Djibouti

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

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?"