Cat was limp beside him, reliving the moment when he knew the girl was not Jinx. She had not even looked that much like her. He had wanted too badly for her to be Jinx.
At the hotel, Bluey told the boy to keep the car ready. “Come on,” he said to Cat, “let’s get our gear together and get out of here.” Fifteen minutes later, they had paid their bill, thrown their hastily packed belongings into the back of the car, and were driving away.
“Where are we going?” Cat asked.
“Back to the airplane,” Bluey replied. “We were seen back there, and we don’t even know who that guy was, how much trouble we’re in, or how hard he’ll look for us. But they saw us and the car, and we’re getting out of the Guajira.”
Cat rested his head on the seat back. He didn’t much care what they did next. He’d been so sure, had had his hopes so high, and now he was weak with disappointment.
“Okay, so we blew it,” Bluey said, consolingly. “Hell, that’s okay, we might blow it again, even. But well keep on looking. Santa Marta’s next. That’s where this whole thing started, anyway. We only came to Riohacha because it was on the way. Now we’ll go on, and we’ll find something in Santa Marta.”
13
They slept at Idlewild, in a small bunkhouse attached to the office. An Indian woman made them some breakfast, then Bluey asked Cat for more money. “We’ve got to get a flight plan filed for us at Cartagena for Santa Marta. Our papers are okay, but you have to file in this country, and we can’t arrive at Santa Marta from out of nowhere. It’s going to take a thousand to get it done. We’ve got to pay for fuel and tie-down, too.”
Cat gave him five thousand dollars. “You’re going to need something for tips,” he said, dryly.
Bluey winked at him and went to make the arrangements.
Before takeoff, Bluey piled their luggage on top of the now-empty plastic ferry tank. “A spare tank sets off alarms with the cops or the army,” he said. “We don’t want to have to bribe somebody unnecessarily.”
Cat was grateful Bluey was being concerned about money. They had already put a sizable dent in his hundred thousand dollars.
They took off at midmorning and headed out to sea.
“We’ll circle around and approach Santa Marta from the west, just to look good,” Bluey explained. “It’s less than a hundred miles as the crow flies, and we’ll add another fifty to the trip.”
They had a brief glimpse of the nineteen-thousand-foot Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta before the building clouds obscured them. Cat remembered an earlier glimpse of the mountains from offshore, the day he had first sailed Catbird into Colombian waters. He tried not to think about what life would be like now if he had sailed on to Panama.
Santa Marta airport was a single, long, asphalt strip, and Cat, who was flying left seat at Bluey’s insistence, listened as the Australian read him the checklist for landing. It was the first time Cat had landed the airplane. As soon as their wheels touched the runway, Bluey shoved the throttle in and reduced the flaps.
“Go around,” he grinned. “Let’s get you some touch-and-go’s.”
There was a strong crosswind blowing, and Cat sweated out that and the unaccustomed controls and final checks through a dozen practice landings, including a couple of short field takeoffs and landings. Gradually, he became accustomed to the airplane, heavier, faster, and more complex than the trainers he had been flying. “I reckon you’re checked out in this airplane,” Bluey said when he had finally allowed Cat to taxi to the apron. “I’d sign your logbook if I was still certified.”
A policeman gave their papers a perfunctory glance and waved them through the barrier into the small terminal. In the taxi Bluey said, “I reckon we’ll stay out at El Rodadero, the beach area. There’s nothing all that great in the town.” He had a brief conversation in Spanish with the driver. Shortly they pulled into the drive of what seemed a modern hostelry, a cluster of low buildings hugging the beach. Cat was glad for the change. He had begun to think that Colombia was filled with nothing but seedy Excelsiors and drug runners’ bunkhouses. At the front desk he registered as Ellis and shortly they were in a comfortable two-bedroom suite. Cat drank in the air-conditioning.
“I’d like to get some sleep before we go into town,” Bluey said, yawning.
Cat glanced out the window at the blue Caribbean. “I think I’ll see if they have a swimsuit in the shop downstairs.” He hadn’t showered that morning, and he was feeling hot and grimy. When he had changed, he walked downstairs, through the lobby and a courtyard containing a large pool and a thatched bar. It all seemed oddly normal after the past few days. He walked on to the beach, dropped his towel, and ran for the water. It was perfect. He swam out a hundred yards, then did slow laps up and down the beach for half an hour, working out the kinks, happy for some exercise.
Back on the beach, he flopped down onto the sand and ordered a piña colada. He drank the icy, sweet rum drink in record time and stretched out on the towel. It seemed nearly like a vacation. Down the beach a group of children were building a sand castle while their mothers chattered under a large thatched umbrella. An attractive woman with short dark hair waded out of the sea and walked to within a dozen yards of where he sat. She was in her early thirties, he reckoned, lithe and athletic-looking. She dried herself, then sat down and began to apply tanning lotion to her shoulders. He had a sudden urge to speak to her, but balked. Would she speak English? And anyway, how long had it been since he had approached a woman? He and Katie had been married right out of college, and he had never needed anybody else. The thought of approaching her made him suddenly anxious, but he was surprised that he wanted to at all. Was this some sign of healing? He dismissed the thought. Nothing could ever heal until he found Jinx, he was sure of that.
He dozed, and when he woke she was gone. He felt relieved. He got up, dusted himself off, and walked back to the pool bar. The dark-haired woman was sitting at a table nearby. He ordered a sandwich and a beer and tried not to think about her.
Bluey turned up, looking refreshed, and ordered a sandwich, too. “Fairly nifty Sheila,” he said, nodding at the woman.
Cat laughed. “Is that your down-under way of expressing approval?”
“Too right, mate. I have always found Latin women fairly nifty, and you’re forgetting where I’ve been the last couple of years.”
“I am at that,” Cat replied. “Go ahead, if you’re in the mood.”
Bluey shook his head. “I’m not her type,” he said ruefully. “After a lifetime, I know the sort I turn on, and she’s not it. I’m not so sure she’s my sort, either. A little too classy.”
“If you say so, Bluey.”
They finished their sandwiches.
“How about we bomb into Santa Marta and take a look around?” Bluey said.
Cat gave the woman a last glance. “Okay, let’s do it.” When he had found Jinx, then he could think about women.
They got a rent-a-car at the desk and drove the few miles to the town. It was busier than Cat remembered. He had gone no farther than the waterfront on his first visit, and now they were entering the town from the land, making it seem quite different. They passed the cathedral, then a colorfully painted old locomotive preserved as an exhibit near the railway station. Cat didn’t feel like a tourist. His anxiety level was rising. He was back where it had all begun.
Bluey parked the car near the cathedral. “Let’s nose around, see if we see anybody we know.”