“How big was it?”
“A hundred and thirty-one fatalities, two hundred and a quarter injured. Let’s see, two hundred and seventeen cars demolished, six hundred and eighty left homeless.”
“Not as big as 9/11.”
“Not even close.”
“What I’d like to know,” Billy said, “is that tanker going all the way up the Red Sea or stopping off?”
“It’s stopping off,” Helene said.
“Not to refuel. The ship was sitting at Eyl two weeks, its engine shut down.”
“But the crew’s been eating,” Helene said. “I think they’ll have to stop for groceries.”
“You’re right,” Billy said. “I imagine the pirates took everything that wasn’t screwed down.” He turned to Helene, forgetting the eyes watching them. “You know how many times I’ve said ‘you’re right’ to a girl I’m thinking of having a relationship with?”
“The Forty-Eight-Hour Test,” Helene said. “She passes or goes home.”
“You can kid about it, you scored high. Most of those girls, they get to take the test ’cause they have possibilities. I start telling her something, I could be speaking Arabic for all the sense it makes. She listens to every word, nods, smiles when I smile and gets rejected. But every once in a while—not too often—the girl says, ‘What…?’ paying attention, trying to follow me. You know what you said?”
“‘Are you fucking nuts?’”
“You asked if I was serious.”
“And that won your heart?”
“You were yourself. I don’t mean you don’t have tricks, how you put on certain looks. Finally it dawned on me, Hell, you’re having fun being a girl. It was the first time in my life I realized it. A girl could be pleased with herself enough she didn’t need a guy spending money on her. She’s told herself she’s a big girl, can make her own decisions.”
“And because of that,” Helene said, “it was love at first sight?”
“Yeah, well close to it, there’re certain conditions. If I’m a sailor, you have to be a sailor. You have to love pitting yourself against the sea. You get seasick? So what? Clean it up. Long as you don’t have to keep to your bunk the whole trip.” Billy said to her, “Lady, I have to admit I saw almost right off the bat you’re a keeper.” He left the wheel, came over and hugged her and gave her a kiss.
Helene believed it was time to express herself and be serious about it. He’d already said he liked her standing up to him. Now she said, “Don’t I have anything to say about it?”
Let him think she might have some mysterious reason she’d turn down a billionaire’s proposal. Or, he might think she wanted to talk about the prenup first.
Billy said, “My Lord, of course you have a say in this, Muffin. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Helene said, “You’re Billy the Kid, aren’t you?”
“I’ve always felt like a kid in my ways,” Billy said, “but guided by a whole lot of good sense, and some learning.”
Helene said, “Do you love me?”
“You know I do, Muff, with my whole heart.”
“And you want us to get married?”
Helene, looking him in the eye, waited for him to grin and begin making up a story. But he didn’t.
“Of course I want to get married, make you Mrs. Billy Wynn. The first and only one I’ve ever met to go all the way with.”
Helene put her head down long enough to get her eyes wet and looked up with happy tears, saying, “Billy, I must be the luckiest girl in the whole fucking world.”
Billy said, “Being smart and good-looking didn’t hurt. You can be sassy but cute about it, so it didn’t blow your chances.” He said, “Listen, Muff…I have to call Buck Bethards, see if he’s gonna help me out here. Okay?”
Helene wiped her eyes, the romantic interlude over. She slipped off the director’s chair saying, “I’ll go below while you two do your man-thing.”
“No, stay here. I told you Buck’s a former SEAL? When I get different opposing stories from my contacts, I like to play my ace. Buck will charge me an arm and a leg, but he most always comes up with the goods. No charge if he doesn’t deliver. I’ll put him on the speaker so you can listen.”
Helene found the sheet on Buck, a printout from CNN with Buck’s head-shot on it, his cold eyes staring at her. Billy was looking at the twelve-digit phone number written across the top of the page, and the phone rang.
“HI, IT’S DARA. WHAT’RE you doing?”
“I’m tailing the gas ship, hon. What you think I’m doing?”
“Helene still with you?”
“We get to India I’m gonna have a Jesuit missionary marry us. Here, say hi to Muff.”
Dara said, “Muff? You must be the happiest girl in the whole world.”
“I told Billy I’m gonna love being rich. Things just seem to work out,” Helene said, “if you let them. Here’s Billy.”
Dara said, “Billy, you remember Jama Raisuli? One of the al Qaedas, not Sean Connery.”
Billy said, “Yeah, the Gold Dust Twins were holding him for ransom, and the other one, Qasim.”
“Jama killed Qasim and four Somalis guarding them and got away.”
“Why would he kill his boss?”
“I don’t know,” Dara said. “That was three days ago. Yesterday we see him coming along rue de Marseille. We were visiting Idris. Harry’s with him. I’ll e-mail you about the Twins. I see him coming toward me and I put my spy camera on him. He’s had a haircut, lost his beard and he’s wearing a Brown University T-shirt, a bag over his shoulder.”
“The murder weapon in it,” Billy said. “Wait till I light my cigar. Paid fifty bucks for the son of a bitch and it keeps going out on me. So now he’s disguised. How’d you know it was Jama?”
“I’ve shot him enough,” Dara said. “You’re right, the gun he used on Qasim and the guards was in the bag. He tried to hang on to it and Xavier hit him. Jama took off and Xavier shot at him but missed, only three bullets in the gun.”
“What was it, what kind?”
“A Walther P38.”
“Holds eight loads,” Billy said. “He must’ve killed the five execution-style, one shot each. Had three left and Xavier wasted them on him. So now Jama’s unarmed till he gets another piece. I wonder, is he African American or American African? Tell me what you’re doing about him.”
“We sat down with the chief of police. I told him what I know about Jama, and Xavier gave him the gun, the murder weapon.”
“The cops’ll start investigating,” Billy said, “and Jama will know you ratted him out and come looking for you.”
Dara said, “What he does is out of our hands.”
“But you’re still in Djib, aren’t you? You’re not calling from Nawlins. It’s good you got Xavier with you, even if he can’t shoot straight.” Billy said, “The gas ship’s scheduled to go to Lake Charles, but I’ll bet it’s stopping over in Djib for stores. They’ll get a few suicide nuts aboard, blow the ship, take out most of Djibouti and whatever navy ships are close by. It won’t be another 9/11 but it’ll make an al Qaeda statement, won’t it?”
Dara said, “You think you can do anything about it?”
“Go ashore and talk to the Port Authority, see they keep the gas ship a good twelve miles from town. The time comes I’ll call the captain—what’s his name, Wassef?—tell him to get all the good guys off the ship before I blow it up.”
“Did you ever think, what if you didn’t have money?”
“I’d make it,” Billy said. “It’s not hard.”
“You’re marrying Helene?”
“You sound like you don’t believe it?”
“No, you were meant for each other. Helene’s funny, if you listen to her.”
“I’ve noticed that since I let her be herself.” Billy said, “Did you hear Osama bin Laden’s got a crush on Whitney Houston? They say he’s gonna put a fatwa out on Bobby Brown for abusing her. Send some true believers to cut his head off.
Bin loves Whitney but hates music, says it’s evil. Love doesn’t have to make sense, does it?”
“That’s old stuff, Whitney Houston,” Dara said. “Listen, I forgot to mention, when I first saw Jama he said something like ‘How you making it?’ Like he didn’t recognize me, but he had to, I was with him before. He walked past and I said, ‘James?’ and he stopped and came back.”
“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 t
he 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?”
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.”