Celeste came alive hearing the only English she had bothered to learn because she loved the word, crazee. This man knew it. He had a key. He was important, but she couldn't remember his name. Well, she knew what it was now.
She said, "James Russell," and in Arabic told him, "I was joking with you. Of course I remember loving you so much, James."
She watched his expression change.
"What's the matter with you?"
She waved her hand in front of his face.
"You keep staring."
"I'm all right," Jama said. "Let's get in the bed." Showing a tired smile now. He watched her pull off her shirt and lie down. Now she held her arms out to him, this little Ethiopian chick, this little pro. Jama took off Hunter's drip-dry sport coat, a couple of sizes too large, dropped it on a chair and got on top of Celeste. He pulled the pillow from behind her head, Celeste trying to unzip his fly. Jama said, "No need to let out Godzilla, we gonna be through here in a minute. I'll rest this pillow on your face." She started to fidget. "Don't worry, you can breathe. I got a surprise for you."
He pulled a Walther P38 from a holster on the back of his jeans. He picked up this one in the same gun shop he had robbed in 2003. This time he took the Walther, a box of rounds and the holster. That big nigga with Dara was right, it hurt you shove it in your pants with nothing to pad it. Now he got down close to the pillow and lifted up the edge to see part of her face, her nose, her mouth. He said in Arabic, "Sweet girl, open your mouth for me." She did, she opened her mouth. Jama shoved the barrel of the Walther into her throat, tilted it up a speck, pressed his left hand down on the pillow hard and shot Celeste through her brain. THE ONLY OTHER ONE Jama could think of knew his name was the movie girl Dara and the big-ass nigga who followed her around. He'd start calling hotels from here, beginning with the Kempinski. It seemed the movie girl's style. He'd ask was she registered.
The hotel voice said he would connect Jama with the room. Jama said, "No, I'll call back," and heard the voice tell him sorry, the line was busy.
She was there, talking to somebody on the phone six in the morning. The movie girl making plans.
Jama left the apartment, went out to the street and got in Hunter's BMW convertible, silver with a black top that was never down since Jama started driving the car. Man, there was a lot had to be done. Four this morning he'd got rid of Hunter. Took him out to the pier used for yachts and dumped him in the bay, a twenty-inch TV set tied to Hunter's legs, the TV the only thing in the apartment Jama could manage that was heavy enough to keep Hunter down.
He told himself he wouldn't be sitting around watching TV anyway, not with all the things had to be done. First, go back to Hunter's place for his binoculars. Then drive up to the Kempinski to watch the entrance from a spot in the trees. Being a terrorist was a pain in the ass when you weren't spreading terror.
It was going on 10 A.M. before he saw them come out. CARS CAME AROUND TO take different streets off the Place Verdun, circling past the statue of Marshal Ferdinand Foch, 1851-1929, on a pedestal in the center of the plaza, the single word J'Attaque below his name.
Xavier said, "Ferdinand was asked what he'd do if surrounded by Germans and he said he'd attack. I believe it was at Verdun he lost somethin like eighty thousand men j'attackin." He said, "There's your man there."
The onetime SEAL and professional soldier for hire looked like any other forty-year-old in pretty good shape; nothing that told he had special tricks for fighting a war. Getting out of the car Xavier watched Dara and Buck Bethards shake hands and sit down at a table on the sidewalk. It looked like he was drinking coffee. He was, black as it comes. Xavier met him and said, "You're doing this job for Billy, huh?" so they'd get right to it. It wasn't going to take Xavier long at the doctor's.
He shook hands with the spy again, got back in the car and turned into a street east of the Central Market, turned a few corners finding his way and pulled up in front of Dr. Chin's medical practice and drugstore.
The sign in Chinese characters didn't mean a thing to Xavier, but there was Dr. Chin himself in the doorway, the little doctor of traditional medicine reaching up now to put his arms partway around Xavier saying, "What's new?" With just a bit of an accent. "I hear you in the movie business." Dr. Chin smiling in his wispy white beard and eyes that were slits. They chatted a few minutes until Xavier said, "You know what I want."
"Horny Goat Weed, of course. How you doing with it?"
"I ran out a while ago."
"You had I believe three hundred capsules of my special blend?"
"That's right, five bottles."
"How long they last?"
"I been out of 'em most of a year."
"But you stay active until a year?"
"If 'active' means a lot of action, you have to remember I'm seventy-two."
"I'm eighty-four," Dr. Chin said. "So…? What do numbers mean? I remain as active as I wish to be. Get ten bottles for a year, I make you a deal, hundred fifty dollar."
Xavier said, "I never tried the Rowdy Lamb Herb."
"It's Horny Goat Weed with a different name."
"How about Fairy Wings?"
"Same thing. It's all epimedium, the same plant, maybe a different variety. It's the name gives you ideas. Use for two thousand years, no complaints."
"What about rhino horn?"
"Stop it. You know it's a myth."
"But maybe it works," Xavier said, "you set your mind on it givin you a donkey can be rode."
"Maybe sometime only. They killing all the rhinos for the horns, shave it to a powder you take. It will cost you a fortune, as much as fifteen thousand for a small one, but gives no life to your waning desire."
"I'll tell you what," Xavier said. "Let me have ten bottles of your Horny Goat Weed."
"Now you talking," Dr. Chin said. "Six hundred capsules. Write to me you need more." DARA WAS TELLING BUCK, "I remember how confident he was. Jama said he'd take care of Idris and Harry once he walked out. We believed his tone of voice, but not what he was saying. If that makes sense. Idris said, 'Of course he thinks of getting away. For Jama, what else is there of importance?'" Dara giving her thoughts on Jama Raisuli. She said, "Did you know Raisuli was Sean Connery's name in The Wind and the Lion?"
Buck said, "You see that as significant?"
"It means he has a sense of humor. Don't you think it's funny?"
"Yeah, but does Jama think it is?"
"You're right. He's American, but according to Idris speaks street Arabic."
"And you think his first name is James."
"I'm pretty sure, from his reaction when I said it."
"The name Jama," Buck said, "looks like James. What does Raisuli look like? You come up with an Italian name, don't you. Like James Ravioli."
Dara said, "You know what I thought it might be? James Russell."
Buck looked up from the photos of Jama on the table. He said, "James Russell, that's good. Russell, Raisuli. Is that how he's thinking, wanting the same sound?" He picked up a photo. "Let me run his name, see how many James Russells are in the system. Say in the past ten years."
"In ten years," Dara said, "there could be a thousand James Russells."
"Not that many with his profile. What surprises me," Buck said, "he doesn't seem to have told anybody his real name. I know a few al Qaedas who can be bought, but that doesn't mean they'd know his name. Yet this boy likes to talk and brag on himself. I would think if he told you he told anybody."
"Why?"
"Wasn't he attracted to you?"
"You mean, did he try anything?"
"Come on, the guy go for you or not?"
"I think he did," Dara said, "but ran out of time."
"Tried to impress you, didn't he? Worth a million dollars to the United States government?"