The Somali Deception Episode I (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) (2 page)

“Claude says you charge seventy
dollars for a drink of this,” said Pepe.

Cameron curled his lip, “It is
thirty years old.
 
Everything
okay?
 
I wasn’t expecting you.”

As Pepe had been in the French
Foreign Legion with Cameron and Claude, he was a dear old friend and far more
than that.
 
Cameron knew Pepe as a
man would know a brother.
 
Pepe was never
too far from a glass of wine or brandy, hard liquor however was not his drink
of choice.
 
On the bar was a bottle
of whiskey and three glasses.

Claude picked up the rock glass
he had set aside for Cameron and then poured two fingers the single malt.

“Have a seat,” said Claude.
 
“I expected you back from the studio a
few hours ago.”

Cameron reached behind Claude
for a stool and then pulled the seat to where he stood.
 
“I took my competitor out for a
drink.
 
Life on the soundstage isn’t
what he thought it would be.”

Claude handed Cameron a glass of
the scotch whiskey.
 
Cameron held
his glass up, the others followed.

“Viva Legionne,” said Cameron.

In unison Pepe and Claude
responded, “The Legion is our strength.”

“That is good,” said Cameron
after sampling the single malt.
 
“So
I take it there’s no funeral.
 
What
are we celebrating?”

“No celebration I’m afraid,”
said Pepe.
 
He placed his palm on
his forehead and held his hand there, letting his eyes slowly close.
 
After a pause he wiped his hand across
his brow, let his eyes rest open, and then looked into his palm.
 
“The whiskey heats you up,” he said and
then feigned a smile.

Pepe’s smile was that of a
cherub, high into his puffed cheeks, still Cameron suspected bad news.
 
“What is it Pepe?”

“Tell him,” said Claude, “go
ahead.”

“Remember Langdon?” asked Pepe.

“Sergeant Langdon, yeah I
remember him.”

“Well, he’s Adjutant-Chef
Langdon now.”

Adjutant-Chef was the equivalent
of Lieutenant in the Legion and essentially a sub-officer.
 
“Huh, the world keeps changing,” said
Cameron.
 
“What about him?”

“He called me this morning.
 
One of Langdon’s men is the IMB
liaison.”

“The International Marine
Bureau,” said Claude.
 
Cameron
nodded.

Pepe nodded his head and then
said, “Langdon gets all the reports from the IMB piracy reporting center in
Kuala Lumpur.
 
Five days ago the
Kalinihta, a forty-five meter yacht sailed from the Seychelles at 03:00 local
time without notifying anyone.
 
Kuala Lumpur is tracking the yacht.
 
Her heading appears to be south of Mogadishu.”

“What,” said Cameron.
 
“So you’re saying the yacht was taken?”

“The reporting center is not
sure, they cannot make contact.”

“I do not understand,” said
Claude.

“The owner of the Kalinihta
hasn’t reported her missing.”

“If she’s not missing, why are
they watching the yacht from Kuala Lumpur?” asked Claude.

“Because of whoever owns the
yacht,” said Cameron.
 
“Somebody
important owns the Kalinihta.”

“Exactly,” said Pepe.
 
“The Kalinihta is owned by Demetrius
Stratos, the Greek shipping magnate.
 
The GPS on the Kalinihta links directly to the IMB.
 
They monitor its movements and the
Captain checks in regularly.
 
If the
yacht moves a meter they know.”

“Sounds like the Somali,” said
Cameron.
 
“Though I didn’t think the
pirates went that far out.”
 
He
sipped from his rock glass.
 
“I’m
sure Stratos is keeping it quiet to deal with it himself.”

Pepe nodded and made a soft
grunting sound in the back of his throat.

“Why did they notify Langdon?”
asked Claude.
 
“Is the Kalinihta
flying a French flag?
 
I know our
boys have zero tolerance for French hostages.”

“The flag is Panamanian.
 
Demetrius has a son, Nikos.
 
He was last seen on the yacht the day
before with a model he has been dating.
 
She is the French citizen.”

“So the IMB called Langdon,”
said Cameron.
 
“I’m missing
something.
 
Why did Langdon call
you?”

Pepe’s eyes sunk back and from
beneath his meaty brow he peered deeply at Cameron.
 
The corners of his mouth went taut into
his full cheeks.

“What?” asked
Cameron.

“Cameron,” said Pepe.
 
“The model is Christine.”

“Pepe,” said Claude.
 
“Your sister Christine?”

“She was with Nikos on the
yacht,” said Pepe.

“Are you sure? ” asked
Cameron.
 
He leaned forward to set
his whiskey on the bar.
 
“I mean she
takes off all the time.
 
Are you
sure she was on the yacht?”

“I’m sure,” said Pepe.
 
“I called her roommate in Paris.
 
She told me Christine had flown to the
Seychelles with Nikos and that she has not heard from her since.”

Cameron pushed his hands into
his knees and tilted his head back to face the ceiling.
 
His mind flooded with youthful images of
a smiling, laughing Christine.

“And Langdon,” said Claude.
 
“What’s he going to do, take a team to
board the yacht?”

Pepe shook his head, “No, until
the Kalinihta is reported hijacked there is nothing he can do.”

“I see,” said Claude.

“Hostages are held on the
average of forty-five days before a ransom is paid,” said Pepe.
 
“I don’t think it would take Stratos
that long to come up with the money.
 
If he sends in his own team, who knows.”

Cameron brought his head back forward
and straightened his neck.
 
