White Cargo (37 page)

“Oh, I don't need to make a call,” Cat said. “I just wondered how it all worked.”

“Mr. Ellis?”

Cat jumped. Vargas had walked up behind him.

“I have something for you,” Vargas said, walking back into his office.

Cat followed him. “You've caught the burglar?”

“Yes,” Vargas replied, “a kitchen worker at the discotheque. He committed the murder, too. He has already been dealt with.”

Cat didn't want to know what that meant. “Did you find my pistol?”

Vargas opened a desk drawer and placed the .357 magnum on the desk. “Yes, but I will keep it for the duration of the conference. It will be returned to you when you depart.”

Cat nodded. “Okay.” He turned to leave, hoping against hope.

“Oh,” Vargas said.

Cat turned around. “Something else?”

Vargas placed the radio on the table. “We found this, too.”

Cat smiled. “Oh, good.” He picked up the radio. “Thanks a lot.” He turned and left the room, feeling Vargas's eyes on his back, hoping he hadn't had the radio inspected by one of his communications specialists.

On the path back to the cottage, he made a point of not looking at the radio, but as soon as he was through the door, he went over it carefully. There was a large dent in the case. He turned the power knob. Nothing happened. It should be making static noises, but nothing happened.

“Does it work?” Meg asked.

“No. Do you have a small screwdriver, by any chance?”

“No.”

Cat thought for a minute. “How about a manicure kit?”

“Sure.” She went into the bedroom and came back with a small leather pouch.

Cat took one of the small tools and got the screws out of the back of the case. It was densely packed with electronic bits and pieces, most of which looked familiar.

“Can you fix it? You are some sort of engineer, aren't you?”

“That's right, but before I can fix it, I've got to figure out what's wrong with it. So far, everything looks normal.” He chose another tool, and with some difficulty, removed a circuit board to reveal another layer of electronics. “Oh, shit,” he said.

“What is it?”

Cat picked up the tweezers and reached into the radio. He came out with some small pieces of material.

“What is that?”

“It's what's left of a printed circuit board. Whatever made the dent in the case smashed it into several pieces. It looks like custom work, nothing standard.”

“Can you fix it?”

Cat shook his head. “If I had it in my shop, and most important, if I had a schematic of the board, maybe. Probably not even then. Certainly not here and with nothing.”

“Well,” Meg sighed, “at least we're no worse off than we were this morning.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “On the other hand . . .”

“What?”

“How did it get damaged? It looks as if someone stomped on it. Why?”

“It was probably an accident.”

“I hope so. I hope nobody's had a look inside the thing. Anybody who knows anything about radios would know it's no ordinary Sony.”

“Oh, come on. If Prince knew anything, he'd have been all over us by now.”

“Maybe. But if he is onto us, he knows now that we can't hurt him. Maybe he's playing cat and mouse with us.”

T
HEY SAT AT THE LONG TABLE AT DINNER
. C
AT REFUSED WINE;
so did Meg. They didn't do much with the food either. Jinx was at the far end of the table, too far away for Cat to get any sort of reading on her state of mind.

“I'm scared,” Meg said.

Cat laughed. “Isn't everybody?”

“I've never been in a spot quite like this,” she said. “Being a journalist usually bought me protection, but I doubt it would be much help if I flashed my credentials here.”

“I think you're right.” Cat threw his napkin on the table. “Excuse me. I'll be back in a minute.” He got up and asked a waiter for directions to the men's room, knowing quite well where it was, just across the foyer from Vargas's office. He had nothing specific in mind; he just wanted a few minutes in that communications room, and he was groping for a way to achieve that.

As he walked past Vargas's office, he could hear the quiet whir of the Cat One printer coming from the radio room. He used the men's room, and as he was about to leave, a man in a uniform came into the men's room and went into a booth. Maybe, Cat thought, just maybe. He
walked quickly across the hall into Vargas's office, then into the communications room. He wasn't sure what he would say if someone was in there. No one was. The duty man was across the foyer on the can. Cat went to the printer, switched it off, and lifted the cover. Using his ballpoint pen, he changed the settings on the dip switches, then closed the cover and switched the printer on again. Nothing happened. The printer was now useless. He started out of the office, but he heard an all too familiar sound from across the foyer—a flushing toilet. The noise disappeared as the men's-room door closed. The radioman was on his way back. He was trapped. Then he heard footsteps and the voices of two men. He had a moment.

