“Amazing,” Dara said.
Xavier heard her. He said, “Yeah, but they still on the boat.”
BILLY, HIS HAND ON Kwame, moved him to the rail where the skiff was tied. Billy said, “Al Mout Li Amrikas? You must be thinking of some other Americans. You got your new shoes on? I told Idris Mohammed—he’s going to London—where to get ’em for you boys. They comfortable?”
Kwame looked down at the shoes, nodding his head.
“Try not to get ’em wet out here,” Billy said, “that’s an expensive pair of footwear.”
Now he was telling Kwame to get his boys home and ice those shoulders before they stiffened up on them. Telling Kwame he had some personal business to take care of and asked him, “You know anything about that gas tanker?” Nodding to the thousand-foot Aphrodite with the five tanks coming out of the deck. “You know the one owns it?”
“You don’t smoke on the ship,” Kwame said. “Is very dangerous.”
“I’ll remember that,” Billy said. Christ, able to read NO SMOKING from a mile away. “You know where she’s going?”
“To America someplace.”
“You get your shoulder iced,” Billy said. “You hear? It was a pleasure seeing you, Kwame. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THEY WATCHED THE SKIFF heading back to Eyl, a boatload of pirates holding their shoulders. Dara was out on deck now with Helene; Billy stood at the bow watching Xavier sweep broken glass into the sea, talking to him.
Dara saying Billy surprised her; he was so cool the way he pulled it off, putting the rifle in Kwame’s hands.
“I never know who he’s gonna be,” Helene said. “Sometimes he’s Sterling Hayden with his precious bodily fluids.”
“Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove,” Dara said. “I thought it was a terrific picture when I first saw it. It’s still good, but you can see everybody playing their parts.”
“Ones they don’t usually play,” Helene said. “They’re having fun and don’t care if you know it. It’s easy to fake things.”
“What does he know about Aphrodite?”
“Everything. Like there are only five ports in the United States that take that kind of ship. I looked it up for him. You have to sit out in the water a long time before they let you tie up. Then you have to hook up lines to take the gas off the ship to wherever they store it. Any leaks out and hits the ground you’re fucked.”
“He’s waiting for the gas ship,” Dara said, “to get its release, and then what, follow it? Kwame said it’s going to the U.S.”
“He keeps watching it through his glasses,” Helene said, “telling the ship to move out, goddamn it. When Billy wants to do something and has to wait, he drives you crazy.”
“Well, you’re not going around the world,” Dara said, “unless the gas ship does.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Helene said, “if we actually follow the ship, are we going home? But I don’t want to put any hope in it.”
Dara said, “Or think of it blowing up a city in the U.S.”
“Right. But I don’t know—Billy’s always changing his mind.”
Dara said, “Where are the ports in the U.S.?”
“Boston. Near there,” Helene said. “Two more on the East Coast in Maryland and Georgia, and one in the Gulf, near Lake Charles.”
“Louisiana,” Dara said, “not far from New Orleans.”
THEY SAW BILLY TURN to look at them from the bow and Helene said, “He wants to know why you’re interested in the gas ship.”
“I guess the same reason he is,” Dara said, and watched Billy pause to say something to Xavier.
“He wants to see the pictures of the two guys,” Helene said, “you took at the party.”
“I got them on the ship too,” Dara said.
Billy came over to them now and Helene said, “She’ll show you the pictures if you want.”
Billy said, “The two wogs?”
“I think one’s African American,” Dara said. “I got him at the party blowing smoke at me.”
“I bet anything it’s Jama Raisuli,” Billy said. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back,” and left them, stepped over to Pegaso and went below.
“He’ll get his Arab pictures,” Helene said, “so you can pick out the two guys.”
“How’s it going otherwise?”
“I drink, I smoke.”
“And listen,” Dara said. “What’s he want to do about the gas ship?”
“I told you, he wants to follow it.”
“But what’s his game? Find out where the ship’s going, and then what?”
“I’m not sure,” Helene said, “you’ll have to ask him.”
Billy came back with a stack of 8 x 10 photographs he began to lay out on the roof of the wheelhouse.
