a few months?”
Holland slapped his hands down on the arms of the leather chair. “Listen, mate, I’ve asked you twice how we come to be introduced, and you haven’t answered me. I just did two years and seven months of a five-to-eight for doing business with people I didn’t know, so I’ll just push off . . .”
“A mutual acquaintance,” Cat said. “Carlos.”
Holland stopped talking, his mouth still open. “I know lots of blokes named Carlos,” he said, warily.
Cat tried to keep his face still. He hadn’t counted on this.
“Half the Latinos in the hemisphere—” Holland began.
“This Carlos isn’t a Latino,” Cat said quickly.
“The son of a bitch,” Holland grinned. “I thought he was dead.”
“Nope.”
“Well, now I know how I got paroled first time at bat. You and Carlos work together, do you?”
“Just acquaintances,” Cat said.
“Mr. Catledge,” Holland said, relaxing into the chair, “my time is your time. What can I do for you?”
“How about a drink?” Cat asked, rising.
“I wouldn’t spit up a scotch,” Holland replied.
Cat picked up an old copy of Time magazine from his desk and dropped it in Holland’s lap on the way out of the room. “Page sixty-one,” he said. “That’ll bring you up to date.”
In the bar, Cat took his time about mixing their drinks. When he came back into the room, Holland was still reading. Cat handed him his drink and sat down on the sofa across from the man. Holland looked up, his face sad.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was a bloody rotten deal.”
“That’s about the most complete account of the event the press published,” Cat said, “but a lot has happened since then.” He told the Australian in some detail of his efforts to find the pirates, then finally of the phone call from Jinx. “I’m going down there after her,” he said. “I need help. Somebody who knows the territory; somebody to keep me out of trouble. Carlos says you’re the man. Want to go with me?”
“Be delighted,” Holland grinned.
“I’ll pay you fifty thousand—ten up front and forty when we get back alive.”
“That what Carlos told you to offer me?” Holland asked.
“Yep.”
“Well, that seems fair, but how long are you reckoning on?”
“As long as it takes.”
Holland made a sucking noise in his teeth. “That could be an awful long time,” he said.
“I see your point,” Cat agreed. “Tell you what; if it takes longer than a month, I’ll pay you five thousand a week for as long as it takes.”
“Done,” Holland said. “Now what?”
“Let’s go to Colombia.”
“Now, let me get this straight,” Holland said, holding up a hand. “You don’t have any information you haven’t told me about?”
“No. Now you know everything I know.”
Holland rubbed his chin briskly. “Well, then, I guess we start at Santa Marta, then, since that’s where this thing began, and since we haven’t got a clue in the bloody world where else to start.”
“Not a clue,” Cat said. “I know it’s a big country. Do you think we have any chance at all of finding her?”
Holland shrugged. “Listen, mate, Carlos thinks you’ve got a shot at finding her, or he wouldn’t have put you in touch. If he thinks so, that’s good enough for me. Sure, it’s a big country, but when you’re tracking down something as dirty as this, the geography shrinks. The people who do this sort of thing tend to congregate in certain parts of the country. We’ll start in Santa Marta, because that’s the beginning of the trail. I doubt if she’s there, but somebody knows something. I know a couple of people there; we’ll call on them. If I had to guess where she is, I’d say one of three places: The Guajira Peninsula, in the northeast; Cali, in the west; or in the Amazon country. If she’s alive.”
“She was alive a week ago,” Cat said.
“That’s your best hope,” Holland replied. “If they didn’t kill her when the boat went down,
Holland slapped his hands down on the arms of the leather chair. “Listen, mate, I’ve asked you twice how we come to be introduced, and you haven’t answered me. I just did two years and seven months of a five-to-eight for doing business with people I didn’t know, so I’ll just push off . . .”
“A mutual acquaintance,” Cat said. “Carlos.”
Holland stopped talking, his mouth still open. “I know lots of blokes named Carlos,” he said, warily.
Cat tried to keep his face still. He hadn’t counted on this.
“Half the Latinos in the hemisphere—” Holland began.
“This Carlos isn’t a Latino,” Cat said quickly.
“The son of a bitch,” Holland grinned. “I thought he was dead.”
“Nope.”
“Well, now I know how I got paroled first time at bat. You and Carlos work together, do you?”
“Just acquaintances,” Cat said.
“Mr. Catledge,” Holland said, relaxing into the chair, “my time is your time. What can I do for you?”
“How about a drink?” Cat asked, rising.
“I wouldn’t spit up a scotch,” Holland replied.
Cat picked up an old copy of Time magazine from his desk and dropped it in Holland’s lap on the way out of the room. “Page sixty-one,” he said. “That’ll bring you up to date.”
In the bar, Cat took his time about mixing their drinks. When he came back into the room, Holland was still reading. Cat handed him his drink and sat down on the sofa across from the man. Holland looked up, his face sad.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was a bloody rotten deal.”
“That’s about the most complete account of the event the press published,” Cat said, “but a lot has happened since then.” He told the Australian in some detail of his efforts to find the pirates, then finally of the phone call from Jinx. “I’m going down there after her,” he said. “I need help. Somebody who knows the territory; somebody to keep me out of trouble. Carlos says you’re the man. Want to go with me?”
“Be delighted,” Holland grinned.
“I’ll pay you fifty thousand—ten up front and forty when we get back alive.”
“That what Carlos told you to offer me?” Holland asked.
“Yep.”
“Well, that seems fair, but how long are you reckoning on?”
“As long as it takes.”
Holland made a sucking noise in his teeth. “That could be an awful long time,” he said.
“I see your point,” Cat agreed. “Tell you what; if it takes longer than a month, I’ll pay you five thousand a week for as long as it takes.”
“Done,” Holland said. “Now what?”
“Let’s go to Colombia.”
“Now, let me get this straight,” Holland said, holding up a hand. “You don’t have any information you haven’t told me about?”
“No. Now you know everything I know.”
Holland rubbed his chin briskly. “Well, then, I guess we start at Santa Marta, then, since that’s where this thing began, and since we haven’t got a clue in the bloody world where else to start.”
“Not a clue,” Cat said. “I know it’s a big country. Do you think we have any chance at all of finding her?”
Holland shrugged. “Listen, mate, Carlos thinks you’ve got a shot at finding her, or he wouldn’t have put you in touch. If he thinks so, that’s good enough for me. Sure, it’s a big country, but when you’re tracking down something as dirty as this, the geography shrinks. The people who do this sort of thing tend to congregate in certain parts of the country. We’ll start in Santa Marta, because that’s the beginning of the trail. I doubt if she’s there, but somebody knows something. I know a couple of people there; we’ll call on them. If I had to guess where she is, I’d say one of three places: The Guajira Peninsula, in the northeast; Cali, in the west; or in the Amazon country. If she’s alive.”
“She was alive a week ago,” Cat said.
“That’s your best hope,” Holland replied. “If they didn’t kill her when the boat went down,
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