The Five Arrows

  _Chapter fifteen_

  Hall had time to buy a paper at the Havana airport before the Panair busstarted out for the city. In the half-light of evening, he could readonly the headlines, and the front page carried nothing about Tabio'scondition. It meant only one thing, that Don Anibal was still alive. Hisdeath would have rated a banner headline in every paper published southof the United States borders.

  He folded the paper under his sealed attache case, sat wearily back inhis seat as the half-empty bus rolled through the flat table landsbetween the airport and Havana. It was a run of fifteen miles fromRancho Boyeros to the Prado, a stretch long enough to give Hall anotheropportunity to review in his mind the nature of the tasks that lay aheadof him.

  Physically, there were few details which could trap him. Duarte had beenvery thorough, even to the point of bringing Mexican labels for Jerry tosew into every item of apparel on Hall's body and in his Mexican leathergrip. The credentials in his worn Mexican wallet had carried him throughthe control stations of four governments, including the station in SanJuan (although the night in Puerto Rico had been a jittery twelve hoursof sulking in his room like a caged animal). He wore a hat and a pair ofsoft ankle boots which belonged to Duarte, and a pair of broad-framedtortoise-shell reading glasses he had borrowed from Dr. Gonzales. Theattache case, protected by the Mexican seal, contained the pictures ofAndrotten, a letter from Duarte to a man named Figueroa in the MexicanEmbassy, and the automatic Segador had given him the day after he wasdrugged.

  It was too late to report to the Mexican Embassy and deliver the letterto Figueroa. But the Casa de la Cultura would be open (there werelectures and meetings of some sort going on every night at the SpanishRepublican society), the boys on the staff of _Ahora_ would be at theirdesks at the paper, and Colonel Lobo could always be reached within afew hours. The idea was to contact all three tonight; if the documentarybomb which would blow up Ansaldo was anywhere in Havana, it would beeither at the Casa, the paper, or in the files of the Secret Police.

  His heart quickened as the bus reached the narrow streets of Havana,honked its way to the Maceo, and then turned lazily down the Prado. Heloved this city as he loved only two others, New York and Madrid. In thecourse of nearly four decades, Hall had spent a mere four months inHavana, but these were months in which he rarely got more than fourhours' sleep a night. He had worked hard in this city, but for ahundred-odd nights he had also known the fantastic pleasures of merelywalking the streets of the Cuban capital, talking to friends, stoppingoff to rest and have a tropical beer or a tall glass of mamey pulp,getting drunk only on the green softness of the Havana moon and the coolpleasures of the Gulf breeze. Here he had found old friends from Spain,and made new and life-long friendships with a host of Cubans. He knew,when he last left Havana, that the city had become one of his spiritualhomes, that always he would think of it as a place to which he couldreturn when he wanted the peace which comes to a man from being where hebelongs.

  As they approached the Panair office, Hall became apprehensive. He wasafraid that he might be recognized by one of the clerks. He dug into hiswallet for an American two-dollar bill and handed it to the driver."Take me directly to the Jefferson Hotel, _chico_," he said. "It is onlytwo streets out of your way."

  "I won't get shot if I do, _amigo_."

  He chose the Jefferson because it was a small, ancient and veryunfashionable hotel, without a bar, and completely overlooked by theAmerican colony. It was also very inexpensive, just the kind of a placea new courier, anxious to make a good record, would choose. It was onthe Prado, it was clean, and the bills were modest enough to reflect tothe credit of the government traveler who submitted them. Not the leastof its charms for Hall was that the Jefferson was the one place where hestood not the slightest chance of being known by either the guests orthe employees.

  He signed the register with a modest flourish, insisted upon andobtained a reduced rate due to his standing as a courier, and then,spotting the large safe in the office behind the counter, he asked forthe manager. "I am," he said, flourishing his identity papers, "acourier of the Mexican Government. Since I have arrived too late topresent myself to my Embassy tonight, could I ask for the privilege ofdepositing my case in your safe for the night?"

  The manager said he would be honored to oblige. He had, he said,traveled widely in Mexico, and admired the Mexican people, the MexicanGovernment, and most of all Senor Ortiz Tinoco's Department of ForeignRelations, and did the visitor expect to make frequent stops in Havana?The visitor assured the manager that he did.

  The case was handed to the night clerk, who opened the safe, depositedit, and closed the heavy iron door. "It will be as safe," the managersaid, "as the gold in the teeth of a Gallego."

  "That," said Hall, "is security enough for me."

  He got into the rickety elevator and went to his room. It was a largeroom overlooking the Prado. He opened the shutters, looked out at thestar-drenched skies. He was home again. Outside, juke boxes in threedifferent open cafes on one street were playing three records withmaximum volume. A baby in the next room was lying alone and cooing atthe ceiling. Near by, a light roused a rooster on some rooftop to letout a loud call.

