The Somali Deception Episode IV (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) by Daniel Arthur Smith Page B

industry mogul.   Cameron pondered that she could easily have been a model, or an actress,
and that perhaps at one time she was.
    The young woman’s voice was full
and confident, “Hello, you must be Mister Laroque and Mister Kincaid.”
    “Yes,” said Pepe, he stepped
toward the front of the Volvo to meet their greeter.   “I am Pepe Laroque, and this is my
colleague Cameron Kincaid.   Please
call me Pepe, Mademoiselle.”
    “And please, call me Cameron.”
    “Okay, Pepe, Cameron, I am
Mister Stratos’ assistant, Annalisa Droukos.   Please call me Annalisa.   Mister Stratos is expecting you, if you
could follow me.”
    Annalisa offered another pert
smile and then led them to an entrance set in the stacked boulders that
composed the lower wall of the chalet.   From a treetop to the left of the mammoth chalet came a sharp flash of
light.   Cameron met Pepe’s eyes to
see if he had noticed the sniper in the trees, obviously a member of the
Stratos’ security team.   Pepe winked
back and subtly nodded, shifting his brow in the direction to the eve above
Cameron’s shoulder.   Cameron
casually looked back over the valley and then forward again, catching the
subtle red LED adjacent to the buttonhole camera that undoubtedly filled the
screen of some internal security room deep in the belly of the estate.   Though Annalisa did not wait for any
signal or clearance, Cameron was sure he heard a faint click the second before
she touched the handle of the door.   If she had heard a lock releasing, she appeared not to notice, pulling
the door open as casually as one goes from one room to the next.
    The interior of the chalet was
radically different from the fairy tale facade.   The walls were rosewood paneled midway
up to a small ledged molding, and then papered deeply red the remainder of the
way up to an intricately carved wood ceiling.   The indirect light cast the illuminating
effect of oil lamps or candles, reminiscent of a train car, or old Victorian
manner.   Along the crimson wall were
photographs spaced every half meter.   In an automated rehearsed fashion, Annalisa began to list off the people
pictured by rote.
    “On the wall you will find
photos of some of the illustrious guests of the chalet as well as friends of the
Stratos family.   Pictured with
Mister Stratos’ father you will see Mister Churchill and in the next, you will
see Mister Stratos himself, with the Queen, and in the next with Prince Charles
and Princess Diana.”   Cameron
recognized the Greek shipping mogul from the photo back at Alastair’s cottage
on the Laikipia plateau.   Demetrius’
well-groomed midnight hair was slicked back and below his chin, he wore a
cravat, and on his finger, a wide gold ring with a red ruby setting.   His hair, the cravat, and ring were
consistent, no matter the age of the photo.   Cameron had a brief imaginative flash of
Demetrius as a small schoolboy with the same slick hair, silk cravat, and large
gold ring.
    As they continued through a maze
of corridors and stairwells Annalisa continued describing the endless pictures
and shelved artifacts.   Along the
way, they passed several dark lacquered doors that appeared, after a few
hallways, confusingly the same, the same crystal knobs, the same order of
sconces, and the portraits only subtly different than the last.   Occasionally there would be an open room
or a few open rooms together.   Always the tour pressed on, focused on the portrait collection of the
world’s elite.   Initially Cameron
thought the tour a mere embellishment on the part of Demetrius, showing off the
aristocrats, new and old, which were friends of the Stratos family.   Then Cameron deduced the true purpose of
the tour.   The trivial information
was meant to distract guests as they were led through the complex interior of
the mansion.
    After fifteen minutes of photos
and trinkets, they came to a set of wooden double doors, black lacquered as the
many before.   Again Cameron