Cat turned to the only refuge he knew about. Quickly, he followed Dell's instructions. The bookshelf, dead ahead as you walked into the room, opened. He began looking for the door handle, feeling behind the books. He heard footsteps on the marble floor again just as he found it. The shelf swung out silently, and Cat stepped inside the closet, pulling the shelf closed behind him. Standing in the dark, he heard the voices of two men as they entered the communications room.

“Oh, shit,” one of them said. “The goddamned printer's down.”

“You sure it's plugged in?” the other man asked.

“Of course—it was running just a minute ago. Vargas is really going to be pissed. He wanted this job done by morning, and it's a big one.”

“Let me take a look at it,” the other man said.

Cat heard a scraping noise as the cover was lifted.

“Jesus, that's Greek to me,” the man said.

“You think there's a reset button or something? What's that, there?”

It was obvious to Cat that both men were looking into the printer. Their backs would be to the door. He felt under his arm, to be sure the pistol was still there, pushed open the door, carefully closed it behind him, and tiptoed into Vargas's office. There, he took a moment to catch his breath, then he walked back into the communications room. “Excuse me,” he said. Both men turned around. “I was wondering if I could borrow a soldering iron. I've got a broken circuit board on a portable radio, and I think I can fix it.”

“Sorry,” the radioman said. “I haven't got one here. You'll have to see maintenance about that, and they won't be around until tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, thanks anyway,” Cat said, turning to go. “Got a problem there?”

“Yeah, the printer's down.”

“That's a Cat One, isn't it? I used to sell them. Want me to have a look at it?”

“I'd really appreciate it,” the man said.

Cat walked to the printer and removed the cover. “Have you got a small screwdriver?” he asked.

“Hang on,” the radioman replied. He went and rummaged in a drawer. “How's this?” he said, holding up a screwdriver.

“Ideal,” Cat said. “Just give me a minute.” He wondered how the hell he could get rid of them for a few minutes.

“Listen, Tom,” the radioman said to the other man, “you want to do double shifts? You do twelve to eight tonight, and I'll do tomorrow night. We'll both get more sleep.”

“You think Vargas would mind?”

“What the hell? The room will be covered, and he
never comes around here in the middle of the night, anyway. He's never set foot in that office before nine, and you know it.”

“Sure, okay. I'll relieve you at midnight. See you then.” He left the room.

Cat reached down with the little screwdriver and reset the dip switches. He closed the cover. “Let's try it now,” he said. He switched the machine off, then on again. It puffed away, the print head moving fast, back and forth across the paper.

“Hey, that's fantastic,” the radioman said. “My ass would have been in a wringer if I hadn't gotten this job done tonight.”

“No problem,” Cat said. “It was just a small adjustment. That rarely happens, and it'll probably never happen again.”

“Listen,” the man said. “I'm back on duty at eight tomorrow morning. I'll get you a soldering iron from maintenance, if you like.”

“Thanks, I'd appreciate that. I'll stop in after breakfast to get it.”

Cat left the communications room with even more information than he'd expected, walked through the foyer, and back to the dining room. Dessert was just being served.

“You okay?” Meg asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine, and I think I may have a shot at getting those troops in here.”

“How?”

“I'll tell you later. Right now, I've got to talk to Dell.” Some of the diners were leaving the table, and Dell was among them.

“Come on, let's go,” Cat said, rising. Followed by
Meg, he made his way out of the room and managed to draw up alongside Dell. “All right,” Cat said. “I'll help you get the money out.”

“I can manage by myself,” Dell said.

“Listen to me, dammit!” he whispered hoarsely. “There's one man on duty there all night, and by early in the morning, he's going to be pretty sleepy. I'm going in there at five
A.M
. to use the radios, and I'm going to have to disable the operator. Can you get there at that time?”

