White Cargo (41 page)

“There's a Mr. Drummond here, Mr. Catledge. Do you know him?”

“I know him,” Cat said. “Send him up to the house.”

He padded through the house in his bare feet, tossing his sweat socks at the washing machine along the way, and opened the front door.

It was Jim. He looked fresher than the last time Cat had seen him, in the hotel room in Washington. His suit was neatly pressed, and he was closely shaved. “Hi,” he said.

“Come in, come in,” Cat said, pumping the man's hand. “What a surprise! I'm delighted to see you!”

“I was changing planes at the airport,” Jim said, “and I had a couple of hours layover. I just thought I'd look in on you. I'm sorry I didn't call first.”

“Don't worry about it, I'm glad you're here,” Cat said, clapping him on the back. “Sorry about the guard—we've had a lot of press attention since Meg's piece ran on the
Today
show. Jinx and Meg are playing tennis. Let's go into the study and have a drink before we go down to
them.” He propelled Jim into the study and gave him a chair. “What'll you have?”

“I guess I've got time for a small scotch.”

Cat made the drinks and flopped down onto the leather sofa. “You know,” he said, “I thought I might never see you again, and I've got a lot to tell you.”

“Your letter told me most of it, I guess. I just wanted to know how your girl is doing.”

“Better and better,” Cat said. “It was tough on her at first. I think I wrote you that when we found her, she was like another person—had, for all practical purposes, become another person, according to the shrink. She wouldn't speak English; she had just blocked out everything that had happened to her before she arrived in Cartagena.”

“She's gotten past that, though?”

“Yeah, she started to come around when we still were in the jungle. After that, it was mostly a matter of time, I guess. She didn't want to leave the house, at first, after we got home. The shrink came here every day for nearly a month. She's a resilient girl, though, and she's pretty much her old self again. A bit more serious, maybe.”

“I'm glad she's okay. Did you get your airplane back?”

“Yep, and my million bucks, too. We flew it back to Bogotá, and the air attaché at the embassy flew it home from there and got it through customs. I'm not quite sure what route the money took. It just arrived here one day in a registered package from Washington. I figured it was from you.”

Jim laughed. “I only forwarded it. It was really from Barry Hedger. He said the Colombian chopper pilot who chased you was impressed with your flying.”

Cat grinned. “I got my pilot's license, too. I'm working on my instrument rating now.”

“Are you back at work yet?”

“I haven't figured out what I want to do about that. I'll probably just do some development work for the company as a consultant.”

“Miss Greville is here, too, you say?”

“Yep, she's been here the whole time. She's been a big help to Jinx. They get along well.”

“What's going to happen there?”

“I expect we'll probably get married before too long; we're just playing it by ear.”

Jim shifted in his chair. “I had a look at her FBI file. There was a lot of Hoover-style garbage in it, nothing whatever of substance. It doesn't exist anymore; I shredded it myself. She's off the customs and immigration shit list, too. She won't get any more grief in airports.”

“Thanks, Jim, I appreciate that—and everything else you've done. I never would have gotten to first base without you.”

“Don't mention it. Glad to help.”

“I haven't heard much about what happened in the jungle once we got out. We were in Bogotá only long enough to get a plane for the States.”

“There was some shooting, but no organized resistance, since Prince and Vargas were dead. The Colombians shot the place up pretty good, killed a couple of dozen people. Most of the franchisees were rounded up. They're in Colombian prisons, now, and they won't see the light of day for a long time.”

“Did they find the money?”

“In the nick of time. The soldiers were having a look
around the place before putting the torch to it, and they heard somebody kicking on a wall in the radio room.”

Cat laughed. “I know who that was. Dell and I put him there.”

“There was more than seventy million dollars in that room,” Drummond said. “That will fund a lot of drug busts in Colombia, and the Narcotics Assistance Unit won't have quite so many budgeting problems.” He paused. “I'm sorry about your boy, Cat. If we'd known he was there, we'd have at least gotten his body out for you. I'm afraid he went into a mass grave with the others.”

“It's all right,” Cat said. “Katie's in the sea, Dell's in the jungle. Maybe it's better that Jinx and I don't have any graves to visit.”

Drummond nodded and stood up. “Well, I'd better catch my plane.”

“Can I drive you to the airport?”

“No, I rented a car.”

Cat stood. “Well, before you go, you have to meet Jinx and Meg. Especially Jinx.” He walked Drummond through the house and out onto the deck. They could see the two women playing on the court below.

Drummond stopped and put his hand on Cat's arm. “This is okay,” he said.

“Don't you want to meet her?” Cat asked.

Drummond managed a smile. “If you don't mind, I just wanted to have a look at her.” He stood and watched Jinx for a moment, then turned and went into the house, rubbing his eyes.

Cat followed him to the door. “I'll never be able to thank you enough,” he said.

Drummond's voice trembled. “The sight of her was enough,” he said.

Cat watched from the door as Drummond went to his car and drove away. He went back into the house and walked out onto the deck, standing where Drummond had stood. The man had been right, he thought, watching Jinx serve the ball to Meg. The sight of her was enough.

