by Stuart Woods
It had been, twenty-five years, but Cat knew him. “Jesus, Hedger,” he said, managing a small laugh, “you still getting your haircuts at Quantico?”
“Catledge,” Barry Hedger said. He managed to make it both a greeting and an accusation.
“Am I in a hospital?” Cat asked.
“You’re in the staff infirmary of the American Embassy, and damned lucky to be. You’re lucky to be alive, too, You don’t wear a pistol through a metal detector in any airport in the world, don’t you know that? The cops down here would just as soon shoot you for that sort of thing.”
“Thanks for bringing me here,” Cat said with feeling. “How did you know?”
“Your friend Señorita Greville,” he nearly spat the name, “called me from the airport. I was in a meeting with the Ambassador, but she was insistent.”
“Is she here?”
“No. I don’t know where she is.”
“We’re both at the Tequendama. Can I call her?”
“There’s no phone in this room, and you probably don’t feel like moving around. I’ll have my secretary call her. What should she say?”
“Just that I’m okay, and I’ll call her there as soon as possible. Oh, ask her to try and find out where the airplane went.”
“Airplane?”
“She’ll know what I’m talking about.”
“I expect she will, but I don’t. What the hell are you doing, anyway?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I don’t doubt it. A short story wouldn’t cover somebody who’s travelling, armed, in a South American country, with a false passport and seventy-one thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills in his pocket.”
Cat winced. “You’re right, that wasn’t very smart. I was trying to catch up to somebody; I didn’t think.”
The doctor walked into the room carrying an X-ray film. “Nothing broken,” he said to Hedger, “but a hell of a lot of bruising. They worked him over pretty good.”
“No more than he deserved,” Hedger replied.
“When can I get out of here?” Cat asked.
“We’ll keep you overnight, I think,” the doctor replied. “Let’s be sure there’s no concussion. You can go tomorrow, if you feel up to it.”
“He’s not going anywhere until I say so,” Hedger snapped. “Thanks, Doc, that’s all.”
“I’ll send you a painkiller and something to help you sleep,” the doctor said to Cat, then left.
Hedger turned back to Cat. “You’re still under arrest,” he said, “but I managed to get you released to my custody. You’re not to leave the embassy compound without the permission of the Chief of Police of Bogotá.”
“What’s going to happen? Will I be prosecuted?”
“Probably.” Hedger turned and walked to the door. “I’ve got some phone calls to make. I’ll find you a lawyer, who will probably want you to cop a plea and take a shorter sentence. There’s not much question of your guilt. You’ll have the weapons charge, of course, at least one on resisting arrest, and one on violation of customs regulations—failure to declare all that money. You didn’t declare it, did you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I didn’t think so. Get some rest; you’re going to need it. I’ll talk to you later.” He left the room.
Cat closed his eyes. Christ, he had really blown it. He wasn’t going to be any help to Jinx in jail. Maybe Meg would keep working on it. He needed her now more than ever. She might be his last chance. He closed his eyes and tried to stop thinking.
21
WHEN CAT WOKE THE NEXT MORNING, THERE WAS A BROWN paper package on his bed. His clothes had been laundered and pressed. Getting out of bed was not as easy as he would have liked, but after twenty minutes under a hot shower, he found he could move about quite well as long as he did not take too deep a breath or try to turn his head too far to the left. He was shocked, though, by the bruises on his shoulders and back. He decided to stay away from mirrors, until they went away.
Someone brought him bacon and eggs, and as he was finishing his second cup of coffee and starting to feel truly human again, a young American woman appeared in the doorway.
“I’m Candis Leigh, Mr. Catledge,” she said. “I work for Barry Hedger. How are you feeling this morning?”
“Much better, thanks.”
“Barry would like you to come up to his office, if you’re feeling up to it.”
Cat laughed. “If he’s the same Hedger I used to know, he’d like me to come to his office whether I feel like it or not.”
