travelling under the name of Ellis and to back you up.”
“You’ve done all this since yesterday?” Cat asked, amazed. Now he knew why Jim was unshaven—he’d been up all night.
“All part of the service,” Jim said. “Come over here to the window for a minute.” He took some pieces of plastic from his pocket. “This is a Colombian entry stamp; you just pull off the plastic sheet, press it onto your passport on an empty page, then write in the date of your entry in ink. Be sure to use one on both your passports and on these.” He went back to his briefcase and stapled photographs to two printed cards. “These are Colombian tourist visas for both your identities.” He took two envelopes from the case. “This one is a passport for Bluey.
He doesn’t have one at the moment. Don’t give it to him until you have to. He might use it to travel in another direction. Tell him he can keep it, just a little gift from Carlos.” Jim held up the other envelope. “There are two passports here for Jinx, one in her own name, one in another; same photograph. If you find her, you’ll want to leave in a hurry, I expect.”
“I’m a little overwhelmed by all this,” Cat said.
“I wish I could do more,” Jim replied. “I wish I could tell you how to find your daughter. But I think this stuff will improve your chances of getting in and out alive.”
“I’m very grateful for your help, Jim,” Cat said.
“Don’t worry about it. Maybe one day you can do me a favor.”
“Just ask. Anytime. Is there some place I can reach you when I get back? I’d like to let you know how it all works out.”
“No.” He started to pack up his equipment. “Give Bluey Holland a few days to spring himself, then he’ll be in touch. Offer him fifty grand—ten now, and forty when you’re back in the States. That ought to do it.” Jim snapped a case shut. “You and I never met, of course.”
“Right.”
The two men shook hands. Cat opened the door.
“Listen, Catledge,” Jim said with some feeling. “You’re liable to be in some rough places. Watch your ass.” He closed the door.
8
“C AN I SPEAK WITH M R. C ATLEDGE, PLEASE ?” T HE ACCENT was broad and flat. He might have been calling from downtown Sydney.
“Speaking.”
“This is Ronald Holland. I got a message to call you.”
“Have you got cab fare?”
“Yes.”
Cat gave him the address. “Tell the driver it’s off West Paces Ferry Road, west of 1-75.”
“Right. About an hour, I guess.”
Cat had somehow been expecting somebody on the scrawny, weasly side, but when he opened the front door he was confronted with a man of about six feet five, two hundred and fifty pounds. Cat, at six-three, didn’t look up at all to that many people, but he looked up at this one. The face was round, open, cheerful; the sandy hair was receding. Cat put him at about forty-five. Bluey Holland held a small canvas suitcase in one hand.
“Holland,” the man said.
“I’m Catledge; come on in.”
Cat showed him ahead toward the study. On the way Holland got an eyeful of the large, handsomely furnishedliving room of the contemporary house. In the study, Cat offered a chair and sat down at his desk. Even though this man was his only hope at the moment, this was an employment interview, and Cat didn’t want him to think he was going to automatically get the job.
“How do we know each other?” Holland asked.
“I understand you know your way around South America,” Cat said, ignoring the question.
“Afraid not,” Holland replied.
Cat felt a moment of panic. Had he got the wrong man?
“Just Colombia,” Holland continued. “I know more about that place than the bloody Colombian Tourist Board.”
“That’ll do,” Cat said, relieved. “How’s your Spanish?”
“Useless in the libraries and classrooms of the world, crackerjack in Colombian bars and whorehouses,” Holland said. “How’d you come by my name?”
“You available for a few weeks, maybe
“You’ve done all this since yesterday?” Cat asked, amazed. Now he knew why Jim was unshaven—he’d been up all night.
“All part of the service,” Jim said. “Come over here to the window for a minute.” He took some pieces of plastic from his pocket. “This is a Colombian entry stamp; you just pull off the plastic sheet, press it onto your passport on an empty page, then write in the date of your entry in ink. Be sure to use one on both your passports and on these.” He went back to his briefcase and stapled photographs to two printed cards. “These are Colombian tourist visas for both your identities.” He took two envelopes from the case. “This one is a passport for Bluey.
He doesn’t have one at the moment. Don’t give it to him until you have to. He might use it to travel in another direction. Tell him he can keep it, just a little gift from Carlos.” Jim held up the other envelope. “There are two passports here for Jinx, one in her own name, one in another; same photograph. If you find her, you’ll want to leave in a hurry, I expect.”
“I’m a little overwhelmed by all this,” Cat said.
“I wish I could do more,” Jim replied. “I wish I could tell you how to find your daughter. But I think this stuff will improve your chances of getting in and out alive.”
“I’m very grateful for your help, Jim,” Cat said.
“Don’t worry about it. Maybe one day you can do me a favor.”
“Just ask. Anytime. Is there some place I can reach you when I get back? I’d like to let you know how it all works out.”
“No.” He started to pack up his equipment. “Give Bluey Holland a few days to spring himself, then he’ll be in touch. Offer him fifty grand—ten now, and forty when you’re back in the States. That ought to do it.” Jim snapped a case shut. “You and I never met, of course.”
“Right.”
The two men shook hands. Cat opened the door.
“Listen, Catledge,” Jim said with some feeling. “You’re liable to be in some rough places. Watch your ass.” He closed the door.
8
“C AN I SPEAK WITH M R. C ATLEDGE, PLEASE ?” T HE ACCENT was broad and flat. He might have been calling from downtown Sydney.
“Speaking.”
“This is Ronald Holland. I got a message to call you.”
“Have you got cab fare?”
“Yes.”
Cat gave him the address. “Tell the driver it’s off West Paces Ferry Road, west of 1-75.”
“Right. About an hour, I guess.”
Cat had somehow been expecting somebody on the scrawny, weasly side, but when he opened the front door he was confronted with a man of about six feet five, two hundred and fifty pounds. Cat, at six-three, didn’t look up at all to that many people, but he looked up at this one. The face was round, open, cheerful; the sandy hair was receding. Cat put him at about forty-five. Bluey Holland held a small canvas suitcase in one hand.
“Holland,” the man said.
“I’m Catledge; come on in.”
Cat showed him ahead toward the study. On the way Holland got an eyeful of the large, handsomely furnishedliving room of the contemporary house. In the study, Cat offered a chair and sat down at his desk. Even though this man was his only hope at the moment, this was an employment interview, and Cat didn’t want him to think he was going to automatically get the job.
“How do we know each other?” Holland asked.
“I understand you know your way around South America,” Cat said, ignoring the question.
“Afraid not,” Holland replied.
Cat felt a moment of panic. Had he got the wrong man?
“Just Colombia,” Holland continued. “I know more about that place than the bloody Colombian Tourist Board.”
“That’ll do,” Cat said, relieved. “How’s your Spanish?”
“Useless in the libraries and classrooms of the world, crackerjack in Colombian bars and whorehouses,” Holland said. “How’d you come by my name?”
“You available for a few weeks, maybe
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