The Somali Deception Episode IV (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) (5 page)

Cameron had been correct.
 
He glanced into the rearview and caught
a wink from Pepe.
 
Annalisa’s eyes
lit up.
 
“Stratosphere is one of the
top three nightclubs on the island.
 
My favorite, then again maybe I’m partial, and the story is a testament
to Nikos.”

“How’s that?” asked Cameron.

“Like his father, if Nikos wants
something he finds a way.”

“And he wanted a club?
 
That does not sound like such a
challenge for the son of a billionaire.”

“That’s not what Nikos
wanted.
 
Since the sixties, the
large discothèques of Ibiza flourished as the destination clubs of the
Mediterranean.
 
When disco died,
techno music took the Mediterranean and the rest of Europe in a wave that would
not catch on in the United States for almost another twenty years.
 
The eclectic blend of DJ-led dance
music, Balearic house, emerged as the new sound of Ibiza.
 
The mega nightclubs evolved with new
names and images for a new clientele, and Nikos Stratos was ripe for the birth
of the ecstasy filled rave scene.”

“Right,” said Cameron.
 
Annalisa had gone into rote brochure mode.
 
“He was a rich playboy even then.
 
I bet he wanted to be a DJ.”

“That’s right,” said
Annalisa.
 
He was fascinated with
techno.
 
He owned a Roland TR-909
drum machine, and an array of top of the line electronics and turntables, to create
his own music.
 
He even hosted a
couple of nights.”

“I get it.
 
Daddy would not let him be a
musician.
 
Let me guess, did he
threaten to cut off the piggy bank.”

“Not quite, we are Greek, we
indulge our children.
 
His father
did of course frown on the idea of Nikos being a DJ, so they came to an
agreement his father would condone.
 
Nikos picked up a premiere nightclub.
 
The venue had been a successful
discothèque back to the early seventies yet had not made the
transformation.
 
Then he renamed the
place Stratosphere.
 
Like Privilege,
the world’s largest nightclub, the dance floor is the size of an aircraft
hangar with a twenty-five meter high roof.
 
There is also a splendid open-air back patio with a fountain between two
swimming pools.”

Cameron saw Pepe roll his eyes at
Annalisa’s rote tour description.

“Sounds more like a testament to
Demetrius,” said Cameron.
 
“He
convinced his son to give up his dream in exchange for a nightclub.”

“Just the opposite,” said
Annalisa.
 
“Nikos convinced his
father to let him continue to pursue his hobby and develop the club.
 
The club is successful, and so is
Nikos.
 
He has a regular night there
as well as nights in London and Vegas.”

“I don’t keep up with the
scene.
 
Still I don’t believe I have
ever heard of DJ Nikos.”

“That’s because he uses an alias
to DJ and wears a costume,” said Annalisa.
 
“You must have heard of DJ Roboto.”

Pepe leaned forward, “No,
really?
 
He is famous.”

“I told you.
 
Like his father and his father before
him, Nikos always has what he wants.”

* * *
* *

Stratosphere, Ibiza

When the Aston Martins reached
the Stratosphere nightclub, the last remnants of fuchsia lined the western
sky.
 
A large crowd of excited
clubgoers hovered outside the main doors.
 
Cameron could hear and feel the deep base thump of the trance music
playing inside.
 
Stratos led Cameron
to the VIP entrance around the side of the building.
 
A team of valets in tight Black
Tee-shirts sprinted to the doors of both cars.
 
When Stratos and Annalisa exited the
Aston Martins two muscular security guards at the door, sporting the same tight
Black Tees as the valets, snapped to attention and unclipped the velvet rope
that gated the entrance.
 
Annalisa
was stunning.
 
She wore the wrap she
had changed into at the villa with the addition of a sheer white blouse to
cover the bikini.
 
Stratos had
provided Cameron and Pepe with lighter attire appropriate for the warmer Ibiza
evening and sure to be stifling club interior.
 
Stratos himself wore white linen slacks
and shirt and, of course, a thin cravat tied tightly around his neck.

Cameron was beginning to wonder
what Stratos was hiding beneath the silk necktie.

Through the threshold, the
electronic rhythm of the dance music washed over the group.
 
The soup of pulsing digital notes
thickened, tactile as mist or fog.
 
Flashing multicolor lights synched to the sound system added to the
electronic tones a physical quality.
 
The effect was compulsory autonomic acceleration of the heart and
lungs.
 
Cameron’s nervous system
heightened, high on contact with the interior rave dimension.
 
He glanced at Pepe and the two shared a
knowing glint.

The private entry way was a
velvet-curtained foyer.
 
The main
dance floor split out to the right, and to the left, a set of stairs ghostly
shadowed by the bright blinking lights in the cavern above.
 
