Dan stayed at the beach hut that night, and slept
until seven on Friday morning. It was already hot and
humid when he got up and he pulled on nothing more than
a bathing suit before walking out on the terrace. A
light breeze was blowing and he hoped that it would pick
up as the day went on. Even though he was looking
forward to the party at the French Embassy, more for
Liliana's sake than his own, he did not relish the
thought of spending the entire evening in hot, formal
clothes in the still, sticky oppressive air of the
tangambili.
Abdulahi served Dan a cup of hot steaming coffee,
and he walked to the edge of the deck to inhale deeply
of the salty air, then sat down in a chair to look out
to sea. Turning on his short wave radio Dan tuned to
the morning news on BBC, and only half listened as the
announcer went through reports of civil rights protests
in the States, a strike by the workers on British
Railways and a litany of other non events that had taken
place in the world. His attention focused, however,
when the announcer said, "Reports from the East African
nation of Somalia confirm that a light aircraft carrying
an Italian pilot and two Italian civilian passengers has crashed in a remote region northwest of the capital of
Mogadishu. There were no survivors. One of the
passengers was a diplomat from the Italian Embassy in
Mogadishu, and the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs
has called in the Somali Ambassador in Rome to request
that his government investigate unconfirmed reports that
Somali troops near where the plane crashed were
involved. The Ministry also expressed its concern over
the safety of the many Italian nationals who still
reside in that former Italian colony.
"In Mogadishu, a spokesman for the Somali Ministry
of Foreign Affairs issued a statement expressing regret
over the loss of life and denied any implication by the
Somali Army in the incident. The spokesman also said
that a full investigation as to the cause of the plane
crash would be made by the appropriate authorities. And
now a summary of the weather in Britain."
It was obviously a slow news day when the BBC
picked up and reported on something as unimportant as a
light plane crash in Somalia, Dan thought, but when he
turned off the radio he wondered if because of his
concern for Maggie Chandler and his preoccupation with
Liliana, he might have missed the significance of the
plane crash. Dan decided to go into the embassy to
consult with the Military Attache, Colonel Jamison, and Dave Winters, the CIA Station Chief.
Dan noticed that both officers were already on-board when he signed the after hours log at the Marine
Guard's desk. Dan went to his office, called Dave on
the phone, and asked him to pick up Jack Jamison and
come to his office.
"Good morning, guys," Dan said when a few minutes
later they both walked into his office. "I didn't think
there was any connection between the troop movements
that Jack reported on in the staff meeting and this
plane crash yesterday, but now I wonder if I might have
been mistaken. All of the Italians in town seem to be
pretty exercised, and the BBC this morning says the
Foreign Ministry in Rome called in the Somali Ambassador
to express their concern over the safety of Italian
nationals."
"I heard that broadcast, too," Dave said. "But
everything I've been able to pick up says there was no
connection. Here's what I know. The plane was a
chartered Cessna 180 belonging to Somali Airlines, and
clearly identifiable as a Somali Airlines plane. The
pilot was an Italian who'd only been down here a few
months and he was inexperienced in so far as flying in
the bush is concerned. He had filed a flight plan, but
he was way off course from the plan. He was not in contact with the Mogadishu tower since he was too far
away, and the flight controllers think he may have
gotten lost and run out of fuel. My guess is there is
no connection between the crash and the army, and that
it was just a coincidence, or the pilot spotted the
troops and was trying to make a crash landing nearby
where they were."
"Was there any radio contact between the troops on
the ground and the plane?" Dan asked.
"Not that I know of," Dave replied. "Jack?" Dave
turned to look at Jack Jamison.
"No, sir," there wasn't. "The army has very poor
communications gear and they don't operate on the same
frequency as aircraft. All I can add is that the army
says there was no connection, and they say it's absurd
to think that they would shoot down an aircraft that was
clearly identifiable as a Somali Airlines plane. The
army sent a chopper up to bring back the bodies, and the
field commander's report is that the plane sputtered,
like it was out of fuel, and that the pilot was making a
dead stick landing in some rough terrain. It flipped
over, broke apart and everybody was killed by the
impact. The wreckage is being guarded by troops that
were left behind. The main force is still on its way to
the Ethiopian border, and a flatbed truck has been dispatched from Mogadishu to bring back what's left of
the plane. So, I agree with Dave. It's just a
coincidence."
"How long will it take for the truck to get up
there and back?" Dan asked.
"Several days. That's rough barren country,"
Jamison said. "You know there are no paved roads, and
they just travel through the bush over trails. If there
should be any rain it will go even slower."
