White Cargo Read online

  Critical Acclaim for Stuart Woods

  THE RUN

  “Suspenseful and thoughtful . . . As usual, Woods has laid out a smooth, fast pace, a plot with visceral scenes, and twists and turns that dare the reader to try and figure out what will come next.”

  Florida Times-Union

  “Stuart Woods has a successful thriller formula: take a nice guy, put him in a tough situation, add some real bad guys and a dollop of sex. We know the nice guy is going to win, but Woods’s talent is keeping an edge.”

  Toronto Globe & Mail

  “The prolific Woods returns to his roots . . . . Lee would probably make a great president.”

  Publishers Weekly

  WORST FEARS REALIZED

  “Worst Fears Realized is one of his winners, starting fast and picking up speed . . . . The story is slick, taut, and well-told. It will delight Woods’s many fans.”

  Cleveland Plain Dealer

  “Excellent . . . . A fun read for fans of undercover agents who get plenty of action under the covers . . . . There’s plenty of excitement as Stone and Dino race around New York chasing a killer.”

  USA Today

  “With sharply drawn characters, a plot that’s satisfying to the last dirty deed, and a story that flows with the effortless grace attained only by a master, this seductive novel will have readers twitching with suspense.”

  Library Journal

  “Woods . . . can write smart dialogue and knows how to pace.”

  Publishers Weekly

  ORCHID BEACH

  “An action-packed puzzler.” People magazine Page-Turner of the Week “Barker—tough and tight-lipped—is fun to watch.”

  Entertainment Weekly

  “Smooth and satisfying.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “An entertaining suspense story . . . Barker is tough when she needs to be, and clever and persistent in following her hunches.”

  School Library Journal

  SWIMMING TO CATALINA

  “This enjoyable, star-dusted plunge into Hollywood’s dark side agreeably melds ’90s glitz with classic noir.”

  People magazine

  “Outstanding . . . After nearly two dozen books, Woods can still surprise readers, not only with clever plots and characters, but also with his knowledge of everything from aeronautics to yachtsmanship . . . . A highly entertaining read that’s chock-full of slam-bang action, fast cars, beautiful women, fine wine, and tart, tongue-in-cheek humor.”

  Booklist

  “A heck of a plot, intrigue, and cover-up between the first and last page.”

  San Antonio Express News

  “A fast-paced thriller . . . A tight storyline that never loses focus while barreling to an exciting finale . . . . Woods . . . keeps readers interested.”

  Rocky Mountain News

  UNDER THE LAKE

  “Part detective story, part ghost story, part Southern gothic . . . It scared the living hell out of me!”

  Stephen King

  “Keeps you turning page after page.”

  Washington Post

  “Another gem . . . A book to read and get chills from on even the hottest day!”

  San Diego Union

  “A marvelous book . . . One of the best I’ve read in a long, long time.”

  Andrew Greeley

  “A blockbuster certain to keep you turning the pages long into the night.”

  Macon-Telegraph and News

  “Never a dull moment as the story surges toward its exciting climax.”

  Publishers Weekly

  DEEP LIE

  “One of the most readable espionage novels since The Hunt for Red October!”

  Atlanta Journal-Constitution

  “Vibrating with tension and nonstop action.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “An amazingly original thriller!”

  Richard Condon, author of Prizzi’s Honor

  “Terrific.”

  Pat Conroy

  “Hooks you fast with a first chapter so chilling it almost clanks cold chains on your spine . . . . A crackling good story.”

  San Francisco Chronicle

  “A great idea for an espionage thriller . . . I read the thing in one gulp.”

  Houston Chronicle

  “A whale of a story.”

  New York Times

  “High-stakes espionage . . . A solid winner.”

  United Press International

  DEAD IN THE WATER

  “Fast-paced, filled with enough humor, sex and clever surprises all the way to the last page to make it thoroughly entertaining amusement.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “A man lost at sea, a small airplane crash, some impassioned sexual antics, and a tropical island . . . One of [his] best . . . Woods is a pro and this goes by like a summer breeze, with just enough heat to make you sweat.”

  Detroit News

  “Trying to make this neat tale last more than one sitting would be like staying up all night nursing a Godiva truffle.”

  Kirkus Reviews (*Starred Review*)

  DIRT

  “Blackmail, murder, suspense, love—what else could you want in a book?”

  Cosmopolitan

  “This slickly entertaining suspenser displays Woods at the top of his game . . . . Woods delivers a marvelously sophisticated, thoroughly modern, old-fashioned read.”

  Publishers Weekly (*Starred Review*)

  CHOKE

  “Woods knows how to keep the narrative pace in overdrive . . . An entertaining page-turner.”

  New York Times Book Review

  “A real page-turner with surprises along the way.”

  Boston Globe

  “Woods is a no-nonsense, slam-bang storyteller.”

