White Cargo (14 page)

Cat and Bluey followed his gaze to a girl who seemed to be kneeling, some fifteen feet away. There was a large thump inside Cat's chest as he recognized the familiar profile. His pulse quickened, then he flinched as he realized she was not kneeling but astride a man, moving rhythmically back and forth. Cat started to rise, but he felt Bluey's restraining hand.

“First, let's be sure,” he was saying. “Is it her?”

Cat stared at the girl. She turned her head, and she was illuminated sporadically by the light from the video screen. Her hair was blond and fairly short, but that could have been dyed and cut. Her figure startled Cat, though. Her shoulders and breasts were so familiar. Maddeningly, though, she was wearing a gash of thick red lipstick and very heavy eye makeup. It might as well have been a mask. “I can't tell from here,” Cat said. “We've got to get closer.”

Stoneface shook his head. “No, not here. We wait.”

They sat at the table for some minutes longer while the sex act ground on. Bluey feigned interest elsewhere in the room, and Stoneface's interest was not feigned, but Cat's eyes remained riveted to the girl, willing her to see him, to show some sign of recognition. As if in answer, she turned her head and seemed to stare directly back at him. Suddenly, she smiled, and Bluey had to restrain Cat again.

It was Jinx. He knew it, and it was killing him, seeing her here in this place, this way. Her smile remained fixed as she looked away from Cat and down at her lover, whose motion seemed to be quickening. She was on some drug, she had to be. Then the man sat up and rested on his hands. He said a few words to her, and the smile faded. They got up and he began to lead her toward a door at the other end of the room. She looked back toward Cat again, smiling, and then they were gone.

Cat rose to follow, but Stoneface herded them back the way they had come. “This way,” he kept saying. He guided them back into the rock-music room, through another room where food was stacked on a long table, and out another door.

They found themselves in a garden, following Stoneface
toward a hedge. Even though it was a hot evening, the air outside was cooler than that in the house. There was a glow of light through the thick growth, and Cat heard a splash. They reached the end of the hedge and came around it facing a large swimming pool, lighted underwater. She was standing on the edge of the pool, tall, slim, and naked, looking toward the man in the water, who was beckoning her to follow him in. She dived into the water and surfaced, scrubbing her face with her hands, rubbing the makeup away. She ducked under to sweep her hair back and, eluding her companion, made for the side of the pool and pulled herself out in one smooth, clean motion. Cat stepped into the open; she saw him and smiled. They were farther apart than when they had been inside, but the makeup was mostly gone, and the glow from the pool lit her face from below.

“It's Jinx,” Cat said, with finality.

Bluey stopped him from moving toward her. “Not yet,” he said.

“My money, señor,” Stoneface whispered.

Bluey gave him the money, and Stoneface walked quickly away.

Bluey pulled Cat back behind the hedge. “We've got to do this clean,” he said. “We're the strangers here; this guy is a guest, maybe even the host. I don't think he's armed, though,” he chuckled.

As Bluey spoke the naked man pulled himself up the ladder to poolside, grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her toward a reclining chair. She came reluctantly along, looking over her shoulder toward where Cat had been standing. The man pushed her roughly onto the chair and began to climb on top of her. She watched, wide-eyed, as
Bluey emerged from behind the hedge, followed by Cat, and began to walk quickly, softly toward them.

Cat saw Bluey reach inside his coat as they approached the recliner.

She looked at Cat and smiled. “Well, hi there,” she said, sounding a little drunk, “what took you so long?”

Something is wrong, Cat thought. The man turned to see who she was speaking to.

“Evening,” Bluey said as he swung the heavy pistol. The barrel caught the man behind the ear, and he rolled sideways off the lounge.

Cat's eyes went back to her as her expression began to change. The accent. Something had been odd about the accent.

“You bastard,” she said. Then she opened her mouth and screamed.

Bluey hit her with his open hand, rolling her off the lounge on top of her lover. He grabbed her wrist and snatched her to her feet, and she began screaming again.

Cat went to her and took her face in his hands. The remnants of the heavy makeup streaked her face. “Jinx,” he said, “be quiet, listen to me.”

