The man in the baseball cap was waiting at the mouth of the cove, up on the bank holding a nickel-plate revolver on him. Some kind of tropical white flowers decorating the hem of his Hawaiian shirt, black flowers on the top part, black on black you could hardly make out.
Jama said, "That's a good-looking shirt you got on. How much it set you back?"
Buck Bethards said, "You don't remember me? I'm the guy you shot the other day at Marshal Foch Square."
Jama grinning at him now, slipped his hand inside the flight bag sitting on the wheelhouse table.
"That was you?"
"Gonna take you in this time," Buck said. "The hell you doing out here?"
"I blew up that tanker."
"You did, huh."
"Dialed a phone number and set it off."
"You're a real terror, aren't you?"
"I'm giving it up," Jama said, his hand on the Walther's grip. "You a cop or what?"
"I was military, now I'm on my own."
"You gonna shoot me?"
"I'm taking you to Djib on those homicides. Or I can check, see if there're warrants for a James Russell in the States."
"Russell," Jama said. "How much you want?"
"What I want is to see your hand come out of that bag."
"I'm getting a cigarette."
"Shame on you."
"Want one?"
"I quit. Listen, I want you to take your hand out of the bag before I count to five. Give you time to make up your mind. You don't, I tell my client you passed away on Gilligan's Island. Last seen taking a stroll."
Jama said, "Lemme tell you again. I blew up that ship with a phone call. I'm the same as you, man. They pay me to do a job, I do it." Jama said, "You mind if I bring out my cigarettes? Man, I have to see can I talk you out of this."
"I'll count to five," Buck said. "One…"
Jama let him get to three. He took the bag in his left hand and half-turned to sidearm it at Buck, Jama's right hand coming out with the Walther and shot Buck in the gut to relax him, cause him to sag, and shot him in the chest to kill him, from less than twenty feet. There was life in him for a few moments, his eyes open, looking at something he couldn't believe.
Shit, then had to go in the water again to get under Buck and dump him on the deck, the nickel-plate gone. Once Jama was aboard he started the engine and steered Buster deep into the cove and shut her down. Be for the next hour or so. He heard patrol boats out there and saw lights playing through the mangrove; the boats had too much beam to come in the channel. While he was waiting Jama dug Buck's passport and wallet out of his back pocket and dropped them in his bag. Look at them when he had some light. For now he kept the boat pitch-dark and sat there waving at mosquitoes. Finally asked himself, You going or not? Started the engine and putt-putted out of the cove.
It was too late to send Buster out to catch fire, Aphrodite looking almost burned out. What he did was start his own fire below-decks, sloshed a can of gasoline around and dropped a match down the ladder, heard it go wooosh and Buster was on fire, her bow aimed at the hulk burning a few miles off. Jama put on his life jacket and hung his bag of personals against his chest to hold on to it. About a hundred yards out he set Buster on autopilot and slipped over the side.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
XAVIER CHECKED WITH DJIBOUTI Marine wanting to know who it was took out the Buster, while Dara met with the chief of police himself to hear what happened to the boat. Now they were in Dara's suite at the Kempinski exchanging what they'd learned.
"One of the young guys workin there, Ubu Kalid," Xavier said, "took this African out for a test run, see if he liked the boat."
Dara said, "Jama?"
"Sounds like Jama, but neither one of 'em came back."
"Buster caught fire," Dara said. "The chief thought at first she got too close to the gas tanker. But he said the feds told him no. Whoever stole the boat set it on fire."
"They could tell, huh?"
"They knew it wasn't the dead guy aboard."
"Wasn't Jama?"
"A white guy. The chief likes to make investigations social occasions when he can. We met at Las Vegas for lunch."
"Lunch meaning drinks."
"I had a gimlet, the chief three or four martinis," Dara said. "Would you like something?" He shook his head, Xavier on the settee in the suite's living room, Dara standing, moving around some, smoking a cigarette, looking cool in her white shirt and tan skirt for a change. Looking cool to Xavier anytime.
"The chief said he was white but looked like a colored man where the fire burned him. He smiled saying, 'I understand that's what you call Nigras in America.' No identification on him, but the FBI printed him. They'll find out who he is."
"You sound relieved," Xavier said, "it wasn't Jama? You need him for the movie?"
"He set fire to our boat," Dara said, exhaling a hard stream of smoke. "He shot the white guy twice and left nine-millimeter casings in the wheelhouse. Police Chief Ali Zahara-I finally learned his name-said it will turn out to be the same weapon that killed Qasim and the four Somalis the time Jama escaped."
"So he's still roamin the land," Xavier said. "Maybe tryin to use the dead guy's ID."
"How can he? The guy's white."
"In a few days he can be black in the passport. If that's what Jama has. Djibouti, man, you can become anybody you want, long as you able to pay for it."
Dara came over and Xavier made room for her next to him.
"If he's in the film I want to know what happens to him."
"Wouldn't mind runnin into him again, huh? If you both still around, I think you can bet on him runnin into you. Find out you're stayin here, if he don't already know it. You want to give him a chance to find you?"
"Why's he after me, 'cause I know his name?"
"Even if you didn't. I think Mr. James Russell Raisuli's got the hots for you, girl. Likes the way you step out on the edge talkin to him," Xavier said. "You ever see Hiroshima? You haven't, have you?"
"That TV movie?"
"How we got around to droppin the A-bomb on Japan. The real Harry Truman's in it and you see an actor playin Harry Truman. I mean in key scenes where they don't have the real Harry Truman on film they use the actor. Understand what I'm sayin? The real Harry Truman and the one playin him come in and out of the movie, cuttin from one to the other in different scenes, and it works."
"The actor looks just like Truman?"
"Enough. Plays the piano."
Dara seemed to think about it, frowning some.
She said, "Who do you see playing Jama?" LATER ON DARA WENT to Billy's suite to see how Helene was doing: Helene in bed, her upper right arm taped to her body, the hand sticking out of her camisole. Dara said it looked like it was growing out of her tummy.
"The room service guy," Helene said, "asks me how my hand's doing. I try to tell him it's not my hand, it's my fucking shoulder. I'm afraid the tape's gonna flatten my boobs. Billy says don't worry about it, we'll have them inflated. Billy doesn't have a doctor here so we're going home. Wait two days for Air France or hire a private jet to get us to Paris. He wants me to see a doctor in Houston he calls his bone guy. Billy separated his shoulder one time playing polo."
Dara said, "Fell off his horse?"
"This Mexican hit him from behind," Helene said, "because Billy was beating him."
"Too bad," Dara said, "you have to interrupt the cruise."
"Till I'm all better. I'll stretch it out as long as I can, see if I can develop complications. Billy said, 'When you fell off your bike, you got right back on, didn't you?' If he thinks I'm gonna fire that gun again, he's out of his fucking mind," Helene said. "He's down at the bar talking to the FBI again. They found out we were on the island, Billy told them yeah, having a picnic. We saw the ship explode and he got us out of there fast. This was the first time the FBI talked to him. They wanted to know why we had a Donzi for the trip instead of his yacht. He said they called Pegaso 'your pleasure boat.' Billy said he was thinking of getting a Donzi for fun and wanted to see what it was like. He can buy anything he wants, so they believe him."