Free White Cargo by Stuart Woods

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.
    â€œHow do we know each other?” Holland asked.
    â€œI understand you know your way around South America,” Cat said, ignoring the question.
    â€œAfraid not,” Holland replied.
    Cat felt a moment of panic. Had he got the wrong man?
    â€œJust Colombia,” Holland continued. “I know more about that place than the bloody Colombian Tourist Board.”
    â€œThat’ll do,” Cat said, relieved. “How’s your Spanish?”
    â€œUseless in the libraries and classrooms of the world, crackerjack in Colombian bars and whorehouses,” Holland said. “How’d you come by my name?”
    â€œYou available for a few weeks, maybe 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 . . .”
    â€œA 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.
    â€œHalf the Latinos in the hemisphere—” Holland began.
    â€œThis Carlos isn’t a Latino,” Cat said quickly.
    â€œThe son of a bitch,” Holland grinned. “I thought he was dead.”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œWell, now I know how I got paroled first time at bat. You and Carlos work together, do you?”
    â€œJust acquaintances,” Cat said.
    â€œMr. Catledge,” Holland said, relaxing into the chair, “my time is your time. What can I do for you?”
    â€œHow about a drink?” Cat asked, rising.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said. “That was a bloody rotten deal.”
    â€œThat’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?”
    â€œBe delighted,” Holland grinned.
    â€œI’ll pay you fifty thousand—ten up front and forty when we get back alive.”
    â€œThat what Carlos told you to offer me?” Holland asked.
    â€œYep.”
    â€œWell, that seems fair, but how long are you reckoning on?”
    â€œAs long as it takes.”
    Holland made a sucking noise in his teeth. “That could be an awful long time,” he said.
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œDone,” Holland said. “Now what?”
    â€œLet’s go to Colombia.”
    â€œNow, let me get this straight,” Holland