“From what I remember of them at the party I’d say it’s…this guy,” laying down a shot of Jama, white teeth showing in his beard, hair to his shoulders, “and this guy I call Mr. Bones, Qasim al Salah.”
“You’re right,” Dara said, “Jama and Qasim.”
“All those wogs look alike,” Billy said, “but Qasim’s got that bony look you tend to remember. And the scar across his chin, like somebody cut him one time. Always wears those gray kid gloves. This colored guy who turned wog, Jama Raisuli, has a familiar name but I can’t seem to place him.”
“Sean Connery,” Dara said, “played an Arab chieftain named Raisuli in The Wind and the Lion. He rides off with Candy Bergen bitching at him. I have the DVD. Brian Keith plays Teddy Roosevelt.”
“Billy has it too,” Helene said.
“I do, don’t I?” Billy said, looking at Dara now. “You keep on amazing me, a young lady who doesn’t use her head just to grow lovely hair. Yeah, Connery playing an Arab with his Scotch accent, he still made us believe he was a Mohammedan. Now this colored guy we think turned Arab on us, saw the movie and borrowed the name Raisuli. Could’ve been in prison, took up with radical Islamists and their Wahhabi ways. Using violence for a cause turns him on, gives him an excuse to use guns and explosives.” Billy paused. “Besides being a hard-ass, does this kid have a sense of humor? Using a name was Sean Connery’s in the desert movie? Or did somebody give it to him? They let me board the gas ship I might’ve found out.”
“He isn’t on the ship now,” Dara said. “Idris and Harry grabbed him, and the other one, Qasim, and right now are on their way to Djibouti. Five SUVs, black ones, with armed guards. They’ll be there in two days.”
“They don’t run into a warlord,” Billy said, “with SAMs.”
“The chances are,” Dara said, “Idris will know the warlord and give him a Toyota.”
Billy looked out at the gas ship. “Those two al Qaedas can be replaced in a day, put two other guys aboard. Where’s the Aphrodite suppose to be heading? I’d like to know that.”
“A port in the U.S.,” Dara said.
“Maybe,” Billy said, staring at the gas ship. “Run into it and those five tanks blow up. The ship’s so obviously a bomb it must be a decoy. Bin Laden knows we’ll see it that way. So he does use the ship as a bomb. Well, it is or it isn’t. The only way to find out is keep it in sight. Trail her till I have to call the navy or sink her myself.”
Dara said, “You’re not worried about the two al Qaedas?”
“If Harry and Idris have them, they’re looking to get that Rewards for Justice handout. Only State will hem and haw, want proof of who they’ve got. The Gold Dust Twins will lose what patience they started with and refuse to give ’em up till they see some green. State in the meantime’s keeping an eye on the Twins. They have local police poking through this rat’s nest looking for the two Qaedas. After a while the Twins say fuck it, take the two out in the desert and shoot them.”
Dara said, “If the State Department takes too long, the Twins lose patience, why wouldn’t they let the Qaeda guys go?”
“Because, my dear, for the rest of their lives Jama and Qasim would be gunning for them. The T
wins know that.”
Xavier said, “Jama and Qasim might even get away, escape from the Twins.”
“What do we care?” Billy said. “They won’t be coming after us. They’re unemployed Mohammedan terrorists. If State wants them, they’ll go after them. But I can tell you right now, whatever happens, the Twins won’t make a dime on this deal. Even if State agrees to question the two al Qaedas and they find out, Jesus Christ, these guys are terrorists, I can’t imagine them paying a reward.”
“What if I help Idris and Harry?” Dara said. “I identify Jama and Qasim, tell State what I know about them.”
“They’ll believe you,” Billy said, “before they make a deal with these two Mohammedans. That is, once they look you up, see you haven’t been arrested for demonstrating left-wing causes.” Billy said, “Have you?”
“What Dara’s sayin,” Xavier said, “she wants to head off another 9/11.”