"I guess there's nothing we can do. It sounds like
the Somali's have control of the situation that is
really nothing more than a tempest in a teapot," Dan
said. "It also sounds like the Italians overreacted
when they called in the Somali Ambassador in Rome to
express their concern about safety before any of the
facts were known."
"I agree that they were shooting from the hip, but
in a way it's understandable," Dave said. "The Italians
are jumpy as hell. They think there is some sort of a
conspiracy in the government to squeeze them out, and to
some degree it's true. There is a strong anti-colonial
faction, but for the most part they're a minority. The
majority knows that they still need the Italians if the
country is going to hang together."
"Okay, gentlemen," Dan said. "I guess there's nothing to do except watch the situation up on the
Ethiopian border. Anything new up there, Jack?"
"No, sir," he replied. "All's quiet on the
northwestern front."
"Good. I guess I'll see you gentlemen tonight at
the French Embassy," Dan said and left the chancery for
the International Golf and Tennis club to play tennis.
After tennis he spent the afternoon at the beach
hut, reading, walking on the beach and late in the
afternoon he took a swim just before riding up the hill
to the residence where he showered and dressed for the
reception.
Although many men wear white dinner jackets to
black tie affairs in the tropics, Dan have never yielded
to that little compromise with formality. There was a
stubborn, conventional streak in him that made him want
to hang on to old ideas, and one of those ideas was that
black tie means a tuxedo. Nor did he like fancy ruffled
dress shirts with flashy diamond studs. He prefered a
simple well laundered and pressed, unstarched, pleated
front shirt with plain gold studs. Both his shirt and
tuxedo were light tropical weight, and he was grateful
since the winds which had been trying to start in the
morning had died out by evening, and the air away from
the shore was still and humid.
A few minutes before five Dan's car, a modest, by
local ambassadorial standards, black Lincoln town car
arrived and when he walked out of the house to ride down
to the beach hut, Abukar, his Somali driver was standing
beside it with the door open. He was wearing a smart
looking starched white uniform with polished brass
buttons and seemed as pleased about being dressed up in
his formal clothes as Dan imagined Liliana would be.
"Shall I take the cover off the flag, Mr.
Ambassador?" Abukar asked as Dan slipped into the back
seat.
Remembering Liliana's request, Dan told him yes,
and Abukar walked to the right front fender, removed the
cover, then unfurled the red, white and blue standard
that in the unspoken language of diplomacy indicates
that the ambassador is on-board, inside the car.
It was exactly five o'clock as they pulled up in
front of the beach hut and Liliana was just getting out
of her car.
"Oh, Mr. Ambassador, you look so handsome," she
said and kissed his cheek then reached inside the car to
remove a hanger on which her dress was hanging.
"Thank you, my love and your hair looks wonderful,
I like it very much," Dan said and helped her with a
small overnight bag.
Liliana normally wore her long black hair loose
over her shoulders or pulled back in a pony tail, but
for the reception she had it parted in the middle, and
combed straight back, close to her head, into a bun at
the nape of her long slender neck in the same way that a
Spanish dancer combs her hair. Dan recalled the first
night they made love and how he had thought that she
looked like a Spanish dancer as she held her arms out
while sitting on top of him.
They walked through the hut out onto the deck where
he mixed drinks for both of them before sitting down in
the chair beside her.
"I want to tell you something before we go to the
party, and I hope you won't be angry with me," she said
and sipped her Campari and soda.
"I find it very hard to imagine my being angry with
you, Liliana. Maybe someday I'll get just a little
angry with you for just a little while, but not
tonight," he said. "What is it that you wanted to tell
me?"
"Well I had to give some explanation for my
disappearing act at home, so I told Hibo and Juliana
that I was staying the night and part of tomorrow
morning with Marie-Claude Lecomte. I thought I could go
home tomorrow around noon, take Juliana to the beach for a while, and then see you again later in the day."
"That sounds all right," Dan said. "Maybe I could
meet you for lunch again. We could try sailing if the
wind picks up and then tomorrow night we'll have a light
supper down here or up at the residence. Just the two
of us, alone, before we go to the next phase of what
ever's to be after Sunday."
"That sounds good," she replied, "But let me go on
and tell you what else I did. This is the part that
scares me."
Dan laughed. "You don't look too scared," he said.
"What else did you do?"
"I told Marie-Claude, or rather I asked her if I
could tell them at home that I was staying over with
her, but I told her I would be with you," Liliana said
with a feigned grimace, then waited for Dan's response.