Her mouth drew back into another scream, revealing a row of small yellow teeth. In the instant before the scream came, Cat was jerked back to reality. Her accent had been hard, Midwestern. Jinx's was Southern. Jinx had large, very white teeth, not these teeth. Cat dropped his hands and stepped back from her in horror, blaming her for not being Jinx.

Bluey jerked Cat around to face him. “Isn't it her? Isn't it Jinx?”

Cat shook his head. She screamed again.

Bluey hit her, hard, with his fist. She stopped screaming.
“Come on,” he said to Cat, “we're getting out of here.” He ran back toward the hedge, back the way they had come.

Cat looked up to see people staring at them from the door to the orgy room. They began spilling out toward the pool. Someone was shouting in Spanish.

Instead of going back into the house, Bluey led the way around it. It was bigger than it had seemed. They pushed their way blindly through shrubbery, Bluey cursing all the way. Finally, they came to a corner of the house and Bluey stopped and peered toward the front door. All seemed quiet there. “Come on,” he said, and began to walk briskly across the graveled parking lot.

Cat followed, catching up and walking beside him.

“Not too fast,” Bluey said, holding out a restraining hand. They picked their way through the cars and made for the Bronco. Behind them there was a hubbub at the front door of the house.

“Don't look back,” Bluey said, “just keep walking.”

They made the Bronco as the sound of running feet struck the gravel forty yards behind them. Bluey got the car started and into gear. He drove rapidly, but not wildly, down the drive, slowing as they approached the policeman at the gate. He smiled and waved to the man, who saluted. “Thank Christ they don't have walkie-talkies,” Bluey said as he turned toward Riohacha and floored the accelerator.

Cat was limp beside him, reliving the moment when he knew the girl was not Jinx. She had not even looked that much like her. He had wanted too badly for her to be Jinx.

At the hotel, Bluey told the boy to keep the car ready. “Come on,” he said to Cat, “let's get our gear together and get out of here.” Fifteen minutes later, they had paid
their bill, thrown their hastily packed belongings into the back of the car, and were driving away.

“Where are we going?” Cat asked.

“Back to the airplane,” Bluey replied. “We were seen back there, and we don't even know who that guy was, how much trouble we're in, or how hard he'll look for us. But they saw us and the car, and we're getting out of the Guajira.”

Cat rested his head on the seat back. He didn't much care what they did next. He'd been so sure, had had his hopes so high, and now he was weak with disappointment.

“Okay, so we blew it,” Bluey said, consolingly. “Hell, that's okay, we might blow it again, even. But well keep on looking. Santa Marta's next. That's where this whole thing started, anyway. We only came to Riohacha because it was on the way. Now we'll go on, and we'll find something in Santa Marta.”

T
HEY SLEPT AT
I
DLEWILD, IN A SMALL BUNKHOUSE ATTACHED TO
the office. An Indian woman made them some breakfast, then Bluey asked Cat for more money. “We've got to get a flight plan filed for us at Cartagena for Santa Marta. Our papers are okay, but you have to file in this country, and we can't arrive at Santa Marta from out of nowhere. It's going to take a thousand to get it done. We've got to pay for fuel and tie-down, too.”

Cat gave him five thousand dollars. “You're going to need something for tips,” he said, dryly.

Bluey winked at him and went to make the arrangements.

Before takeoff, Bluey piled their luggage on top of the now-empty plastic ferry tank. “A spare tank sets off alarms with the cops or the army,” he said. “We don't want to have to bribe somebody unnecessarily.”

Cat was grateful Bluey was being concerned about money. They had already put a sizable dent in his hundred thousand dollars.

They took off at midmorning and headed out to sea.

“We'll circle around and approach Santa Marta from the west, just to look good,” Bluey explained. “It's less
than a hundred miles as the crow flies, and we'll add another fifty to the trip.”

They had a brief glimpse of the nineteen-thousand-foot Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta before the building clouds obscured them. Cat remembered an earlier glimpse of the mountains from offshore, the day he had first sailed
Catbird
into Colombian waters. He tried not to think about what life would be like now if he had sailed on to Panama.