“I do too,” Billy said, “the reason I’m gonna tail the gas ship. Listen, the feds could refuse to take it seriously because the Twins piss them off. Remember, we’re talking about a federal system of people with semi-one-track minds. You make a mistake you spend the rest of your career in a third-world country. So they sit on this till the Twins go away. If they’re lucky they pick up the Mohammedans.”
Billy thought of something else.
“Or what if the Twins we find out are working for bin Laden? They fake the Rewards program out of six mil and it’s used to buy rusted-out freighters they load with explosives. Greek commandos stopped a ship that had seven hundred tons of TNT aboard, and eight thousand detonators.”
Billy stopped again.
“The question is, are Jama and Qasim willing to spend the rest of their lives, twenty-three hours a day, in a federal prison cell? Qasim al Salah’s a live wire—I don’t know about Jama—but Qasim’s been setting off explosions since the early eighties. Who’s watching him, Somali pirates? I’ll bet he ducks out.”
“Before that happens,” Dara said, “I’ll get the Twins in to see the Diplomatic Security people.”
Billy said, “I’ll bet you ten bucks you don’t.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I’VE GOT TWO HOURS of Somali pirates in the can,” Dara said, “and it’s no longer about them.”
They were at the Kempinski dining table again, her MacBook Pro and a fifth of cognac in front of them. They’d had supper away from the hotel and now they were at work.
Xavier said, “You still got the main one, Idris Mohammed, and you got his buddy Harry the Sheikh. You don’t need any more pirates. The picture takes a turn here to bigger stuff.”
“We don’t have a transition,” Dara said. “We don’t see Harry and Idris forcing the two al Qaedas into the SUVs.”
“We got the khat-chewer,” Xavier said, “wad in his cheek, telling me what happened that morning, the Qaedas trussed up and blindfolded. Cut back and forth between the khat-chewer telling it in his English—and that’s good stuff—and some black Toyotas ready to go.”
“I’m not going to fake shots,” Dara said.
“The khat-chewer says somebody was shootin what was goin on. He thought it was me at first, ’cause it was a Somali had my same color, the one shootin the pictures.”
“We did look for him,” Dara said, “and came up empty.” She sipped her cognac. “I need a transition.”
“It’s turnin into a Hollywood movie,” Xavier said, and saw Dara, tired of it, shaking her head. “Or the treatment of a picture,” Xavier said, “you could sell to a studio for a pile of money, since you don’t want to shoot it with movie stars. Cut your two hours down to twenty minutes of pirates doin their number. See ’em at the party wearin their new shoes. See the hijacked ships layin at anchor—mood shots, the party music from up the hill over the ships sittin in the dark. Idris and Harry watchin the news—Somalis take their first American ship and they love it, both of ’em, and we get our first peek at who these boys are. Second act, you follow ’em to Djibouti.”
“Hollywood’s way ahead of us,” Dara said. “Pirate movies are already in preproduction, Samuel Jackson doing one.”
“His might be all right. Sam’ll have the accent down.”
“We’ve seen the Alabama hijacked.”
“The one Discovery did? You kiddin me? They mix up a tiny bit of actual footage with quick shots of nothing. Grown men pretending to be Somali boys.”
“You’re right,” Dara said, “it was awful. Discovery ought to be ashamed of themselves.”
Xavier said, “That big sailin yacht gets hijacked in a movie coming up. Only the crew aboard. The girls come out of hidin after a couple of days drinkin wine and eatin peanuts. The pirates don’t get it. Say why you hidin? You think we gonna jump you? That’s what happen, nothin. Hollywood makes it, they have the pirates look ’em over, leerin at them, jihad boners in their pants. You gonna do this movie you don’t have to change nothin. You already in it and you sense where it’s goin. You say the pirate movie about pirates is over. By Sunday they showin a sign they want to kill us. Mr. Billy Wynn comes along with his elephant gun and saves our ass from their ire. Mr. Billy Wynn knows what he’s doin. Keep him in sight and you have your movie.”
“If I’d been there,” Dara said, “when they drove off with the al Qaedas, I’d be with them. You wouldn’t see me till you got to Djibouti.”
“Run off in your little shorts and T-shirt?”
“Wouldn’t matter, I’d have my secret camera.”
“Same underwear the whole trip.”
