilted his head toward Pepe and the stairwell, and in a normal voice said, “Let’s go.” He was sure that beneath the volume of the pulsing unearthly music, she could not hear him.

  Annalisa nodded and then began to move toward the exit.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 66

  Stratosphere, Ibiza

  As more
of a matter of training than formal protocol, Cameron remained by the door while Pepe led Annalisa down the metal stairs to the catwalk. He mentally divided the VIP level into quadrants and then scanned them one by one in search of anyone that was not subdued by a drug heavy trance or that appeared to be taking too much interest in him. Both he and Pepe had seen cameras hidden among the overhead lights. Regardless whether the occupants of the VIP level had paid attention to their tussle with security, in a facility this size, someone was watching. Reinforcements were on the way. Confident the level was clear, Cameron twisted, clutched the rails of the stairwell, and slid down. They had almost crossed the catwalk when a Black Tee appeared from the exit, took two strides, and then nimbly sprung forward into a front facing stance. Pepe fluidly dropped into a shallow standing squat, an agile position giving him the flexibility to launch both attacks and defences against the formidable Tee.

  The open catwalk was a maelstrom of electronic pulses, bass beats, and a sublime and ethereal, swooning female chorus.

  Panicked by the appearance of the Black Tee at the exit, Annalisa spun back toward Cameron. Her eyes flashed in horror, alerting him. He ducked and twisted short of an attack from a second Black Tee that had managed to elude him on the VIP platform and shadow them down.

  Electric dance music was not something Cameron ever listened to, yet fighting was like dancing, and he was exhilarated.

  The bass beat was pounding at a crushing speed. Bright flashes of brilliant color punctuated lightning fast punches. Cameron kept Annalisa in his peripheral. She appeared disoriented, stunned by the rapid strikes and blows, her head switching from one side to the other. Pepe moved uncomfortably close, she almost caught an elbow. She shuffled toward Cameron, to a near miss, as a foot flew past her face. She sidestepped up and down the catwalk, dodging feet, elbows, and open hands. There was never a need for her concern. Neither Pepe nor Cameron broke a sweat, or an expression. The young Black Tees were fluid mechanized warriors. Every move made, whether by Cameron, Pepe, or the two agile security men, was cool and flowing, and occurring at a rate that, especially with the deep trance beat, was incredibly rapid, and remarkably predictable. The maneuvers were textbook, the only moves to make. As was the maneuver that made Annalisa gasp, when in unison, Cameron and Pepe positioned themselves on the far sides of the catwalk fight and their opponents close to her. Between punches, Cameron caught Annalisa’s eyes go wide and bright, he shot her a devious smile. If she guessed the move was choreographed, she would have been right. Cameron and Pepe had practiced the move for staged bar brawls and the next part was Cameron’s favorite. The two gave each other a nod when they were ready, and then each thrust a body blow to their opponent, penetrating to the true solar plexus, the dense cluster of nerve cells located behind the stomach, right below the diaphragm. The blow was intended to cause great pain, knock the wind out of the Black Tees, and most important, the simultaneous action was designed to shove the Tees into each other. The modification was that Annalisa was between them. The move worked. For a split second, the Black Tees attention was drawn away from their opponents to the overwhelming pain in their gut, and to Annalisa between them. In that opportune slice of time, when the Tees turned toward her, Cameron and Pepe squeezed each by the back of the head, seized them by the crotch, and then wielded the Tees airborne over the side of the catwalk.

  In that sudden instant, as the two Black Tees arced high above the crowd, the thunderous backbeat that had shaken the building in a constant quake, abruptly stopped. Silence, an unworldly hush descended over the crowd, and then, echoing through the cavernous building in a soft repetitive whisper, “All for you, all for you, all for you, --.”

  Cameron peered out into the hall, into the writhing mass gone calm, and then he looked up at DJ MooreHouse. DJ MooreHouse, way too cool in his sunglasses and heavy headphones, was smiling widely at Cameron. The DJ nodded his head, extended his arm, and then pointed his index finger straight to Cameron. “All for you, all for you, all for you, --.” Cameron smiled up to the DJ and shot his finger back, and then DJ MooreHouse, in a dramatic motion, swung his arm up and around to jab down on the soundboard. The maelstrom of sound returned tenfold and the crowd of faithful thousands rallied. DJ MooreHouse nodded at Cameron again, and Cameron returned the gesture.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 67

  Stratosphere, Ibiza

  The two muscle bound Black Tees waiting at the valet stand were no surprise to Cameron. The calm of the fresh evening air, or maybe the reality shift stepping out of the club, had subdued him. Cameron felt no need to launch into another confrontation.

