couple agreed, and once over North Bimini, Cat began pointing out various places of curiosity. The Stairs of Atlantis. The area of ocean where the famous “Flight 19” was thought to have gone down. An oval reef formation called UFO Rock. And finally, an isolated island the locals called “Via-grass Cay.”
The banker asked Cat the meaning of its name.
Cat explained the people who lived on the island had cultivated a strain of marijuana that, in addition to providing a long-lasting high, also was an herbal Viagra.
This was a full-blown symphony to the banker’s ears. He quickly asked Cat how he could buy some of the weed.
Cat remained coy. He’d done this before.
“It’s impossible to get,” he replied. “The people who live down there are very picky who they share it with.”
By this time, Cat had turned the plane back to the southwest and was heading for Alice Town, where the couple’s chartered yacht awaited.
But the banker was insistent.
“There must be a way,” he said, slipping five hundred-dollar bills into Cat’s shirt pocket. “Am I right?”
* * *
THEY LANDED TWO minutes later. Cat taxied up to the waiting yacht and helped the pair unload their luggage, including the girl’s sizable jewelry case.
As she climbed aboard the yacht, Cat pulled the banker aside.
Cat asked him: “Where will you be tonight?”
“We’ll be moored near an island called Thomas Cay,” the banker replied. “Do you know it? Real isolated. No one around to interfere.”
Cat nodded. “I know the place. If I can snag a bag for you, I’ll fly it in after dark. If I can’t, I’ll return this five spot when I fly you folks home in three days. Deal?”
“Deal.”
They shook hands and Cat returned to the floatplane.
Waving merrily to the couple, he took off, circled the yacht once, then headed back to Fort Lauderdale.
* * *
HE MET HIS next two customers at 11 A.M.
They were a middle-aged couple from Arizona. He was an author; she was his research assistant. He wrote books on the Bermuda Triangle and its alleged UFO connection—but his latest book was in trouble. Because he had nothing really new to say on the topic and no photos of any consequence, he’d written the book at home in Tucson, fabricating all of it. His publisher had caught a whiff of the hoax and demanded an authentic book or a return of the hefty advance.
Desperate, the pair had hired a small research vessel to cruise around the Bahamas in an effort to find something—anything—to write about, all without wanting their publisher to know. They were especially looking for photographs of UFOs, which as hard as they might be to provide, were by now being demanded by the publisher.
The flight over to the Bahamas was a bit tense, though Cat gradually filled it with small talk about seeing strange lights in the skies over the Bahamas for years. In fact, he said, he’d taken many pictures of them himself.
By the time they touched down near the Great Harbour Cays, the author was begging to buy Cat’s UFO photos at $250 an image.
“Tell me where you’ll be tonight,” Cat suggested, helping unload the couple’s luggage onto their leased yacht. “I’ll fly back with the photos. If you like them, then we can talk.”
* * *
CAT’S NEXT CUSTOMER flew out of Fort Lauderdale at 2 P.M.
He was a professional sports fisherman from Alabama. A lucrative tournament was being held in the Bahamas in two weeks. It was going to be televised and would award large cash prizes. The fisherman wanted to get to the islands early and relax before the tourney.
Or at least that was his story. A few minutes after taking off, the fisherman admitted the contest was to be held at a yet-to-be-disclosed location somewhere off South Bimini. His plan was to go around the South Bimini islands in his rented boat looking for likely places and trying his best to get a feel for them. It was a violation of the contest rules—which was why he’d hired Cat to fly him over. Again, no paper trail.
“I might know a better way,” Cat told him.
“Which is?” the man asked.
“I’m flying a couple of that tourney’s judges out here in a few days,” he said. “And they’ve already faxed me a list of their destinations. One of them must be where the tourney is being held, right?”
The fishermen couldn’t believe his luck.
“How much?” he asked.
“I couldn’t take anything,” Cat protested weakly.
“Consider it a tip, a bonus,” the fisherman said.
“Tell me where you’re