“I’d borrow a pair from Harry.”
“Not Idris?”
“Harry’s daintier, he’d have a few extra pair. What we don’t want to forget,” Dara said, “Harry sells guns. Isn’t as clean as he looks.”
“Well, you didn’t get to go with the boys,” Xavier said. “So where you are then in your movie, you see yourself on a boat goin six miles an hour for close on seven hundred miles full speed all day, all night?” Xavier paused to sip his cognac. “Took us twelve days to get to Eyl lookin at ships. Take us seven to get back to Djibouti, the sea behaves, we don’t take on a monsoon, and the engine don’t quit on us. Remember lookin at another week on the Buster?”
“Talking about it while we’re tied alongside Pegaso,” Dara said. “I had a feeling I could use Idris and Harry, but we’d have to get to them soon, in a couple of days.”
Xavier grinned a little. “And our friend Billy, remember? He come along sayin, ‘What’s the hurry?’”
“YOU FIGURE HIM OUT?” Xavier said. “First he say we never gonna make it. The Gold Dust Twins be pitchin their deal at the U.S. Embassy, after a reward, while we still out in the gulf. Then Billy changes his tune. Says, ‘’Less I can get you a ride to Djib.’”
“His chance to show off,” Dara said. “Tells Helene to get on the computer and find the positions of navy ships in the gulf, and plot their estimated courses. Helene’s in her little bikini looking at dots on the screen that stand for ships—like she’s working in a war room. Billy wanted the Eisenhower and got Helene to locate it. I remember thinking, He’s gonna have an aircraft carrier pick us up? But it turned out to be our old friend CG-66 closer by, the guided missile cruiser with the skipper who likes my docs.”
“You always this lucky?”
“When I have to be,” Dara said. “As soon as I saw that blunt face of old 66 coming up on us I knew I’d make it.”
“Told ’em you had al Qaeda stuff to report.”
“Billy said I had to get to the Eisenhower to reach Djibouti in a few hours. He said, ‘Once you’re on the carrier you take the Greyhound.’”
“Like you gonna hop a bus.”
“I told the skipper I had information for Diplomatic Security about terrorists. They relayed it to the carrier and the exec said to come on. They sent me in a helicopter, a Seahawk. We land on the flight deck and I step out—”
“To cheers and whistles.”
“You weren’t there.”
“I had the Canon and all the tapes in my bag, but already uploaded to my server. I had a feeling the CIA would keep my footage, take their time looking at it. The crew greeted me and I waved, that’s all.”
“Movie star visits the fleet. They give you more noise’n Virginia Mayo ever got.”
“I had to decide, take the twin-turboprop Greyhound leaving in an hour, or dine with the captain and take the morning flight, with outgoing mail and a grocery list. I hear he’s a savvy guy, but I had to turn him down I was so anxious to get to Djibouti, acting like I had to go to the bathroom. I told you there were news people aboard? All of us going back in an hour. They were out five days hoping to see pirates.”
“Didn’t see a one, did they?”
“Will you let me tell it? They were aboard the Eisenhower five days and had dinner with the captain once. No—they had lunch with him. Five men and one woman.”
“You talk to them?”
“Of course.”
“Tell ’em you know some of the bad boys personally? Have two of ’em makin eyes at you?”
“Harry’s not interested, he hasn’t given me any kind of look.”
“Not while you watchin him. The newspeople want to see your footage?”
“I didn’t offer. I shot them with the flip.”
“They get angry with you?”
“They had no idea I was filming them.”
“I mean not showin your footage?”
“They stopped asking. I didn’t say a word about al Qaeda. I went to sleep on the plane.”
Xavier said, “You get to Djibouti, now you have all kind of security on you.” Xavier waited, watching Dara raise her glass to take a sip. He said, “You got your mind on the Gold Dust Twins, al Qaedas, CIA people…You know, you never once ask how me and Buster did our time at sea? Alone, so to speak.”
Dara placed her glass on the desk and turned in her chair to face Xavier, waiting. She said, “I did, I asked how’d it go. If you missed me.”
Djibouti Page 10