  Cameron smiled, sucked in a breath, and then said, “Gentlemen, the Aston Martin Rapide please.”

  The two men appeared uneasy. Their focus slipped past Cameron to Annalisa. “Miss Droukos,” one of them said, “we have strict instructions from Mister Stratos that the gentlemen that came with you are to remain here until he returns.”

  Stepping forward Annalisa sighed, “I am sure you do. However we are ready to go, so.” She shrugged her brows and reached for the velvet rope.

  The second Black Tee found some confidence and moved to block Annalisa. “I’m sorry Miss Droukos. Mister Stratos was very --.” He paused searching for a word.

  “Explicit?” offered Annalisa.

  “Yes explicit.” He scowled then said, “You need to go back in the club now.”

  Pepe put himself between the Black Tee and Annalisa to undo the velvet rope himself. His voice was stern, “I don’t think that is going to happen.”

  The brave Black Tee threw his hand flat up against Pepe’s chest and said, “I believe that’s exactly what is going to happen.”

  Pepe slowly tilted his head up from the rope to meet the bouncer eye to eye with a look that let the Black Tee know he had made a mistake.

  Annalisa scrunched her nose. Cameron winced an eye near closed. The image of a jet about to collide with a train and knowing that nothing could stop what was about to happen.

  The velvet rope was no longer an issue as the bold Black Tee tore the hardware away when Pepe threw him into the driveway. The other bodyguard responded out of a sense of loyalty to his friend and duty to his job, yet only half heartedly, as he did not actually strike a punch at Cameron. He raised his fist into a boxing stance a safe distance away so he would still appear in play. The tossed down Black Tee began to stand. Pepe had taken two strides toward him when, from inside the nightclub, two more Black Tee security guards appeared. These two upped the game, as they each had Taser sticks in hand.

  Pepe shook his head. “Really?” Then from the back of his waist he produced his Beretta M9, triggering Cameron to draw his Ruger.

  The four Black Tees looked at each other and then the bold one said, “You cannot shoot all of us.”

  “I cannot believe you just said that,” said Cameron.

  The four Black Tees shared a glance, and then, bent forward, began to move toward Cameron and Pepe.

  Annalisa screamed, “Stop! Stop!”

  Everyone looked at Annalisa. They did stop. Right where they stood.

  Annalisa spread her hands out, pressing them to the air, and spoke calmly at first, her voice rising as she went on, “Okay, this is enough. These two men are obviously trained killers. Unless you all want to die, I suggest you prepare the car, and I will smooth things over with Mister Stratos.”

  The first bold Black Tee eyed Cameron and Pepe thoroughly then asked, “Trained killers Miss Droukos?”

  Cameron flashed his brow.

  “Get the car!” said Annalisa.

  “Yes, right now,” said the jolted Black Tee. “I’ll get the car.” He scurried toward the Aston Martin while the other three Black Tees began cleaning up the pieces of their broken velvet rope.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 68

  Ibiza

  The bi-xenon headlamps sprayed the road to Ibiza Town bright blue, far beyond the flying Aston Martin Rapide.

  Pepe ta
pped his knuckles against the back window. “Can’t you make this car go any faster?”

  “It’s an illusion,” said Cameron. “We’re moving fine.”

  “Huh?”

  “We’re almost to Ibiza Town.”

  Pepe curled his lip. He pushed his forehead against the glass and peered up through the darkness into the starry sky. In a low voice he muttered, “Rich or not, who buys an Aston Martin with an automatic transmission.”

  Cameron flashed his eyes briefly from the road to the rearview then dropped them back again. “A stick wouldn’t move us any faster. Besides they only make this model in automatic.”

  Annalisa reached for the stereo. “Mister Stratos is partial to Aston Martins. A close friend once owned the company.”

  Cameron placed his hand on Annalisa’s. “Please, enough music for a little while.”

  Annalisa pulled her hand back to her lap. Cameron considered her situation. The situation Nikos and his father had put her in.

  “Hey,” said Cameron. “I thought you told us the garage in Gstaad was full of Lamborghinis and Ferraris. Are you telling me he has close friends in every one of those companies?”

  Annalisa lowered her head, a bit embarrassed, and grinned. “You wouldn’t believe it but, yes,” she raised her head and looked at Cameron, “he does.”

  “In every one?” said Cameron.

  “In every one,” said Annalisa. Then they both began to laugh.

  Annalisa sighed. “I guess it all sounds kind of ridiculous.”

  “He is who he is,” said Cameron. He let the Aston Martin decelerate. On the road ahead of them, an unmoving line of red taillights trailed toward the glow of Ibiza Town on the near horizon.