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

darkness.
    “We’re close now,” said
Alastair.
    “And there it is,” said Ari.
    To the southwest of their
position, Cameron saw the spent phosphorus cartridge of a flare-gun arc, and
then burst high in the air.   Ari
piloted the helicopter toward where the flare had ignited.   As they approached, first one, two, then
three bright green fluorescent dots appeared below, forming a triangle.   Ari landed the helicopter in the middle
of the makeshift landing zone.
    “I’m going to power down to save
fuel,” said Ari, flipping a series of switches that cut power to the rotors.
    “Most pilots like hot action,”
said Cameron.   “To keep the
equipment running for efficiency.”
    “I told you,” said Ari, “This is
an AS 350.   This little squirrel
will start cold every time.”
    The last few interior lights
flicked off and the cabin flooded with the green glow of the fluorescent signal
sticks that surrounded the helicopter.   Cameron unplugged the headset from the jack above and slipped the Bose
from his head.   He opened his mouth
and worked his jaw side to side to ease the pressure on his ears.
    “Let’s hit it,” said Alastair,
disappearing from his seat into the night.   Abruptly he stuck his head back into the copter.   “Oh, careful of the wait-a-bit trees.”
    “Wait-a-bit trees?” asked Pepe.
    “Acacia with thorns like cats
claws.   They grab you then you have
to wait-a-bit to get free.”
    “Ah.”
    Alastair then again pulled his
head free into the night.
    The other three men also exited
the copter.   The darkness
surrounding the makeshift-landing zone chirped to an incessant beat.
    “All alone in the wild,” said
Pepe.
    “I assure you, we’re far from
alone,” said Alastair.   “If you had
your infrared specs on you would see we’re standing in the middle of a crowd.”
    On cue, a hyena cackled in the
night.   Then, in front of the
copter, at the edge of the landing zone, a flashlight switched on.   Alastair held his hand up over his eyes.
    “Christ mate, watch it with the torch.”
    The beam lowered.
    “Sorry about that,” a deep voice
said from behind the light.   “This
way.”   The accent was Dutch.   The man was Afrikaan.
      “Just a minute boys,” said Alastair.   He and Ari each switched on their own
flashlights.   “Here’s a torch for
each of you,” said Alastair.   Under
his beam, he held two mini Maglites.
    Cameron and Pepe took the
Maglites, twisted them on, then all four men walked toward the deep voiced man.
    Cameron had initially thought
the deep voiced man was holding his light at his shoulder.   Then Cameron stepped behind the
giant.   Cameron briefly shined his
beam the length of the man.   In the
dark, Cameron could not gauge the true height of the man.
    Pepe whispered into Cameron’s
ear, “Two meters, and maybe five-centimeters.”
    “Close,” said the deep
voice.   “Two meters,
ten-centimeters.”
    “That’s Dakarai,” said Alastair,
“we call him Charlie.”
    Without turning back, the deep
voice said, “Pleased to meet you.”
    “And you,” said Pepe.
    Away from the green
fluorescence, their eyes adjusted quickly.   The beam of Dakarai’s light ahead, cut with his tree high silhouette,
rendered their beams unnecessary.   The chatter of the wild heightened and lowered as they made their way
through the black.   A bright
celestial blanket, pulled taut to the horizons, surrounded them.   The distant mountains tore into the
stars, and every few steps, branches of the wait-a-bits rose from the brush
cutting into the night sky.
    Ten minutes from where Ari
landed the helicopter the group entered a flattened circle of gravel that
somewhat glowed against the night.   Even in the darkness the area appeared to be a landscaped oasis in the
middle of the bush, clear with the exception of two small dark structures on
opposing sides of the clearing, silent sentinels, not quite the size of proper
toolsheds, each barely larger than a