Elmore Leonard: Djibouti

"Nuts," Helene said.

Dara got close to Xavier in the cockpit, wind whipping past them. She said, "Muff didn't come close to hitting that ship."

"Aimin at the sky when she fired," Xavier said. "Now you gonna say, I told you. They somebody else settin off explosions."

Dara looked like she was thinking about it. "If I use the scene in a feature, does it seem too much of a coincidence? He blows it up as Muff fires?"

"You want to change what happened?"

"No, but I have to make it believable."

"You still aren't sure it was him."

"I know it was," Dara said.

"We don't see him do it."

"But we know he's on the island." JAMA WOULD STAND HERE watching the fire till it went out, man, the weird shapes it was taking, but an idea hit him and it was a honey. A way to get shuck of the boat. Try to keep it hidden, the navy'd come ashore and find it soon enough. People coming to investigate what happened. He'd push it free of the mangrove to the open sea. Start the engine, aim it at the ship on fire, set the pilot and jump off. Watch Buster head out there to get burned up.

FROM THE COVE JAMA climbed over the island again to the beach facing east. Five young white folks, three girls and a couple of dudes, were watching the ship out in the dark still burning away. Jama walked up in his Brown University shirt, bag over his shoulder, asking, "Was that the most intense fire you ever saw in your life?" He said, "Hi, I'm Hunter," like a movie star doing an ad on TV. "Man, that fire was burnin crazy, shootin up to the sky…What you suppose set it off?"

All these GI people, keyed up but feeling no pain, were still in their swimsuits drinking beer. One of the dudes being cool said, "It was a combustible gas tanker and it combusted. They can do that."

Jama said, "Yeah, but something set it off."

The other dude said, "Sparks, man. Prob'ly some asshole smoking."

A chick with Jackie tattooed blue and red on her shoulder said, "I got ten bucks says it was al Qaeda."

Jama liked this Jackie, blond hair and a cute nose. He'd bet she had pure-white titties in there, the rest of her tanned up good. He said, "I come here this afternoon on the water taxi. Took a six-mile hike around Moucha while y'all are havin fun at the beach. If I was to tell you I'm on a undercover assignment for the CIA, would you believe me?"

"And we're missionaries," Jackie said, "out here converting towelheads."

"They become Jesus-loving Christians," the dude thinking he was cool said, "or we shoot them. I don't know why we don't anyway."

"You don't believe I'm CIA?" Jama said. "All right, how about this? I was on a tanker full of gooks I couldn't speak a word to or get what they were saying, so I jumped ship."

"That's more like it," Jackie said. "They looking for you?"

"I doubt they even miss me."

Jackie said, "You poor guy, you want a Cosmo?" THEY TOOK JAMA HIGHER up on the beach to a thatched-roof shelter, no walls, but beach chairs and all their stuff here: sleeping bags, ice chests half-full of beer, two bottles of vodka left and cranberry juice, Jackie making Cosmopolitans for the group. Jama said, "Y'all know how to live, don't you? You think I could join up, do my basic and get sent to Djibouti?"

"Put in for it," the dude thought he was cool said. "The assignment office goes, 'Jesus Christ, this guy wants duty in the asshole of the world.'"

"Hey," Jama said. "Don't you know I'm putting it on?"

Jackie said, "But you were on a ship full of gooks?"

"Learn Tagalog," Jama said, "or keep my mouth shut. I was on it and got off it. Tanker name Manila Bay."

By the time they saw lights coming in from the sea, the shelter was quiet, two of the girls asleep in lounge chairs.

Jama said, "I see the U.S. Navy's about to visit. Want to know did any of us happen to blow up that ship." He peeled off his Brown University T-shirt, rolled it up and stuck it in the bag with his pistol. MARINES WITH SIDEARMS AND flashlights came in first, shining the beams over the group, stopping on bikinis, girls waking up with scowls, then pushing up once they saw the suits-not wearing suits, but that's who they were-no question in Jama's mind-behind the flashlights. One of them back there said, "You people are all air force?"

"Except Hunter," Jackie said. "He's with the CIA."

The invisible suit said, "Is that so? Which one's Hunter?"

Jama said, "I told her"-and got flashlights in his face-"I worked for the CIO, not the CIA, the labor people."

"What's it stand for?"

"Which?"

"Congress of Industrial Opportunists, the higher-ups, living off the sweat of their fellow man, probably never worked a shift in their life."

The suits in shirtsleeves talked among themselves. A voice said, "You're all air force?"

Still in their beach chairs they nodded, said yeah, the 449th, watched the flashlights sweep away to follow the suits leaving.

For a few seconds Jama caught sight of a man wearing a baseball cap and Hawaiian shirt hanging out of his jeans. Saw him in a beam of light before he turned away. Jama got up and went to the edge of the thatch overhang. He didn't see him now, the beach full of navy people. He hadn't recognized the guy. It wasn't he was familiar, but looked out of place among the gang of investigators.

He thought of Buster in the mangrove. He'd better move if he wanted to get rid of her. JAMA FOLLOWED THE BEACH south ducking patrol boats sweeping their spotlights over the coral with no idea-Jama believed-what they were looking for. He cut across the bend in the island to the south shore of the beach, quiet here, no boats messing up the dark, and came to the cove where he'd left Buster. In the wheelhouse when he saw Dara go by in the speedboat. Heard the boat circle back and saw her again. He was in water to his chest by the time he reached Buster, threw his flight bag in the wheelhouse and got to work untangling her from the mangrove. Once she was in the channel Jama pulled himself aboard.

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…"