She laughed back. “You know him better than I thought.” She clipped a plastic visitor’s pass onto the pocket of his bush jacket. “Follow me.”
She led him down the hall to an elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor. She leaned against the paneling and sighed. “Don’t mention I told you this, but he was on the phone to Washington yesterday afternoon and again this morning, and he didn’t like it very much. My guess is, he’s been told to give you whatever assistance you need, so don’t take too much crap from him.”
“Thanks, I appreciate your telling me.”
“Seems you’ve got some juice at headquarters.”
Cat shrugged. “What does Hedger do here, anyway?”
“He’s Deputy Cultural Affairs Officer.” She paused and looked at the ceiling. “Sort of.”
Cat was about to ask more, but the elevator doors opened. He followed her down the hallway and was ushered into a medium-size office, panelled in a pale wood. Barry Hedger was sitting behind the desk, talking on the telephone. He pointed at a chair, and Cat sat down.
“Yeah, yeah, well, tell him that’s all I can do for him at the moment. If I get any further word, I’ll let him know. But tell him if he expects to keep getting paid, I want better stuff than that.” He hung up without saying goodbye and stared at Cat. “You’re ambulatory, are you?”
“Yep. Listen, thanks for getting me out of that cell yesterday. I’m really very grateful, and I didn’t thank you properly.”
Hedger nodded wearily. “Yeah, yeah, well, I know a little more about your situation now. I read the stuff about the boat and all, of course; sorry about that; it was tough.”
“Thanks.”
“Now you think the girl’s alive, right?”
“I’m sure of it.”
Hedger picked up the telephone and tapped in a number. “Well, I still don’t understand your stupidity, but I guess I understand your motivation. Hello, Marge? Hedger. We’re on our way up.” He hung up the phone. “Let’s go.”
Cat followed Hedger to the elevator, up a couple of floors to a much-better-decorated hallway, through a small reception area to a large door. Hedger rapped on it.
“Come in!” a voice shouted from the other side.
The two men walked into a large, handsomely furnished office.
“This is Wendell Catledge, sir,” Hedger said. “Catledge, the Ambassador.”
Cat shook the man’s hand and accepted a chair.
The Ambassador looked at Cat silently for a moment. “Have you recovered from your little wrestling match with the police yesterday?” he asked finally.
“Yes, thank you. I’m a little stiff, but all right. Thank you for the use of embassy facilities last night. Everyone has been very kind.”
The Ambassador turned to Hedger. “He’s one of yours, then?”
Hedger looked uncomfortable. “Yes, sir, more or less.” He started to continue, but the Ambassador held up a hand.
“More or less is good enough, thank you. I don’t want to know any more.” He turned back to Cat. “Mr. Catledge, first of all, I want to say how sorry I am about what happened to your family.”
“Thank you,” Cat replied.
“I understand your daughter may be alive and in this country.”
“Yes, sir, almost certainly so.”
“Of course I was aware of the tragedy when it occurred, and various requests came across my desk more than once. I want you to know that they received the ve
ry best attention this embassy could afford them.”
“I appreciate that.”
“You can understand how, in the circumstances, after the reports we had of the incident, we did not have the slightest indication that your daughter might still be alive.”
He wants off the hook, Cat thought; that’s why I’m here. He wants me to absolve him. “Of course, I understand. I thought she was dead myself until not very long ago.”
The Ambassador nodded. “Now that there is reason to believe she might be alive, I am perfectly willing to call the Minister of Justice and ask that the police investigation be reopened. Is that what you want?”
Cat froze. He hadn’t counted on this; he had become so accustomed to pursuing Jinx and her kidnappers on his own that the thought of the police coming into it shocked him.
Hedger spoke before Cat could. “If I may suggest, sir, I’d like to take a look at this situation with Mr. Catledge before we bring the police back into it.”
“If that’s what you think best,” the Ambassador replied. “Mr. Catledge, is that your wish?”