He
lifted his hand from his knee and firmly gripped Pepe’s shoulder.
 
“So when do we leave?”

Pepe grinned.
 
He reached across his chest, patted
Cameron’s hand, and then from his jacket he brought out a pair of heavy rimmed
black glasses and a folded sheet of paper.
 
He slipped on the glasses, opened the sheet, and leaned his head
forward, tilting the paper toward the dim light behind the bar.

“We fly out of JFK at 7:50pm for
Nairobi,” said Pepe.
 
He lowered the
paper and peered over the rim of his glasses toward Cameron.
 
“We layover in London for a few
hours.
 
In all it should take about
twenty.”

“That will give us time to make
some calls,” said Cameron.
 
“I take
it you already contacted Alastair?”

“I have, his people will meet us
in Nairobi and take us to meet him at the eco-lodge.”

“Eco-lodge, I like that.”
 
Cameron’s right hand was still on Pepe’s
shoulder and the other was retrieving his whiskey from the bar.
 
“Claude, I’ll need you to --,”

“I know, do not worry,” said
Claude.
 
“Just get Christine home
safely.”

Cameron lifted his glass into
the air.
 
“So Somalia via Kenya we
go.”

Pepe lifted his glass to the
toast and then the three drank.

* * *
* *

Atlantic Ocean

Cameron pulled the light blanket
over his chin.
 
This flight
contrasted the countless missions he flew as a young Legionnaire.
 
In the Legion there were far more take
offs than landings and never was a flight this comfortable.
 
Pepe had arranged sleeper service for
the two of them.
 
They were served a
full dinner pre-flight at the JFK VIP lounge and then as soon as the Boeing 777
left the runway the flight attendants started a turn down service.
 
Next to each other in opposed
directions, the back and front of their two sleeper seats reclined and lifted
to create two-meter berths.
 
A
little tall for the mattress, Cameron was still able to relax, though sleep
would not come easy.
 
Cameron was
too well aware that on the other side of the divider, Pepe was reviewing the
latest details of the hijacked yacht.

Six days had passed since the
Kalinihta was hijacked.
 
The last
GPS coordinates had put the Kalinihta, still not reported missing, near the
small port city of Kismayu, 500 kilometers down the African coast from Mogadishu.
 
Pepe had shared with Cameron what he
learned from Langdon.
 
Onboard the
yacht were Christine, Nikos Stratos, the Captain, Cook, three crewmen, and two
other women, one a maid and the other a steward.
 
The Captain, Warren Lewis, was an older
British man, well seasoned with a commercial background.
 
The Cook and two women were Greek, the
steward the Cook’s girlfriend.
 
Two
of the crewmen were brothers from Genoa,
Aberto
and
Donato Disota, and the third was a Seychellois, local to where the Kalinihta
was anchored.
 
Langdon had told Pepe
that, for a crew that size, the pirates would most likely ask for a million US
dollars expecting to get half.

Cameron had done some homework
as well.
 
Before leaving New York,
he made some calls concerning Demetrius Stratos.
 
As a civilian, a commando, and later
during undercover ops, Cameron had come across men like Stratos, powerful men
unabashed by their actions, men with egos that forbid them from receiving
insult without swift response.
 
Stratos would not turn his back on his son and he was not the kind of
man that would easily pay a ransom.
 
For men with the power Stratos possessed there was an alternative
resolve.
 
Cameron and Pepe were not
the only former soldiers on their way to Somalia.

The top of the cabin reflected
the pale blue glow of Pepe’s MacBook Pro.
 
Cameron could visualize the drill.
 
Pepe was checking the coordinates of Kismayu and key points in the
vicinity against Google Earth or some other plat map.
 
Christine was Pepe’s little sister.
 
Pepe spoke of her as if she were tough, Cameron
thought differently, they had something years ago.
 
The tough exterior was an
act,
Christine was softer than Pepe wanted to admit.
 
Sophisticated and well traveled, to call
Christine fragile would be a mistake, yet a week as a hostage would be enough
to break most anybody.

Cameron took a breath in through
his nose as he again processed the thought of Christine being held
hostage.
 
He drew a mental picture
of Christine on the yacht.
 
The image
of Christine was of her the last time they spoke.
 
That would not be right though, almost
ten years had passed since the last time Cameron saw her in person, and though
she was still beautiful, she had matured, lost the girlish features.
 
Cameron thought Christine would more
closely resemble the woman she portrayed in the ads, a visage combined from
cosmetics and Photoshop.

The beauty was real though.

What Cameron and Christine had
together was real.

Cameron told himself that
Christine was the one that slipped away.
 
He let her slip away.
 
They
had met in Paris when Christine first began modeling.
 
Pepe had introduced them over lunch and,
in fear of insulting or hurting Pepe, the two began seeing each other in
secrecy.
 
When Pepe did finally
confront them, he was not angry.
 
Pepe gave them his blessing and told them that nothing would please him
more than his brother-in-arms marry his sister.

That probably would have
happened, had Cameron and Christine chosen different careers.
 
They spent too much time apart, each
with jobs that took them far around the world, Christine to the fashion meccas
of the wealthiest countries and Cameron to the hot spots of the poorest.
 
As Cameron’s work began to involve deep
cover operations, the time they spent apart grew from weeks to months.
 
The missions Cameron became involved in
were dangerous and with each, the risk of fatality increased.
 
Looking back Cameron could see that
Christine would have understood, would have waited for him.
 
At the time, Cameron thought best to let
Christine go on without him.