White Cargo (36 page)

As Wiener approached the podium, Cat felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Vargas standing behind him.

“Will you come with me, please?” Vargas said.

Cat got up and followed the man outside, through the
courtyard of the house, then back into the foyer and upstairs. Vargas opened a door and waited for Cat to precede him. Cat walked into a large, handsomely furnished sitting room and was surprised to find Prince waiting for him, sitting on one of a pair of facing sofas. Apparently, he had known a shorter route to the suite. Several yards behind Prince, sitting at an easel, painting in watercolors, was Jinx. Her attention was focused outside the window.

“Please sit down, Bob,” the Anaconda said. His manner was courteous, but cool.

Cat sat down on the sofa facing Prince, and Vargas sat next to him. They were placed so that Cat could not look at both of them at the same time.

“What do you think of our conference so far?” Prince asked.

“I'm very impressed,” Cat said. “You seem to have left nothing to chance.”

Prince smiled slightly. “It is my way to leave nothing to chance,” he said. “Isn't that right, Mr. Vargas?”

“That is most certainly correct,” Vargas replied.

“Now,” Prince said, “could you please tell me how you spent last evening?”

“I had dinner in the dining room, then I went to the discotheque.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, Miss Garcia was tired and wanted to retire early.”

“And what did you do at the discotheque?”

“I watched the . . . performance.”

“Please tell me exactly what you did from the time you entered the discotheque until the time you returned to your cottage.”

Cat took a deep breath. “Well, when I arrived, the show had already started. I stood and watched.”

“Did you see Denny?”

“Who?”

“Denny, my, ah . . . associate.”

“I don't believe I've had the pleasure,” Cat replied.

“Of course not,” Prince said, almost to himself.

“Did you do anything else while you were at the discotheque?”

Cat shrugged. It seemed best to stick as close to the truth as possible. “I went to the men's room.”

“For how long?”

“A couple of minutes, I guess. As long as it took.”

“Was anyone else in the men's room?”

“No . . . wait, a man came in as I was leaving.”

“Describe him, please.”

“Well, I didn't pay him much attention. I just brushed past him on the way out.”

“Whatever you can remember.”

“Youngish, shorter than I, sandy hair, moderately long. I'm afraid that's the best I can do.”

“Did you speak to him, or he to you?”

“No.”

“What did you do when you left the men's room?”

“I went back and watched the performance.”

“At what point in the show was this?”

“Well, there were two men and a woman at first, then, shortly after I came back, it changed to two women and one man.”

“Did you speak to anyone else while you were there?”

“No.”

“Did you stand next to anyone you knew?”

“It was pretty dark, and there were flashing lights. Anyway, my attention was on the performance.”

Prince smiled. “Yes, I can understand that. What did you do when the performance was over?”

“I didn't stay that long. The show made me want to return to my cottage.” He managed a little smile. “I left shortly after the second group started.”

“Do you possess a 9-millimeter automatic pistol?” Prince asked.

“I had a .357 magnum until last night.”

Prince frowned. “Of course, the burglary at your cottage last night. What was taken?”

“Only the pistol and a portable radio.”

“Were there other valuables present?”

“I suppose so. I thought perhaps the thief might have been interrupted when Miss Garcia returned to the cottage.”

Prince turned to Vargas. “What steps have you taken?”

“The staff are being questioned,” Vargas said, lamely.

Prince turned back to Cat. “I must apologize,” he said, “but of course everyone who was at the discotheque has to be questioned.”

Cat shrugged. “Of course. I would like to have the pistol back if it's recovered,” he said.

“Not the radio?”

“I can buy a radio anywhere,” Cat responded, “but I don't like being in this country without a pistol.”

“Of course.” Prince turned, put his feet on the couch, and placed a pillow at his back. “I have something else to ask you,” he said to Cat, “and I want a full and complete response.”

“What would you like to know?” Cat asked.

“Why do you think that my name is Prince?”

Cat cocked his head. “I'm sorry, isn't that your name?” he asked, playing for time. He had blown it somewhere
along the way, but where? Then he remembered. He had said it to Vargas when he reported the burglary.

“Where did you hear this?” Prince demanded.

“At the reception on the first night,” Cat said. “Perhaps I misunderstood.”

“From whom?”

Cat wrinkled his brow. “From nobody in particular—I mean, it didn't come from anyone I met. As I remember, I was standing, waiting for a drink at the bar, and someone behind me was talking. Someone said, ‘Anaconda? Doesn't the man have a name?' And someone else said, ‘Yes, it's Prince.'”

“Who was this person?” Prince wanted to know.

“I'm sorry, it was no one I knew. I didn't even turn around, so I never saw his face. He seemed pretty sure of himself, though. He was quite definite.”

Prince stared at Cat for a long moment without speaking. Finally, he said, “I understand you were looking at airplanes this morning.”

“Yes, I went jogging, and I ended up there.”

“You were asking quite specific questions about an airplane.”

“Yes, the Maule. I saw one demonstrated once, and I was curious to know the technique.”

“You are a pilot?”

“Yes, a very new one. I only got my license recently. I was hoping your man would give me a demonstration, but he said he only barely made it into the clearing and that it wouldn't be possible to take off from there until more land had been cleared. Apparently, a short-field takeoff isn't as easy as it looks.”

“So I'm told,” Prince said. He stood up. “Well, I won't keep you any longer,” he said.

Cat stood. “Will you and your friend join us for some tennis again tomorrow morning?” He nodded at Jinx, who was still absorbed in her painting.

“Fine, eight o'clock?” Prince replied.

“How about seven?” Cat said. “I find I wake up early in the jungle.”

“Seven o'clock then,” Prince said.

Cat followed Vargas to the door, then stopped and turned. “By the way, if my pistol shouldn't be recovered, do you think I might have a replacement? I've heard a lot of horror stories about the street crime in this country.”

