The Somali Deception Episode II (A Cameron Kincaid Serial)

THE SOMALI
DECEPTION

EPISODE II

 

 

By

Daniel Arthur Smith

 

 

This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only.

 

Your support and respect for the property of this author is
appreciated.

 

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.”

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