Santa Marta airport was a single, long, asphalt strip, and Cat, who was flying left seat at Bluey's insistence, listened as the Australian read him the checklist for landing. It was the first time Cat had landed the airplane. As soon as their wheels touched the runway, Bluey shoved the throttle in and reduced the flaps.

“Go around,” he grinned. “Let's get you some touch-and-go's.”

There was a strong crosswind blowing, and Cat sweated out that and the unaccustomed controls and final checks through a dozen practice landings, including a couple of short field takeoffs and landings. Gradually, he became accustomed to the airplane, heavier, faster, and more complex than the trainers he had been flying. “I reckon you're checked out in this airplane,” Bluey said when he had finally allowed Cat to taxi to the apron. “I'd sign your logbook if I was still certified.”

A policeman gave their papers a perfunctory glance and waved them through the barrier into the small terminal. In the taxi Bluey said, “I reckon we'll stay out at El Rodadero, the beach area. There's nothing all that great in the town.” He had a brief conversation in Spanish with the driver. Shortly they pulled into the drive of what seemed a modern hostelry, a cluster of low buildings hugging
the beach. Cat was glad for the change. He had begun to think that Colombia was filled with nothing but seedy Excelsiors and drug runners' bunkhouses. At the front desk he registered as Ellis and shortly they were in a comfortable two-bedroom suite. Cat drank in the air-conditioning.

“I'd like to get some sleep before we go into town,” Bluey said, yawning.

Cat glanced out the window at the blue Caribbean. “I think I'll see if they have a swimsuit in the shop downstairs.” He hadn't showered that morning, and he was feeling hot and grimy. When he had changed, he walked downstairs, through the lobby and a courtyard containing a large pool and a thatched bar. It all seemed oddly normal after the past few days. He walked on to the beach, dropped his towel, and ran for the water. It was perfect. He swam out a hundred yards, then did slow laps up and down the beach for half an hour, working out the kinks, happy for some exercise.

Back on the beach, he flopped down onto the sand and ordered a piña colada. He drank the icy, sweet rum drink in record time and stretched out on the towel. It seemed nearly like a vacation. Down the beach a group of children were building a sand castle while their mothers chattered under a large thatched umbrella. An attractive woman with short dark hair waded out of the sea and walked to within a dozen yards of where he sat. She was in her early thirties, he reckoned, lithe and athletic-looking. She dried herself, then sat down and began to apply tanning lotion to her shoulders. He had a sudden urge to speak to her, but balked. Would she speak English? And anyway, how long had it been since he had approached a woman? He and Katie had been married right out of college,
and he had never needed anybody else. The thought of approaching her made him suddenly anxious, but he was surprised that he wanted to at all. Was this some sign of healing? He dismissed the thought. Nothing could ever heal until he found Jinx, he was sure of that.

He dozed, and when he woke she was gone. He felt relieved. He got up, dusted himself off, and walked back to the pool bar. The dark-haired woman was sitting at a table nearby. He ordered a sandwich and a beer and tried not to think about her.

Bluey turned up, looking refreshed, and ordered a sandwich, too. “Fairly nifty Sheila,” he said, nodding at the woman.

Cat laughed. “Is that your down-under way of expressing approval?”

“Too right, mate. I have always found Latin women fairly nifty, and you're forgetting where I've been the last couple of years.”

“I am at that,” Cat replied. “Go ahead, if you're in the mood.”

Bluey shook his head. “I'm not her type,” he said ruefully. “After a lifetime, I know the sort I turn on, and she's not it. I'm not so sure she's my sort, either. A little too classy.”

“If you say so, Bluey.”

They finished their sandwiches.

“How about we bomb into Santa Marta and take a look around?” Bluey said.

Cat gave the woman a last glance. “Okay, let's do it.” When he had found Jinx, then he could think about women.

They got a rent-a-car at the desk and drove the few miles to the town. It was busier than Cat remembered. He
had gone no farther than the waterfront on his first visit, and now they were entering the town from the land, making it seem quite different. They passed the cathedral, then a colorfully painted old locomotive preserved as an exhibit near the railway station. Cat didn't feel like a tourist. His anxiety level was rising. He was back where it had all begun.