Prince walked toward him. “I think we can find you something to take away with you,” he said. He looked down and brushed something off his trousers.

Something caused Cat to look at Jinx. She was no longer looking out the window, painting what she saw. She was looking directly at him. Suddenly, she did something that struck him speechless. She gave him a broad wink.

Cat followed Vargas back downstairs, breathing rapidly. Jinx was coming out of whatever prison she had built in her mind, he knew she was. He had a memory of her, a tiny thing, learning how to wink one eye and keep the other open. It had been one of their personal forms of communication ever since.

He tried to contain his exhilaration. She knew who he was, but did she understand what was going on? And if she did, could she keep her wits about her until tomorrow's tennis match? She could if she was the old Jinx, he knew. He wondered if, after all she had been through, she could ever be the old Jinx again.

“I'
M SUPPOSED TO HAVE EVERYTHING BETWEEN
S
T. AUGUSTINE
and West Palm Beach.” Dell smashed his fist down into the water.

“Easy,” Cat said. “Don't call attention to yourself.”

They were in the pool. Dell pushed off and swam a couple of fast laps, and when he stopped he was breathing hard. “In a couple of years I'd have had enough money to last me the rest of my life, anywhere in the world.”

“If you'd lived long enough,” Cat said. “Look, Dell, the way it's done is, you get some education, you find a kind of work you like, you get good at it. You rise in a company, or you go off on your own, the way your uncle and I did. First, you make a living. Later, if you're good enough and lucky enough, you make some money. It may sound dull, but it's very satisfying.”

“It may be good enough for you, but it's not good enough for me,” Dell said. “I know you don't understand that, but it's just not fast enough. I don't want to wait until I'm your age. That's why I've got to do it. That and the fact that if I go back without at least the million I brought down here, I'll get blown away by my own partners.”

“Look, Dell, I'll make up what your partners have lost. What is it, seven hundred thousand? I'll sell something—the house, if I have to.”

“What about my three hundred grand? You think I didn't bust my hump for that? Risk a lot?”

Cat fought hard to keep his temper. “All right,” he said finally, “I'll make that up, too. It may take some time; I can't sell company stock without Ben's agreement.”

Dell whirled on him. “Listen, there's fifty million bucks in cash in that house, and I know where it is. It's in a big closet hidden behind a wall in the communications room. Straight ahead, as you walk in the door; a bookshelf pulls out. Not a vault, or anything, just a closet. I ought to be able to carry away four or five million.”

“That place has got to be manned twenty-four hours a day, you know. What are you going to do about that?”

“Whatever I have to,” Dell said. “I'd have a better chance if you helped me.”

“I've offered to help you, already,” Cat insisted. “I've offered to get you out of here alive, for a start; I've offered to make good yours and your partners' losses. What else do you expect from me?”

“Help me get at that cash.”

“No,” Cat said quickly. “This is the way it's going to happen. Some time between seven and nine tomorrow morning, I force Prince down to the clearing, and I force the helicopter pilot to fly us all out of here. That's it. If you want to come, be there early, don't get seen going or arriving. Stay in the brush until we're all there.” Cat hauled himself out of the pool, grabbed a towel, and walked briskly back to the cottage. He was sweating again by the time he got there, and he reveled in the cool of the air-conditioning on his skin.

Meg came out of the bedroom. “Did you find Dell?”

“Yes. He wants to try and steal some of the cash we saw the other night.”

“Jesus! Is he nuts?”

“Yes, probably. I've told him the plan. We'll take him with us if he's there. It's all I can do.”

“You're right, it is all you can do. I'm glad you're smart enough to know that.”

“There's something else.” He paused.

“Yes?”

“Well, I don't really know; it's just that Jinx winked at me when I was in Prince's suite today.”

“Winked at you? What does that mean?”

“Well, it's something we used to do, since she was a little girl. It was sort of a private joke; we'd wink at each other when nobody was watching.”

“You think she's coming out of it, then?”

“Maybe, and that worries me.”

“Why does it worry you? Won't it be a lot easier to get her out of here if she knows who she is and what we're doing?”

“I hope so, but I don't know. I don't know what sort of mental shape she's going to be in, in the middle of all this. You said, yourself, that in her present state, she might resist coming with us.”

Meg came and stood behind him and rubbed his shoulders. “Look, there's no use making yourself crazy about this. You know what you're going to do, and chances are, it'll work. Try and relax.”

Cat sighed. “There's just so much that can go wrong—so many loose ends, so much I have no control over.”

The telephone rang, and they both jumped. Cat answered it.

“Mr. Ellis, this is Vargas. Will you come to my office, please? We've found your burglar.”

Cat hung up. “Vargas says they've found the burglar.”

“Maybe you'll get the radio back.”

“Christ, I hope so.” He got into some clothes and walked quickly to the main house. Vargas's office was empty. He went into the communications room, where a lone man was on duty.

“You seen Vargas?”

“He was there a minute ago,” the man said. “He's probably gone to the can or something.”

Cat looked around the room at the equipment. The printer manual with his photograph was still on the shelf where he had put it. Then he saw something he hadn't seen before—a small radio with the name “King” on it, the same name as the radios in his Cessna. Cat pointed at the radio. “You talk with airplanes?”

“Just with the chopper you came in on, and we can only reach him a few miles out. We don't have much height on our antenna, and he always flies low.”

“Who do you talk to on the high-frequency radio?” Cat asked.

“Whoever we want to,” the man answered. “We call a marine operator—which one depends on the time of day—atmospherics and all that. We give 'em an account number, and they call whatever number we want, just about anywhere in the world.” He looked up at Cat. “You've got to have an approval, though, from the Anaconda or Vargas.”