  Chicago Tribune

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  This book is for

  Pitts Carr

  who made it necessary

  for me to learn to fly.

  1

  WENDELL CATLEDGE SAT UP AND SQUINTED AT THE SMUDGE ON the horizon. It should not have been a surprise, he thought, but it was. The boat slid smoothly along in the light wind, and even the slight movement made it hard to focus on the shape, but it wasn’t a ship or an oil rig, and in the early morning light, it seemed to be pink. He pulled at his beard and ran a hand through his h
air, which was a good six months overdue for cutting. Hell, it just might be, it just might be what he guessed it was.

  He glanced at the sails, left the autopilot in charge, and climbed down the companionway ladder to the navigation station. As he slid into the chart table seat he allowed himself yet another look at his instrument array. It was all there—full Brookes & Gatehouse electronics, VHF and SSB radios, loran, Satnav, Weatherfax, a compact personal computer, and his own brainchild and namesake, the Cat One printer. That little machine had brought him all this—the yacht, the gear, and the time to sail. Cat had waked up one morning and realized that, after nearly thirty years in electronics, he was an overnight success. He gave the printer a fatherly pat and turned to his chart of the southern Caribbean.

  He pushed a button on the loran and got a readout of longitude and latitude, then plotted the coordinates on his chart and confirmed his suspicion. They were south of their course from Antigua to Panama and the Canal, and the smudge on the horizon wasn’t all that far off the rhumb line. A tiny thrill ran through him. This is what it’s all about, he thought, that little thrill of discovery, pushing back the boundaries, punching through the envelope. He laughed aloud to himself, then he banged his flat palm onto the chart table.

  “All hands on deck!” he shouted, grabbing the binoculars and starting for the companionway ladder. “All hands on deck!” he yelled again, pausing in the hatchway, “Come on, everybody, shake it!” There was a rustling noise from the after cabin and a loud thump from the forepeak. He raised the glasses and focused on the distant, pink smudge. It was. It was, indeed.

  Katie was the first into the cockpit, rubbing her eyes. Jinx was a step or two behind, having paused long enough to find a life jacket. “What is it, Cat? What’s wrong?” his wife demanded.

  “What’s going on, Daddy?” Jinx yelled, wide-eyed.

  He was pleased that, in her excitement, Jinx had forgotten to call him Cat. When she addressed him as an equal, it reminded him she was growing up—had grown up. “Right over there,” he said, pointing at the smudge.

  Both women squinted at the horizon, shielding their eyes from the sun, which was now just above the horizon, big and hot.

  “What is it?” Jinx demanded. “I can only see sort of a smudge.”

  “That’s South America, kid,” he replied. “Never let it be said your old man didn’t show you South America.”

  She turned to him, a look of astonished disgust spreading over her face. “You mean you got me out of the sack for that?” She turned to her mother and shrugged, spreading her hands.

  “For Christ’s sake, Cat,” his wife said, “I thought we were sinking.” Both women turned back toward the companionway.

  “Hey, wait a minute, guys,” Cat said, thrusting the chart toward them, “that smudge is the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, a little mountain range that goes up to nearly nineteen thousand feet; that’s the La Guajira Peninsula of Colombia out there; just south of it is the fabled Venezuelan port of Maracaibo. Doesn’t that name send a chill right through you?”

  “It sends a yawn right through me,” Jinx said, yawning.

  “No, wait a minute, kitten,” Katie said to her daughter. “Look at it through the glasses. Your father didn’t bring us all this way to miss this sort of thing.”

  Jinx took the binoculars and looked through them at the smudge. “Gee,” she said, flatly, “you’re right, it’s a mountain. I’ve never seen a mountain before.” She handed the glasses back to her mother.

  Katie raised the glasses to her eyes. “You’re right, it’s a mountain. I’ve never seen a mountain before, either. Wow.” She handed the binoculars back to Cat. “Can we go back to bed now?”

  “Aw, listen, I know it’s early, but you’ve got to get into the spirit. How would you like to have lunch in Colombia? How about that for a little unscheduled adventure?”

  “I thought you were anxious to get through the Canal,” Katie replied.

  “Well, what the hell? It’s not much out of the way, and we need to get that alternator fixed, you know. No more showers or microwave or hair dryer until we can charge the batteries again, and all that stuff in the freezer is going to go, too.” The alternator had been down for two days, and they didn’t have a spare. “Take a look here, both of you,” Cat said, spreading the chart on a cockpit seat. “Here’s Santa Marta, just down here. It’s a commercial port, and they’re bound to have some sort of electrical repair place there.”

  “Listen, I don’t like what I hear about Colombia,” Katie said. “All I hear is pickpockets and drugs and stuff. Sounds like a pretty rough place to me.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers,” Cat replied. “Hell, lots of people go there all the time. It’s just like any other place; a few of them get ripped off, sure. We’ve been in neighborhoods in Atlanta that were probably as dangerous as anything in Santa Marta.”