“Yeah, I can do it.”

“All right, meet me in the men's room across the foyer from Vargas's office at five, and for God's sake be careful. There'll be guards out at that hour.”

“Okay, you're on.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“Yeah.”

“Bring it. Plan on going straight from the radio room to the clearing where the helicopter is.”

Dell nodded and drifted into the crowd.

C
AT COULD NOT SLEEP
. W
HILE
M
EG DREW DEEP BREATHS BESIDE
him, he stared at the ceiling and gave in to memories he had fought off for months. He remembered Kate in the days when he had come home from twelve or fourteen hours of work, when she had rushed home from her own job to make his dinner and listen to him enthuse about his work. He remembered Jinx as a doll of a toddler and Dell as a silent, resentful six-year-old. He was still baffled by the contrast in the two children. Jinx had been such a joy, and Dell such a trial. Still, he wanted both of them back, and he thought that if he could only get them out of this place, there might be another chance with Dell. Surely being here had taught him what sort of people he was dealing with.

At four o'clock he got up and took a shower and shaved. He got into his tennis clothes, unable to shake the feeling that this was his last day on earth. There were so many things that could go wrong with what he was going to do today. Too much was improvised, too little certain. He made some instant coffee and drank it, sweating, in spite of the air-conditioning.

Meg came into the sitting room and startled him.

“Jumpy, huh?” she asked.

He nodded. “I may get you killed today, Meg.”

“I've thought about it. I think you're doing the best you can under the circumstances.”

“Under the circumstances, maybe.”

She put her hand on his cheek. “Listen, I haven't told you what a great thing you've done. You started with nothing on this, and you found her.”

“I'd have given up on finding Jinx in Santa Marta if it hadn't been for you. I'd have given up on everything else, too. But you made me realize that there was still something in me that could love somebody, something I thought had been wrung out of me. I do love you, you know.”

She smiled. “I know. And I love you.” She bent and kissed him.

“If we get out of here alive . . .” he started to say.

“Then we'll talk about it,” she said. “Not much point right now. Let's concentrate on the matter at hand.”

He stood up. “You're right.” He took Hedger's canvas-and-leather grip and set it on the sofa, open. Then he worked the combination on the aluminum briefcase and started transferring the money into Hedger's bag.

“Jesus,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He packed the money into the case, and put a towel on top of it. “Pack anything you can't bear to leave into one small bag and take it to the tennis court with you. Our date with Prince and Jinx is at seven, and I may not be able to come back here first. Will you take this bag for me, too?”

“Sure. All I really need to take of my own is my camera and tapes and my passport. The rest is expendable.”

“Put some towels on top of the bag to make it look as
much like a tennis bag as possible.” Cat slipped the H&K automatic into the shoulder holster and put it on. He put on dark gray trousers and a blue blazer over his tennis clothes and slipped the silencer into his pocket. He took a deep breath. “Let's be at the court a little before seven.”

“All right.”

He didn't want to go. He kissed her and slipped out the door. He stood in the doorway for a few moments and let his eyes become accustomed to the dark. There was no moon, and he was grateful for that. Nothing was moving in the night. He stepped off the small porch. Would it be best to simply walk to the main house? Then, if he was stopped, he could plead insomnia and a walk. They might just send him back to the cottage. On the other hand, if they caught him sneaking around, he'd be up before Vargas or Prince very quickly. He decided to sneak. It seemed his best chance of making the house.

He kept off the main path and moved from tree to tree, looking as far as he could in every direction. Still nothing. Finally, he came to a place with little shelter. There were sixty or seventy yards of open ground to cover, and only low shrubs for cover. He took one more look around, then ran for it. It seemed to take forever, but he reached the side of the main house. He paused a moment to let his breathing return to normal. Then he stepped around the corner of the house to the front veranda. He nearly ran head-on into a khaki-clad guard carrying a machine gun. The man was standing, looking up at the sky, not three feet from the corner of the house. Cat ducked back around the corner, hoping he had not made a noise.