Cat nodded. “Yes, it is. For the moment, anyway.”
“Fine. Just remember that I am happy to relaunch official inquiries whenever you wish, and should Senator Carr’s office inquire about our conversation, I hope you will tell them I told you that.”
“Thank you. Yes, of course.”
The Ambassador leaned forward and folded his hands on his chest. “Now, about the difficulties arising from your little indiscretion of yesterday.”
Cat’s stomach tightened. He didn’t look forward to being returned to the Colombian police.
“I’ve had a word with the Minister of Justice, who has spoken with the Chief of Police. It is the consensus that all parties will best be served if the events of yesterday are deemed not to have occurred.”
Cat was nearly faint with relief. “Thank you, Mr. Ambassador; I’m very grateful.”
The Ambassador responded with a benevolent nod. “I need hardly say that all parties, especially you, will be happiest if further incidents of this or any other kind are avoided. There is only so much I can do, you understand.”
Cat had the momentary feeling of being a schoolboy in the principal’s office. “Yes, sir, I understand completely, and again, let me say how grateful I am for your help.”
The Ambassador stood up and offered his hand. “Then I will return you to the tender mercies of Mr. Hedger and his colleagues.”
Cat shook the man’s hand and followed Hedger back to his office.
Hedger waved Cat to a chair, sank into his own, and opened a desk drawer. He tossed Cat a heavy manila envelope. “That’s everything the police took off you yesterday except the piece. I’ll hang on to that. Count the money.”
Cat slipped on his Rolex and riffled through the bills. “It’s all here. Thanks.” He stuffed the money into the shoulder wallet and put it back into the envelope. “Where’s my passport and ID?”
“You mean the Ellis junk? I’ll hang on to that, too.” He took out a telephone, somewhat larger than the one on his desk, and tapped in a number. “This is Hedger in Bogotá. Give me Drummond.” He paused. “Good morning, sir, this is Hedger. Yes, sir.” He pushed the telephone across the desk and handed the receiver to Cat.
Puzzled, Cat took the instrument. He didn’t know anybody named Drummond. “Hello?”
“Hi, this is Jim. You okay?”
“Oh, hello. Yes, I’m fine. The people here have been very helpful.”
“You making any progress?”
“Yes, a lot.”
“Good. Keep at it. They’ll do what they can there, but it may not be a hell of a lot.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. And listen, I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for confirming the phone call from Jinx. Without that I would have given up.”
“Glad to do it. Has Bluey been a help?”
Cat shrank inside. “I’m sorry, but Bluey was killed in Santa Marta.” He explained what had happened. “I’ve already made some provision for his child.”
“That was good of you,” Jim said, “but you shouldn’t feel too badly about Bluey. He used up all nine lives a long time ago. He had all these pipe dreams about retiring and going into some sort of legitimate business, but believe me, he wouldn’t have. It just wasn’t in him to lead a quiet life. If he hadn’t caught it in Santa Marta, he’d have caught it somewhere else next week or next month. He was a pro, and he knew the risks better than you.”
“Well, thanks for that, anyway.”
“I gotta run. Keep Hedger posted; he’ll keep me posted. Anything else?”
“I’d still like to keep the stuff you gave me.”
“Sure. From what I hear, that hasn’t been compromised. Give me Hedger. Take care.”
Cat handed the telephone back to Hedger.
“Yes, sir?” He listened for a moment, then hung up, put the instrument back into the drawer, and tossed Cat his Ellis wallet and passport. “How’d you and Drummond get hooked up?” Hedger asked.
“Mutual acquaintance,” Cat replied.
“You know why he’s doing this.”
Cat looked at Hedger, puzzled.
“You don’t know. His daughter.”
“What about his daughter?”
“He was station head in Paris four years ago. The girl, she was sixteen, was kidnapped on the way to school. They shot the officer who was driving her. Drummond got a note. One of the terrorist organizations.”