  “I don’t know, Cat.”

  “Listen, Mom,” Jinx broke in, “I don’t mind getting ripped off if I can use the shower pump again. My hair is terminally dirty.”

  “Come on, Katie,” Cat cajoled, “we’ll be there in time for lunch, we’ll get the alternator fixed, and we’ll be back at sea again by dinnertime. What do you say?”

  Katie shrugged. “Well, okay,” she said, reluctantly, “I guess I could use a shower, myself.”

  “You’re on,” Cat said, switching off the autopilot. “Showers for everybody. Stand by to come about.” He put the helm over, tacked the boat, sheeted in the headsail, and, using his palm across the compass rose on the chart, set a rough course for Santa Marta. The women started below.

  “You want some breakfast?” Katie called back.

  “Well, as long as you’re up,” Cat grinned.

  “Oh, I’m up, all right.”

  “So am I,” Jinx echoed. “I’ll give you a hand with the pancakes. You do want pancakes, don’t you, Cat?”

  “Need you ask?” Katie said. “He really needs to put on some weight.” They disappeared below.

  Cat placed an exploratory hand on his belly. Well, maybe he was getting a little thick about the middle, but hell, he was hungry. He wasn’t sure what he weighed at the moment, but he reckoned it must be at least twenty pounds over his usual two hundred and twenty. He was a tall man, though, six-three in his bare feet; he could carry a few more pounds.

  He sat back, steered the boat by hand, and tried to think if he had ever been happier. He had not. He had thought he was too old to be this happy. He’d had the boat built in Finland by Nautor and shipped to Fort Lauderdale, where he had supervised the installation of the electronics himself. Katie and Jinx had joined him, and they’d shaken the boat down, cruising down the islands as far as Antigua before reprovisioning and starting for the Canal. Once through, they would take a few days to haul the boat out, scrub the bottom, and make any last-minute repairs before pointing toward the South Pacific. After that they would have another eighteen months of his two-year leave of absence from the business to circumnavigate the world.

  Jinx came up the companionway ladder with orange juice and coffee on a tray and sat beside him, bracing her feet on the cockpit seat opposite. She seemed to be wearing only a T-shirt; the girl rarely bothered with underwear, and it made Cat nervous. Never mind that he had powdered her bottom and changed her a thousand times; at eighteen, she was tall, slender, and full-breasted, just like her mother, and even more beautiful—heart-stoppingly beautiful. Cat was afraid that some movie agent was going to capture her out of a university theater production and whisk her off to be a starlet. Cat had a theory that beautiful women were at a disadvantage in the world, that once their looks opened a few doors, they would be exploited and used up while they were young and left with no better alternative than marriage to the richest and least unattractive man available. He had seen these women in bars and around hotel swimming pools, worrying about the sag of their breasts and the wrinkles at the corners of their eyes, contemplating the latest cosmetic surg
ery. Jinx was a smart kid, and he wanted her to have a career that would give her some independence and self-esteem. When she had graduated from high school, he’d taken her aside. She had laughed aloud at his concerns.

  “Me a cheerleader, entering beauty contests? Come on, Cat, you know me better than that!”

  He was glad to postpone her college for a couple of years and show her some of the world. More than that, he was glad to have her close to him for a little while longer before she flew the coop entirely. Cat didn’t know whether she was still a virgin, and he wasn’t about to ask her, but he thought the chances were good that she was. They’d always kept a tight rein on her, and she had usually accepted their judgment with good grace. Not that she had been unduly sheltered; she’d had a full social life in high school, but none of the weekend house parties with fraternity boys three and four years older, none of the drinking and drug use. She expressed contempt for all that. There was a quiet wisdom about Jinx that contrasted sharply with her line of bright patter and her extraordinary, dark beauty. There was also a naïveté—Cat thought she was still not fully aware of the effect her bun-revealing shorts and tiny bikinis had on the opposite sex, not excluding himself. For all her native intelligence, she was still very much the child-woman. These two years of sailing were going to be precious to him—the rare gift of an extension of what had always been a remarkably close father-daughter relationship.

  They sailed along quietly for a couple of minutes, then, without any warning, she said, “Daddy, what about Dell?”

  Cat’s stomach knotted at the sound of his son’s name. “What about him?”

  “Why don’t you call him from Santa Marta and ask him to meet us in Panama? You know what a great crew he is.”

  “I don’t think Dell is interested in sailing these days. Besides, he’d probably get arrested going through customs.”

  “Cat, you need to patch it up with him,” she said, gravely.

  “Wrong, Jinx,” Cat replied, quickly, “Dell needs to patch it up with the world. How can I possibly patch it up with him while he’s doing what he’s doing? Are we going to have big, family Sunday dinners and worry about the cops busting in on us? Am I going to take him sailing through a dozen foreign ports and have to sweat getting busted in customs every time?”