Stratos led the group the route of the
stairs.
 
The first landing of the
staircase opened up to a suspended catwalk that stretched along the length of
the oversized tunnel to the next set of stairs.
 
Across the stadium-sized dance floor
thousands of club-goers were already gathered, their arms waving together as a
collective organism to the increasing electric trance beat.
 
Spread throughout the writhing crowd
were more than a dozen circular bars, the stainless steel bar tops lined with
pyramids of bottled water.
 
One of
the bartenders poured a fluid onto a bar top and with a lighter created an
instantaneous crescent of fire.
 
This triggered other bartenders to do the same.
 
As Stratos led the group across the
catwalk, a cascade of small eruptions of flame burst from the stations across
the dance floor.
 
The fountains of
flame burning off among the thousand blinking lights reminded Cameron of a
chemical facility in full process.
 
He was not far off.
 
The
group ascended a metal stairwell.
 
Directly below, in a small sectioned off booth, a shirtless tattooist
was inking a young ladies thigh, while next to him another partier reclined
back in a barber chair rhythmically rolling her head side to side to the techno
beat as a heavily inked bald girl slid an immensely long needle through the
upper edge of her belly button.

Another story higher, the stairs
opened to a raised platform.
 
An
intimate crowd of less than fifty lounged on the sofas, apparently oblivious to
anyone not touching them, and a few were involved in some heavy touching.
 
A few people, a bit more coherent, held
company near the bar at the wall.
 
A
raised silk sheet, glowing peach from behind, lined the end of the platform
farthest from the outer dance floor.
 
Cameron imagined the extremes of the touching that were happening behind
the privacy veil.
 
The DJ was
working some type of voodoo on a raised tier at the end of the platform.
 
Surrounded by an array of small screens
and electronic components, the Pied Piper of sorts enchanted, what appeared to
Cameron as a mass of protoplasm, with musical mayhem.

Annalisa leaned into Cameron’s
ear.
 
“He’s great isn’t he?”

Cameron could barely hear
Annalisa.
 
“Who is he?”

“He calls himself MooreHouse,
like more house, get it?”

“Clever,” said Cameron.

“During the summer top producers
and dance DJs come to the island in between touring and play at
Stratosphere.
 
Some of the most
famous DJs run their own weekly nights right here.
 
They use Ibiza for presenting new
songs.”

“Is that so?” asked
Cameron.
 
He raised his brows.

“You can barely hear me?” asked
Annalisa.

Cameron smiled and nodded his
head.

Annalisa nodded and gestured
Cameron and Pepe to follow her, and then nodded to Stratos.
 
Stratos returned the nod and headed
toward the bar.
 
At the wall past
the DJ, Annalisa punched a keypad.
 
A door opened to a small private lounge.
 
The three stepped inside.
 
The lounge was not that much different
than a private box at any large stadium, the outer wall a pane of glass
overlooking the entirety of Stratosphere.
 
Once inside Cameron noticed that there were several similar panes
surrounding the upper level.
 
The
room was furnished with oversized stuffed sofas like those on the outer
platform and the necks of champagne protruded from two buckets of ice.

Annalisa closed the door behind
them, her voice clear and lowered to a normal level,
 
“Would you be so kind as to pour Mister
Kincaid?”

The noise dissipation of the
small lounge had an immediate sobering quality.

Cameron and Pepe each shifted their
jaws opened and closed.

“Sorry,” said Annalisa.
 
“The room is soundproof,” she shirked
her shoulders, “also pressurized.”
 
Next to the door, Annalisa pressed a button on a small console and the
remainder of the music dropped away.
 
Even the incredibly deep thumps of the base had disappeared.

“That’s better,” said
Annalisa.
 
“Now we can hear
ourselves.
 
Should I order something
to eat?”

“No,” said Pepe.
 
“We should not be here so long.”

Annalisa smiled, “Why of course
not.
 
You will indulge me with champagne
though.
 
I admit I love the
bubbles.”

Pepe gave Annalisa a gracious
smile.
 
“Certainly, where are my
manners?
 
Kincaid let me do the
honors.”
 
Pepe removed one of the
bottles from the ice and began to prepare three glasses.

Annalisa moved to the edge of
the sofa.
 
“May we sit gentleman.”

“Certainly,” said Cameron.
 
“After you.”

The lounge was surreal in a way
the world outside of the door was not.
 
With the speaker to the sound system adjusted so low, the soundproofing
and air system had the effect of sterilizing the environment.
 
When they had first entered the room
Cameron had thought of the huge window as a voyeuristic display into the
esoteric world beyond the glass.
 
His perspective was shifting.
 
Sitting with Annalisa on the sofa, he felt, with the long pause
silences, that they could be on exhibit.

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.

* * *
* *

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.”