Read The Somali Deception Episode IV (A Cameron Kincaid Serial) for Free Online

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