erection. Dillon laughed. He shook his head as he stared at the picture, imagining the status of the guy in the tribewith the biggest gourd. He wondered what would happen if some young buck found a gourd bigger than the head chief’s. Would he have to surrender the gourd? He looked more carefully at one man in the picture. His gourd looked different. He bent down and squinted at the photo.
“No…it can’t be,” he said. The man had a pink plastic doll leg over his penis instead of a gourd. The leg protruded from his abdomen, with a small little foot pointed up at the sky. He looked very proud.
Dillon wondered how in the hell some native got a pink plastic doll leg, and what compelled him to put it…there. He wondered if Molly would be impressed if he met her for a movie with a pink plastic doll leg protruding from his fly….
There was a knock on the door, and Grazio stepped in. “Thought I might find you here.”
“Good guess. My office and you just left,” Dillon said. “Check this out,” he said to Grazio, showing him the National Geographic article, and pointing to the guy with the doll leg.
“What the hell is that ?” Grazio said, staring at the picture, his mouth open.
“Doll leg.”
“On his crank?” Grazio said, a startled laugh forcing itself from him.
“Sure,” Dillon said. “Where else would you put a doll leg?”
“That what Muslims wear under all those big robes and everything? Doll legs? Gourds?”
“You’re pathetic,” Dillon said. “I think you’d better stop thinking the only Muslims in the world are Arabs.”
Grazio ignored him. “Listen, I just got another call from my guy at the Pentagon.”
“Good,” Dillon said, turning in his chair toward Grazio. “So. What’d you find out?”
“Indonesia has more than I thought,” he said. “Did you know they have F-16s and F-5s?”
“Yeah. It was a big deal in Congress when they agreedto sell them F-16s; then later, they bought MiG-29s.”
“They’ve also got a military of two hundred thousand men.”
Dillon whistled. “I had no idea. They any good?”
“Initially trained and supplied by the Dutch when Indonesia was the Dutch East Indies. Since independence in 1948, they’ve been on their own; they haven’t fought anybody but themselves. So it’s hard to say how good they are.”
“Anybody else in the area that could challenge them? Anybody they’re scared of?”
“Japanese. Have been since World War Two. Maybe India and Australia? China, I suppose, except the fifty-trillion-man Chinese Army can’t walk there. Indonesia is all islands, it’s basically secure unless some real heavy with a navy—like us—decides to pop ’em.”
Jim Dillon sat back and put his hands behind his head. “I just don’t get it. What does anybody gain from killing those crewmen and sinking the ship?” His chair creaked from the weight on the spring.
“Seems to me they’re trying to make some kind of statement. But to who?”
“Whom.”
“Whatever,” Grazio said. “I doubt this was some Toyota dealer deciding to murder the comp before they could open. I see this as a punch in the mouth to the U.S.”—he paused for emphasis—“and in particular to the President. Everybody thinks it’s to tell him his diplomacy through commerce is a pile of shit. But who would hate commerce that much? I mean Indonesia nearly begged us to let them be first in this deal. It was their idea to start with, they wanted Ford to open a dealership in partnership with them.”
“I don’t know,” Dillon said, tired of covering the same ground. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do. Next, I’m off to the Library of Congress to do a chart of the political history of Indonesia. Speaker says.”
“Sounds like fun,” Dillon replied.
8
C ASKEY LOOKED AT HIS WATCH AND THE FLIGHT schedule. Ten minutes until his next brief. Not even enough time to look at the message board. He put his head back against his leather ready-room chair and closed
“No…it can’t be,” he said. The man had a pink plastic doll leg over his penis instead of a gourd. The leg protruded from his abdomen, with a small little foot pointed up at the sky. He looked very proud.
Dillon wondered how in the hell some native got a pink plastic doll leg, and what compelled him to put it…there. He wondered if Molly would be impressed if he met her for a movie with a pink plastic doll leg protruding from his fly….
There was a knock on the door, and Grazio stepped in. “Thought I might find you here.”
“Good guess. My office and you just left,” Dillon said. “Check this out,” he said to Grazio, showing him the National Geographic article, and pointing to the guy with the doll leg.
“What the hell is that ?” Grazio said, staring at the picture, his mouth open.
“Doll leg.”
“On his crank?” Grazio said, a startled laugh forcing itself from him.
“Sure,” Dillon said. “Where else would you put a doll leg?”
“That what Muslims wear under all those big robes and everything? Doll legs? Gourds?”
“You’re pathetic,” Dillon said. “I think you’d better stop thinking the only Muslims in the world are Arabs.”
Grazio ignored him. “Listen, I just got another call from my guy at the Pentagon.”
“Good,” Dillon said, turning in his chair toward Grazio. “So. What’d you find out?”
“Indonesia has more than I thought,” he said. “Did you know they have F-16s and F-5s?”
“Yeah. It was a big deal in Congress when they agreedto sell them F-16s; then later, they bought MiG-29s.”
“They’ve also got a military of two hundred thousand men.”
Dillon whistled. “I had no idea. They any good?”
“Initially trained and supplied by the Dutch when Indonesia was the Dutch East Indies. Since independence in 1948, they’ve been on their own; they haven’t fought anybody but themselves. So it’s hard to say how good they are.”
“Anybody else in the area that could challenge them? Anybody they’re scared of?”
“Japanese. Have been since World War Two. Maybe India and Australia? China, I suppose, except the fifty-trillion-man Chinese Army can’t walk there. Indonesia is all islands, it’s basically secure unless some real heavy with a navy—like us—decides to pop ’em.”
Jim Dillon sat back and put his hands behind his head. “I just don’t get it. What does anybody gain from killing those crewmen and sinking the ship?” His chair creaked from the weight on the spring.
“Seems to me they’re trying to make some kind of statement. But to who?”
“Whom.”
“Whatever,” Grazio said. “I doubt this was some Toyota dealer deciding to murder the comp before they could open. I see this as a punch in the mouth to the U.S.”—he paused for emphasis—“and in particular to the President. Everybody thinks it’s to tell him his diplomacy through commerce is a pile of shit. But who would hate commerce that much? I mean Indonesia nearly begged us to let them be first in this deal. It was their idea to start with, they wanted Ford to open a dealership in partnership with them.”
“I don’t know,” Dillon said, tired of covering the same ground. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do. Next, I’m off to the Library of Congress to do a chart of the political history of Indonesia. Speaker says.”
“Sounds like fun,” Dillon replied.
8
C ASKEY LOOKED AT HIS WATCH AND THE FLIGHT schedule. Ten minutes until his next brief. Not even enough time to look at the message board. He put his head back against his leather ready-room chair and closed
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