Free Operation Caribe by Mack Maloney Page A

wrapping this up quickly,” one of them said.
    The large man pulled Jumbey even closer to the open hatch. The wind was blowing madly. Jumbey looked down on the dark clouds and was terrified that he would have to pass through them before smashing into the water or the earth that he knew was somewhere way down below.
    “Last chance,” the big man told him. “You must know some way we can find your boss.”
    Jumbey looked out on the clouds again and, to his horror, imagined he could see Crabbie flying alongside the aircraft like a bird, bloody and laughing at him.
    “I don’t,” he said, trembling. “I’ve never met him.”
    The man pushed Jumbey halfway out the door.
    “You got three seconds,” he growled. “One … two…”
    “I don’t know!” Jumbey cried again. “I’m just a minnow. A little fish!”
    “Good-bye,” the large man said.
    He picked Jumbey off the floor and started to throw him out the hatchway.
    “Badtown!” Jumbey finally yelled.
    He was almost as good as gone—but then he felt the huge man pull him back in again.
    “Badtown? What is that?”
    “It’s a slum,” Jumbey said, trying mightily to catch his breath. “In Nassau. The whole city is a mess, but people call the worst part of it Badtown.”
    “Your hideout is in Badtown?” the large man asked him.
    “No,” Jumbey replied, still shaking all over. “Senior crumbs just hang out there sometimes when money is good.”
    “ Where in Badtown do they hang out?” another of the masked men demanded to know. “It must be a big place.”
    Jumbey hesitated again—and the large man pushed him back toward the open door.
    Finally Jumbey yelled, “The Tainted Lady.”
    “Tainted Lady?” the large man asked. “What is that? A boat?”
    “Don’t tell him!” Colonel Cat suddenly bellowed. “He’ll kill us!”
    “ They’ll kill us!” Jumbey yelled back at him.
    He looked up at his would-be executioner.
    “The Tainted Lady is a blind pig! A saloon, mon. There’s a hidden room upstairs where the top guys hang out sometimes. That’s all I know.”
    *   *   *
    TWENTY MINUTES LATER, the floatplane landed in rough water next to an outer island so small it had just a single palm tree on it.
    The masked men dragged Jumbey and Cat out of the plane and threw them, still bound in duct tape, onto the tiny beach. Then the masked men sloshed their way back to the airplane and climbed aboard.
    Cat started screaming as he and Jumbey fought to rip the tape from their hands and feet. But there was so much of it, it was impossible.
    “You can’t leave us here!” Cat yelled. “When the tide comes in, this place will be gone!”
    “Climb the tree then,” one of the masked men told him.
    “But … but we’re so far out, no one will ever find us!” Jumbey yelled.
    The large man yelled back. “Them’s the breaks, mon.”
    “But—my plane!” Cat screamed.
    The large masked man yelled from the open door. “Oh yeah—thanks! We’ll take good care of it.”
    With that, the Arado turned back toward the ocean, and with a burst of smoke and sea spray, took off and flew away.

7
    BADTOWN WAS WELL named.
    Dominating the southern end of Nassau, just over the hill from some of the most glamorous resorts in the western hemisphere, it was a collection of hovels, tin shacks, drug dens, and cafés that attracted more flies than people. Much of Nassau was a slum; Badtown was its most treacherous part. When cruise ships docking here warned their passengers to exercise caution while walking in the outlying neighborhoods at night, Badtown was the place they were talking about.
    A canal connected this place to the sea. It was the conduit through which much of Badtown’s criminal activity flowed. Pot. Crack. Meth. Jewels. Guns. Just about anything and everything was for sale to adventurous tourists and addicted locals, if the price was right.
    The busy season for Badtown’s drug trade was approaching. American college students on Spring Break