Elmore Leonard - Djibouti

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 can see it. You come off the copter in your little outfit, the cool chick with the cute ass in her short pants."

"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."

Xavier shook his head. "Unh-unh. I'm sittin here so I musta made the trip okay."

She thought of saying she didn't want to fly off and leave him. But she did, dying to get off this cute fucking boat. She said, "I knew you'd make it." He was silent now. Hurt? She said, "Xavier, tell me what happened?"

"Nothin. I tied on to old 66 and got towed to Djibouti. How you think I made it in two days?"

"But I'm out of touch by then." Dara finished her cognac. "The plane lands in Djibouti and I'm met by a quiet young guy from the embassy, the car waiting on the strip, a Lincoln."

"Made you feel important."

"It did, at first. The young guy-I forgot his name, Patrick something-said he was CIA station chief there. I thought he'd start in, ask how I happened to know about terrorists. You know what he said?"

"How was the flight?"

"He said, 'Is it hot enough for you?'"

"He's settin you up. Start slow, then blindside you."

"I think he expected me to start running off at the mouth, but I didn't. I said, 'I'm used to it by now.' Neither of us said another word on the way. No, he said something about the embassy being air-cooled for your comfort. Didn't they use to say that about movie theaters?"

"Before you were born."

"It was the only mention of where we were going."

"You musta known you weren't goin to the hotel."

"You're right, he didn't ask where I was staying. We approached the embassy, local police hanging around in front, passed through the gate and got out at the entrance. The marine post, the first one, was just inside. The marine took my passport and entered what he needed to know and handed it to the CIA station chief. The marine wanted to look in my bag but Patrick said, 'Ms. Barr's with me,' and took it off my shoulder. Now we're in the inner lobby-the whole place done in that harmless government decor. I was thinking they could get-what was her name, Billy's yacht decorator? Anne Bonfiglio. See if she could add a 'look' with a bit more life to it. The next marine stepped away from his desk to hand me a visitor's ID badge. Red with a big V in white and the words ESCORT REQUIRED. You believe it?"

Xavier said, "They got you now."

THE CIA STATION CHIEF brought Dara by elevator to the third floor and along a hallway of what must be executive offices to the one at the end, double doors open to a view of the gulf at dusk in the windows and a woman in a beige suit coming toward her smiling, telling Dara, "I can't believe I'm actually meeting you. I love Women of Bosnia, the way you shot the men lurking about, watching like hyenas, waiting…Were you afraid filming those guys?"

"At times, yeah, they made me nervous."

"Dara, I'm hoping I can help you. I'm Suzanne Schmidt, regional security officer." She took Dara's hand and held on to it. "I love the way you do your hair."

"I don't really do it," Dara said.

"It shows your independence. I should have mine cut and quit getting my roots done every month. I blow it dry and by midday in this humidity and I have to go out…? My pageboy begins to go limp." She brought Dara into her office, the CIA man and her bag no longer with them.

"Dara, I've loved all of your documentaries," Suzanne said, "but Women of Bosnia is my favorite-the way you kept your eye on the men without ever featuring them, and yet we know what they're about, especially what they did to the women. My favorite character is Amelia. You tell her story after the men had repeatedly raped her."

"Months later," Dara said.

"Amelia explains in simple words, 'Because I am Muslim.' She feels indelibly soiled. 'Because I am Muslim.' What the conflict was all about, really. Her husband leaves and she thinks of throwing herself in front of a train."

It was a tram, a streetcar, but Dara didn't interrupt.

"The men eye you with speculation. Can we do what we want to this American alone in our country, making herself a nuisance? They're not sure if we'll come to your aid. Americans sometimes put themselves in a fix we're unable to resolve."

"I'm not in a fix," Dara said.

"Well, Amelia certainly was," Suzanne said. "In the depths of her despair thinking of killing herself. But she's the mother of a two-year-old boy and her husband has abandoned them. Amelia's in quite a fix, isn't she?"