"Actually, that was very clever of you," Dan said.
"I was a little concerned about your leaving the house
with no explanation of your, so called, disappearing
act, and there's probably no better co-conspirator than
Marie-Claude. The French have a more open mind when it
comes to extra-marital affairs."
"That's what I thought, and I'm so glad you're not
mad at me," she said and took his hand to kiss it.
"You realize, darling, that it was I who asked you to accompany me to this party tonight, so obviously I
have thrown caution to the wind," Dan said and continued
to hold her hand. "I am concerned about you, however,
and I don't want to do anything that will embarrass you
or make life difficult for you.
"Thank you, Dan," she said, and again kissed his
finger tips. "I know that."
"Before I let you go to get dressed I just want to
say one more thing," he said. "I am thinking about a
long term solution for us, and by that I mean marriage.
We would have to work out the details, and I should also
tell you that I'm going to have to retire very soon.
The administration in the States will be changing and I
have to submit my resignation as ambassador. It's not
likely that I'll get another appointment, but I have my
eye on a teaching job." He paused, and looked into her
green eyes. "I'm sort of stammering and stumbling
around, but what I'm trying to say is that I love you,
and I would like to marry you just as soon as I can get
my life in order. Will you - would you marry me,
Liliana?"
"Oh, Dan, yes, yes, yes," she said. "You make me
so happy, and I want to be with you, and I don't care if
you're an ambassador, a teacher or a street cleaner. I
just want to be with you, and I know we can be happy together." She stood up, then leaned over and kissed
him. "I'll tell you more about my fantasies of what we
can and will do, but now I'm going to go get dressed. I
love you."
"I love you, Liliana," he said and stood up to take
her in his arms and kiss her.
Liliana walked back into the hut and Dan went to
the bar to fix himself another drink, then walked to
stand at the edge of the deck looking out to sea.
Without really planning it, he thought, I have just
asked Liliana to marry me and I feel very good about it.
Dan knew at a very deep level that he loved Liliana, and
he even thought that perhaps in some grand Cosmic scheme
she was the only reason he had come out to Mogadishu.
He had to come here in order to meet her. Dan then
lapsed into a long reverie to fill in the gaps of how
they would handle things.
It would be several months before the
administration changed in Washington, and Dan wanted to
continue in Mogadishu as long as he could, not just for
the money, but because he enjoyed the place and there
were still a few things that he hoped to accomplish in
so far as his work was concerned. If he knew Rita, she
would not be here long, and would soon take off again
for Paris, London or Madrid, or maybe even go back to the States. Dan also wanted to avoid any kind of an
ugly confrontation with either Rita or Carlo, and Dan
guessed that Carlo's work would continue just as it had
in the past, with him shuttling back and forth between
Mogadishu and Rome. Thus, in his reverie, Dan and
Liliana could continue to see one another, and when the
time was right he would leave, go back to the States,
get a divorce and send for Liliana. He had a nice
little, best of all possible worlds, have his cake and
eat it too, scenario put together in his head, and he
didn't give a thought to what any of the others, except
Liliana, might want or do. There is a tendency for
people in those equatorial latitudes in remote regions
of the world to loose perspective, and to see things
only from their own distorted vantage point, and that is
exactly what Dan had done. It would be several weeks,
though, before it would become clear to him that he was
not going to have his cake and eat it too.
"How do I look, Mr. Ambassador?"
He turned to look at Liliana. "Absolutely,
stunning, and beautiful," he said. She was wearing a
plain, full length, evening dress made from pale blue
Italian silk. It had what inhaut couture language, is
referred to as an empire line and the decolletage
revealed just enough of her full, smooth, suntanned breasts to make her interesting and appealing. Around
her neck she wore a simple gold necklace, and a pair of
gold, gypsy earrings dangled from the pierced lobes of
her ears. Over her left breast she had pinned the Star
of Mogadishu broach which Dan had given her the day
before. Everything about her was understated, and
seemed coordinated to enhance her own natural beauty.
"Do I look like an ambassador's lady?" she asked
with a wide smile then turned a complete circle.
"You look like a president's lady," he said and
walked to where she was standing to kiss her on the
cheek.
"Good, " she said. "This may be the only formal
affair I will ever attend with you and I want you to be
proud of the way I look. Even if I am only your
mistress, I feel like I'm your lady."
"You are my lady, Liliana. You are my woman," he
said.
"Grrr," she growled. "I like the sound of that.
Shall we go?" she said and slipped her arm in his.