I
HAD THE HELP OF MANY PEOPLE IN RESEARCHING THIS
book. Among them, I am particularly grateful to: Robert Coram, for sharing his knowledge of Colombia and his contacts with me; John Ford, for the same; Tom Susman, once again, for sharing his knowledge of Washington; Nancy Soververg, of Senator Edward Kennedy's office, for introductions to helpful people; Lee Peters, of the State Department, for his advice about Colombia and for introductions at the American Embassy in Bogotá; Dr. Jose M. Vergara-Castro, president of Asociación Colombiana de Aviación Civil General, for his kind assistance in finding and renting an airplane; Rodrigo V. Martinez Torres, for a superb tour of Cartegena, especially the Old City, and for sharing his knowledge, as a lawyer, of the Colombian drug trade; Maribel Porras Gil, for her services as copilot, radio operator, navigator, interpreter, liaison with the Colombian Police, and especially, for her good company; Candis Cunningham, Press Attaché at the American Embassy in Bogotá, for introductions, advice of all sorts, and for a lifetime supply of the best Colombian coffee; Morris Jacobs, Cultural Affairs Officer, and Teresa Bocanegra, adviser to the U.S. Ambassador on
Colombian Law, for their advice; John Stallman, head of the Narcotics Assistance Unit in the Bogotá embassy, now in happy retirement in Florida, for a detailed look at the big picture of the Colombian drug trade; Maria Arango, for enlightening conversations about Colombian life; Lt. Col. David Mason, Air Attaché at the Bogotá embassy, for his advice about flying in Colombia; Bill, the Colombian-American taxi driver in Cali, for the grand tour and inside knowledge; Dan Spader, Sr., of Maule Air, Inc., for a hair-raising ride in a Maule Lunar Rocket; Gibson Amstutz, for his knowledge of drug-trade flying; and especially, Mark Sutherland, who was brave enough to fly all over Colombia with me, for his good company; and Agent Gregory Lee of the Drug Enforcement Agency, for information on how the Agency operates.

I am also most grateful to: my editor Laurie Lister, for her sharp eye and unerring ear, and her assistant, Scott Corngold, for keeping things moving; Michael Korda, for his enthusiasm; my agent, Mort Janklow, his associate, Anne Sibbald, and everyone at Morton Janklow Associates for their faith and hard work on my behalf.

While I received briefings and advice from many people in official positions, they cannot be held responsible for the accuracy of any statement in this novel, or for any view I may have formed and transmitted in the book. It is the responsibility of the novelist to be plausible, not accurate, and I have bent all sorts of information to my own uses in order to tell a story.

Finally, I must apologize to my friend Ben Fuller for borrowing his appearance for my most awful character.

I
AM AWARE THAT
W
HITE
C
ARGO
IS ALSO THE NAME OF A
1942 movie starring Hedy Lamarr and which seems to be chiefly remembered for her deathless line, “I am Tonde-layo,” which, as Pauline Kael says, “. . . served a generation of female impersonators.” It was too good a title to pass up.

There has been a sad side to writing this book, in that things are as bad in Colombia as I have made them out to be—maybe worse—and they don't look like they're getting better. Colombia, a country of great natural beauty and kind and lovely people, is under a siege laid down by the drug dealers. One can only hope that the courage of the people and the government will endure until these vermin have been imprisoned or expelled, or until they have exterminated themselves.

I hope one day to return to a Colombia at peace with itself.

Photo © 1999 by Herman Estevez

S
TUART
W
OODS
is the New York Times best-selling author of twenty novels including Worst Fears Realized, Orchid Beach, Swimming to Catalina, and Dead in the Water. He lives on the Treasure Coast of Florida, on an island off the coast of Maine, and in Litchfield County, Connecticut.

BOOKS BY STUART WOODS

FICTION

Santa Fe Edge§

Lucid Intervals†

Kisser†

Hothouse Orchid*

Loitering with Intent†

Mounting Fears‡

Hot Mahogany†

Santa Fe Dead§

Beverly Hills Dead

Shoot Him If He Runs†

Fresh Disasters†

Short Straw§

Dark Harbor†

Iron Orchid*

Two Dollar Bill†

The Prince of Beverly Hills

Reckless Abandon†

Capital Crimes‡

Dirty Work†

Blood Orchid*

The Short Forever†

Orchid Blues*

Cold Paradise†

L.A. Dead†

The Run‡

Worst Fears Realized†

Orchid Beach*

Swimming to Catalina†

Dead in the Water†

Dirt†

Choke

Imperfect Strangers

Heat

Dead Eyes

L.A. Times

Santa Fe Rules§

New York Dead†

Palindrome

Grass Roots‡

White Cargo

Deep Lie‡

Run Before the Wind‡

Chiefs‡

TRAVEL

A Romantic's Guide to the Country Inns of Britain and Ireland
(1979)

MEMOIR

Blue Water, Green Skipper
(1977)

*A Holly Barker Novel

^†
A Stone Barrington Novel

^‡
A Will Lee Novel

^§
An Ed Eagle Novel

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.