Free White Cargo by Stuart Woods Page A

said, holding up a hand. “You don’t have any information you haven’t told me about?”
    â€œNo. 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.”
    â€œNot 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.”
    â€œShe was alive a week ago,” Cat said.
    â€œThat’s your best hope,” Holland replied. “If they didn’t kill her when the boat went down, they want her for something.”
    Cat didn’t want to think about why somebody might want Jinx. “Why those three places?” he asked.
    â€œBecause that’s where the drugs get made, and sold, and smuggled.”
    â€œWhy do you think this has something to do with drugs?”
    â€œBecause everything in Colombia—everything that’s dirty, anyway—has something to do with drugs.”
    Cat had heard that before.
    Holland reached down, unzipped his canvas bag, and removed a large magazine, printed on yellow newsprint, called Tradeaplane. Cat had seen it around the flying school. “We’re going to need an airplane,” he said.
    â€œWhat for?” Cat asked, surprised. “Don’t the airlines fly to Colombia?”
    â€œOh, sure,” Holland said, “but I don’t have a passport; they took it away before my trial. And anyway, I expect my face would light up a few computers in both Colombian or U.S. Customs and Immigration. Then, once we’re in the country, we have to be able to move around without the police paying too much attention to me. There’s always police in airports.”
    â€œThen where would we land a light aircraft?”
    Bluey grinned. “Well, there’s airports and there’s airports.”
    Cat remembered that he had a passport for Holland, but he remembered Jim’s advice, too. “Okay, if you say so.”
    Holland waved a hand. “Your house, your car—you look as though you can afford a good airplane.” He beganflipping through Tradeaplane. “I reckon we’ll need to spend somewhere between seventy and a hundred thousand bucks, depending on what’s available locally. Of course if you want to go looking around the country, we could save some money.”
    â€œI’d rather save time. We’ll get whatever you want.”
    Holland stood up. “I’ll start looking today. You got a car I can borrow?”
    Cat went to his desk and got some keys. “There’s a Mercedes station wagon in the garage.” He tossed Holland the keys.
    Holland fingered his suit. “I’ll need to pick up some gear as well.”
    Cat took a banded stack of bills from his desk drawer and tossed it to Holland. “There’s your ten thousand,” he said. “You’ve got yourself a job, Mr. Holland.”
    The Australian stuck out his hand. “Call me Bluey,” he grinned.
    Cat grinned back. “I’m Cat.” He liked the man, but he still felt a little