"You tricked him," Billy said, "and he bit."
"I didn't mean to. He looked so natural in the Brown T-shirt I called him James. And I'll bet anything that's his name." BILLY HANDED HELENE A color shot of Buck Bethards, the former SEAL, a nice-looking guy, dark hair, forty-one years old, five-eleven, 170 pounds.
"Look at his eyes."
"They're nice."
"They're killer eyes. Look how he's looking at you."
"He's smiling, sort of. Isn't he?"
"Muff, that's called a shit-eatin grin."
Billy reached over and turned the wheel to set Pegaso back on the trail of the gas ship, the wog with binoculars still on the fantail. Billy picked up the phone and dialed a number. He heard a voice this time, a live one, and looked surprised.
"Buck…?"
"Billy, how you doing?"
"You know how many numbers I had to try?"
"No more'n I gave you. You start with the last one. It's the newest, what I'm into."
"Where are you, Djib?"
"I believe so. Wait…Yeah, I'm still here."
"What's the latest on the LNG tanker?"
"Going to Lake Charles, Louisiana. That was in the paper and confirmed by people who know where ships are going. Those people make so much tipping off pirates they raised their bribe rates. I call those guys the Bribery Pirates."
"That's not bad," Billy said. "You think it's going to Lake Charles but might stop in Djibouti?"
"To take on stores. Arriving a week late after it was held by buccaneers. Man, they fucked up taking a ship al Qaeda wants."
"Even if it wasn't hijacked," Billy said, "I bet a hundred dollars the plan was to stop at Djib. You know what would happen the tanker blew up? I mean anyway near the Gateway to the East."
"That's what I'm talking about," Buck said. "I'm told al Qaeda's getting low on funds. They need to raise money to keep fuckin with us and're looking at the LNG tanker as a way to make some bucks. I got it on authority they're holding up Emirates Transport for fifty million. They don't pay, the Qaedas'll blow the ship to hell."
"Ram it into Djib," Billy said, "turn that town into a pile of mud."
"I doubt they'll let the ship come anywhere near Djibouti."
"Bin wants to blow up the Gateway, how you gonna stop him?"
Buck said, "I'd blow the ship out at sea."
Billy said, "I'll give it some thought. You find out if Emirates Transport wants to bargain with them?"
"They're not talking to me yet."
"Listen," Billy said, "the reason I called you, a guy named Idris Mohammed and his pal Ari Sheikh Bakar had two al Qaedas they wanted to turn in for rewards. They had the two right here in town, under heavy guard."
"I've seen the police reports," Buck said. "One dead with the guards and one absent."
"You knew of them or what?"
"I've followed their careers some. Qasim al Salah's dead and the other one's loose."
"Jama Raisuli," Billy said, "born in the U.S. He's in Djib somewhere hiding out. If there's a reward for him, you can have it. I want to know his real name and where he's from."
"He's American, huh?"
"At one time was called James or Jimmy."
"He never told anybody his name?"
"How would I know?"
"That's all you want, his name?"
"If you can get it."
Buck said, "You don't think I can?"
Billy said, "He kills people who get close to him."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
BILLY CALLED THE NEXT morning early, 6 A.M., the blinds closed, the hotel bedroom still dark. She heard him saying they had a terrific tailwind pushing them toward Djibouti, Billy sounding breathless telling her they'd be in by midafternoon if it kept blowing.
Dara said, "What time is it?" half asleep. "You can't wait till morning?" She had to reach for the phone and was on her side, turned away from Xavier.
"It is morning," Billy said. "You out carousing last night? I wanted to get to you before this guy gives you a call, Buck Bethards, my ace. He was a SEAL nine years, a soldier of fortune with Blackwater till they messed up in Baghdad and he quit." Billy said, "Wait a minute," and Dara could hear his voice calling out away from the phone, "Muff, hold her dead-on, for Christ sake. You're losing sail." On the phone again he said, "My mate's still learning the ways of the sea. Listen, Buck's a pro, a good guy. Tell him whatever you can about Jama. You said you have him on your spy pen-I gotta get one of those. Show Buck what a traitor looks like." He said, "Dara, I'm signing off. See you in a while."
Dara reached to the night table to replace the phone. Behind her Xavier's voice said, "Billy's havin trouble?"
"They'll get in this afternoon sometime."
Dara rolled over and was looking at Xavier's face on a white pillow, his eyes watching. Less than two feet from her. He said, "How you feelin?"
"Not bad. I'm still tired." LAST NIGHT THEY HAD stopped in the lounge for a cognac and were talkative, feeling good, tried Black Russians wondering what Billy would tell them when he called. They came up to her suite…
She said now, "You were holding me last night."
"Yes, I was."
"In bed."
"Right here."
"We were naked."
"We were buck naked. We still are, 'less you got up and dressed."
"You were holding me and I fell asleep."
"I did too, since nothin was goin on." He said, "That's the closest we ever come."
"You're so easy about it. You let things happen."
"If they gonna."
"I mean you don't get serious about it."
"Serious?" Xavier said. "Girl, it's the most enjoyment there is in life."
Dara tried to think of something profound. She said, "I guess you're right. Now I've got the guy on my mind who's gonna call me."
"I could hear Billy. Wants you to talk to his spy?"
"His name's Buck. I think I'll tell him to meet me for coffee somewhere. It shouldn't take long."
"I'll drop you off. I'm gonna see a doctor, then come pick you up."
Dara said, "You have a doctor here?"
"All my years passin through? I got a dentist too, just in case. Gives you gas while he fools with your teeth."
"You have a pain somewhere?"
"Heartburn," Xavier said. "I'm waitin to see you get out of bed. The movies, the girl takes all the covers wrapped around her."
"This is real life," Dara said.
Xavier watched her roll out of bed bare-ass and walk to the bathroom. Watched her put her hand high on the doorframe and look over her shoulder at him. He said, "You havin fun now, aren't you?"
Did she wink at him as she stepped inside and closed the door? He couldn't tell. For some reason he thought of the song about life being a bowl of cherries, the song telling us "The sweet things in life to you were just loaned. So how can you lose what you never owned?" CELESTE, THE ETHIOPIAN FROM the club Las Vegas, could not believe this guy coming in her apartment, this Negro American college boy. How could he have a key? She had only given two keys to money clients, one very rich, the other very satisfying. This guy opened the door and was smiling at her coming to the bed.
"You know me, don't you?"
Said it in Arabic and it opened her sleepy eyes. She had not had a college boy since last spring.
He said it again, "Do you know my name?"
"Let me think," Celeste said, in her Arabic. She didn't want to say she had never seen him before. Don't tell that to a man. Now he was asking if he had ever told her his name. An American name.
This meant he believed he had.
Celeste said, "Oh…?"
She said, "Tell me what it is and I will let you know."
Jama looked into her eyes. He said, "James Russell."
Her expression didn't change.
Her eyes didn't show a memory of his name. The times before he had spoken only English to her, wanting her to know he was American but talking too much. It's why he was back to see her, find out if she knew his name. She didn't. But he was here, he was thinking he should give her a jump. The first time with her, at the Las Vegas, she said, "Why don't you fuck me crazy, big boy?" Said it in English. This morning he said it to her, "Why don't you fuck me crazy? No, you said crazee, didn't you?"