“There was a misunderstanding.”
The man scratched his head. “Well, okay. Who do you want to call?” He turned toward the chair before the single side-band set.
“Credit Suisse, in Zurich. Ask the operator to get you the number. Which marine operator do you use this time of day?”
“New York,” the man said, spinning a knob to set the frequency. “It’ll go a lot faster if you can remember the number.”
Cat took the pistol by the barrel, and swung it hard at the base of the man’s skull. The man let out a grunt of pain and dropped from the chair to one knee, but he was still conscious. He made another noise, then turned and grabbed Cat’s right arm, twisting. Cat, amazed that the man wasn’t out, went down on one knee, too. He grabbed at the pistol with his left hand and tried to hit him again, but the man got an arm up and blocked it, then grabbed at the pistol. They were both on their knees now. It was a test of strength, and Cat was losing. Dell appeared in the door, saw what was happening. He ran up and put his pistol to the radio operator’s head. The man ignored him.
“Hit him!” Cat grunted.
Dell drew back and brought his gun down on top of the man’s head. He grunted again, but kept fighting. Dell put down the gun, clasped his hands together, and swung hard at the back of the man’s neck. His grip on Cat slipped, then he fell forward onto his hands. Dell hit him again, and he collapsed onto the floor.
“Christ,” Cat panted, “it’s not like the movies, is it?”
“Let’s the him up or something before the bastard comes to.”
Cat rummaged through the room, looking for something to the him with. He opened a drawer and found a thick roll of duct tape. “This ought to do,” he said.
Dell brought the man’s hands behind him, and Cat bound them securely with the two-inch-wide, heavy tape. Then he bound the ankles and passed the roll twice around the man’s head, taping his mouth shut and covering his eyes and ears. Dell took the roll and passed it completely around the radio operator’s body, taping his hands to his back.
“I think that ought to do it,” Dell said. “What do we do with him? He’s going to wake up soon.”
Cat went to the bookshelf and found the handle to the closet door. He opened the door, then went and helped Dell drag the man into the closet. The little room was filled with canvas bags, and they placed several on top of him. “By the time anybody starts looking for him, we’ll be gone,” Cat said.
“This is what I want,” Dell said, opening one of the bags. “How much do you think is in here?”
“From the looks of it, I’d say four million, maybe five,” Cat said. “I got two million into a large briefcase.”
Dell slung the bag over his shoulder. “Okay, I’m happy,” he said. “Where’s Jinx?”
“Prince is bringing her to the tennis courts at seven, and Meg and I will bring her from there. You get out of here and down to where the helicopter is. I’m going to try and contact somebody on the radio.”
“Can you handle it alone? Is there anything I can do?”
Cat laughed. “You know, this is the first time in a long time we’ve done anything together.”
Dell laughed, too.
“Come on, I’ll go to the door with you.” He led the way out of the communications room, across the foyer to the front door. He opened it and peered out into the darkness, then turned to Dell. “Looks clear. Be careful, I saw a guard on the veranda earlier.”
“Don’t worry,” Dell said.
Cat put his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “I will worry, until we’re all out of here,” he said. “The pilot should be down there by eight. I’ll try to be there about then. Stay in the bush and keep a sharp eye out for us.”
“Okay, Dad.”
It had been a long time since Dell had called him that. Cat wanted to say more, but he pushed his son through the door and waved him off. Cat watched him disappear into the darkness, then turned and went back to the communications room. He switched off the music and picked up the microphone of the high-frequency set. The frequency had been tuned in, but the set was not on. He pushed the power button and waited impatiently for it to warm up. Soon there was a crackle of static. Cat turned down the volume and picked up a headset, switching off the speaker.
“Marine operator, marine operator, marine operator,” he said into the microphone. A distant garble of voices reached his ears, but no one replied. Cat double-checked the frequency. He knew it by heart from calling from Catbird. “Marine operator, marine operator, marine operator,” he said again. No voice came back.
Cat sat before the set for half an hour, sweating, calling and calling, with no response. He looked around the room for a list of other marine operators but found none. A hint of light began to show in the sky outside the window. He switched the frequency to 2182, the international emergency channel. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,” he said into the microphone. “Does anybody read me?”
He released the key and waited. No response. The Atlantic must be full of merchant ships, who are supposed to monitor this frequency, he thought, but it’s early morning, and nobody’s listening. He tried again and again. Was the whole world asleep? It was getting to be daylight now.
Suddenly, someone walked past the window. Cat didn’t see who; it had just been a shape. Then he heard the scrape of a key in a lock and a rattle as the front door of the building opened. There were footsteps on the marble floor of the foyer, then a voice caused Cat to jump. “Yo, there, you alive?”
“Yo,” Cat called back. “All’s well.”
“I’ll bring you some coffee as soon as it’s made.”
“Thanks,” Cat replied.
The footsteps receded across the foyer and another door opened and closed. Cat knew he was all out of time. He had one other shot, he thought. He reached up and switched on the aircraft radio and tuned it to 121.5, the aircraft emergency frequency. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,” he said into the microphone. He waited thirty seconds, then repeated the call. Suddenly, a voice, amazingly loud, leapt out at him.
“This is Avianca 401 to aircraft calling Mayday,” a voice said in heavily accented English. “What is your position?”
Cat’s heart leapt. “I am on the ground approximately one hundred and forty-five nautical miles northeast of Leticia VOR, on approximately the zero one zero radial. Do you read?”
“I read one four five nautical from Leticia, zero one zero radial. Is that correct?”
“Affirmative.”
“What is your trouble? Have you crashed?”
“Yes, I have crashed, but I and my party of three are alive. Can you transmit a message to Bogotá for me?”
“Affirmative. We are en route from Buenos Aires to Bogotá, arriving in one hour fifty minutes.” The voice was growing weaker. It was obviously a jet travelling fast.
“Can you transmit to Bogotá?”
“Affirmative. I will ask for a search.”
“No, listen. I do not need a search. Instead, ask Bogotá to telephone the American Embassy and ask for the duty officer. Do you read?”
“Your transmission is broken now. You say call the American Embassy?”
“Affirmative,” Cat said, speaking as rapidly as he could. “Tell them to contact Barry Hedger, that’s Hotel, Echo, Delta, Golf, Echo, Romeo. Do you read?”
“I didn’t get that. Spell again, please.”
Cat spelled again, desperate for the man to get it right. “Tell them to contact Hedger wherever he is — repeat, wherever he is, and give him that position. Extreme emergency. My name is Cat. Charlie, Alpha, Tango. Do you read?”
A garbled voice answered. Cat could only get about every fourth word.
“I will leave my key open on 121.5 and 2182,” Cat said, praying the pilot could hear him. “Over and out.”