“What did they want? Ransom?”
Hedger shook his head. “They wanted Drummond. Said they’d exchange the girl for him. Our people and the French laid on a big operation. It went wrong. They cut four Arabs in a car to pieces. The girl wasn’t with them. After that, there was no more communication with the kidnappers. No demands, I mean.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“They mailed her to Drummond in pieces. First, her fingers; then, her ears. It got worse. Went on for days. The police finally found what was left of her body in a raid on a safe house. She’d been alive when they were mutilating her.”
Cat rubbed his forehead. “Jesus Christ.”
“A few days later, the French caught one of the kidnappers. They left Drummond alone with the man, and, eventually, he gave up the three who were still alive. There was a police raid on a Paris apartment. None of the three survived. The French are more efficient about these things than we are.”
Cat couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“There’s a little more. As a result of all this, Drummond’s wife is permanently institutionalized. The girl was their only child. All Drummond does is work and visit her.”
“That’s the worst story I ever heard,” Cat said. “Yours is almost as bad, and it could get worse.”
Cat looked at him. “Is that why you’re telling me all this? To prepare me for the worst?”
“Yeah. I think you ought to know that your chances of finding the girl alive are almost nil. You’re looking for a miracle, and it probably isn’t going to happen.”
“The miracle has already happened,” Cat said. “When I heard her voice on the telephone, when I knew she was alive, that was the miracle.”
“I hope your luck holds,” Hedger said. “You’re not improving the odds by running around with that Communist, either.”
Cat sat up. “Communist?”
“Your Señorita Greville. Don’t you know who she is?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Remember Charles Adam Greville?”
The name sounded familiar, but Cat couldn’t place it.
“The House Un-American Activities Committee hearings, in the fifties?”
It was coming back to him. “You mean the guy who was hounded out of the State Department?”
“Hounded, my ass. The guy was a Russian agent.”
“Come on, Hedger, that was never proved.”
“He did time for it.”
�
�No, I remember, he was jailed for contempt of Congress. He was a hero to a lot of people. Still is.”
Hedger snorted. “Hero! He was booted out of State, never held a job again, died in disgrace. Of course the girl was just a kid at the time, but she followed in his footsteps. Half the reporting she’s done has been inside stuff on Communist insurgents around the world. In Vietnam, she took the Vietcong side of things, went to Hanoi with Jane Fonda for Christ’s sake. Since then she’s been in Nicaragua, the Philippines, Cuba, and right here, in Colombia. She’s plugged into the M 19 guerrilla organization, a very bad bunch.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment.”
“No? We damn near got her citizenship revoked last year. Her old man married her mother, a Bolivian woman, when he was serving in the embassy in La Paz, and Immigration and Naturalization grabbed the girl’s passport until she could prove her father had registered her as a citizen at birth, which he had, the crafty old bastard. She’s managed to maintain dual citizenship and travel on a Bolivian passport when it suited her, using her mother’s maiden name, Garcia. We didn’t know about that for a long time. That’s how she got into the Philippines. Marcos’s people would have greased her if they’d caught her. After her stuff on the Communist guerrillas there ran on American TV, Imelda took to calling her the Red Reporter, the correspondent from Pravda.”
Cat said nothing.
Hedger looked at his wristwatch. “I’ve got a series of meetings that are going to run until four o’clock. Go back to your hotel and get some rest, then meet me back here. I want to hear everything, and then we’ll see what we can put together.”
Cat rose. “All right.” He turned for the door, then stopped. “Listen, there’s one thing I hope you can check on right away. A Gulfstream jet left Eldorado Airport yesterday, probably right after I was arrested. Can you find out where it went?”
He led Cat into an adjoining office, where Candis Leigh was working at a desk. “Get hold of the Air Attaché and see if he has a source in the air traffic system who can tell us where a Gulfstream jet went from Bogotá yesterday. I want to know where it filed for and if it landed there.”