  Hall heard the sounds of the city as they blended into the tone patternpeculiarly Havana's own. He took a quick shower, changed into some freshclothes, and went downstairs to the Prado. He stopped first at a cigarstand a few doors from the hotel, bought a handful of choice cigars, andlit a long and very dark Partagas, being careful to remember that onlygringos removed the cigar band before lighting up.

  He walked casually down the Prado, toward the Malecon, pausing in thecourse of the four blocks between the Casa de la Cultura and theJefferson to study the stills in the lobby of a movie house showing anAmerican film, to sip a leisurely pot of coffee, and to buy a box of waxmatches and a lottery ticket from a street vendor. From the street, hecould see that the windows of the Casa were well lighted. He walkedanother block, crossed the street, and then, very casually, he studiedthe signs on the street entrance to the organization's headquarters._Tonight: Lecture on History of Music by Professor A. Vasquez. Dance andball for young people._ And why shouldn't a bachelor courier on theloose in Havana attend a dance for the young _refugiados_? He wentthrough the motions of a visiting blade debating with himself thepropriety of attending such a ball.

  Squaring his shoulders, the Mexican courier put the cigar in his mouthand started to climb the stairs to the headquarters of the Casa. Heclimbed slowly, afraid of receiving too enthusiastic a greeting when hereached the first-floor landing.

  There was a light in the small meeting room at the end of the corridor.Hall stood near the door for a few minutes, listening for a familiarvoice through the opened transom. Then, carefully, he knocked, andturned the handle of the door. It was open.

  He stepped into a meeting of a small committee. Eight men were sittingaround a long table. They were talking about the problems of gettinghelp to the Spaniards in the French concentration camps in North Africa.All discussion stopped the moment the confreres saw Hall.

  "I am looking," he said, "for Santiago Iglesias."

  A tawny-haired Spaniard at the table looked up. "_Viejo!_" he shouted,springing from his chair and rushing over to confront Hall.

  The right hand which rose to take the cigar from Hall's mouth alsolingered long enough to hold an admonishing finger to his lips. "Hello,Rafael," he said. "I didn't know you were in Cuba."

  Rafael was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Neither did Franco," helaughed. "Last week I found out for the first time that the fascists hadjailed you and that you got out after the war. I thought you were dead,M..."

  The look in Hall's eyes stopped him from pronouncing the rest of theAmerican's name.

  "Let's go outside," Hall said, softly. "I do not have much time."

  They stepped into the corridor. "Where can we talk?" Hall asked. "Isanyone using Santiago's office?"

  "No. We can sit there."

  They found the office unoc
cupied. "Don't turn the light on," Hall said."The window faces the street."

  Rafael locked the door, pulled two seats close to the big desk in thecorner. "We can sit here and talk quietly," he said.

  "It's wonderful to see you, Rafael. I'd heard you were captured in ahospital during the Ebro retreat."

  "_Mierda!_ That's what the fascists boasted. No. I came out of theretreat in good order. I started with thirty men, but, instead of takingto the roads like the Lincolns, I started to cross the mountains. I wentup with thirty men, and I came down on the other side with a battalion.Most of them got through alive after that."

  "Good boy! Where have you been since then?"

  "In hell!" Rafael spat, angrily. "Rotting in a French concentrationcamp, mostly. I organized an escape. We killed six guards, and more thantwenty prisoners got away. I got to Casablanca through the underground,and they put me on a Chilean ship. Two weeks ago we reached Havana. I'mto eat and rest for a month. Then I go back to Spain for more fighting.With the guerrillas. When did you get here?"

  "An hour ago. Listen, I want to talk to you. But it is important that wefind Santiago. Is he in town?"

  "Yes. He is supposed to be at our meeting. He'll be here."

  "Can you go back and leave word for him to join you in here the minutehe comes? It's very important."

  Rafael jumped from his chair, struck an absurd caricature of militaryposture, and made a limp French salute, his hand resting languidlyagainst his ear. "_Mais oui, mon general_," he said. "_Mais oui, oui,oui._" He marched stiffly out of the room, posing at the door to make anobscene gesture meant for the men of Vichy.

  He glided noiselessly back to the dark office in a few minutes, wavedHall's proffered cigar away. "I can't smoke any more. We had nothing tosmoke the last year in Spain, and Monsieur Daladier and Company neversent us any tobacco. Now I just can't stand it. I walk around Havana andeveryone offers me cigars, but I've lost my taste for it."

  "It will come back, Rafael."

  "Why are you in Havana, Mateo?"

  "It is a long story, _chico_. I'd rather tell you in front of Santiago.It's about Anibal Tabio. I left San Hermano two nights ago. Things areserious, there. Falange."

  "Is Tabio really so ill?"

  "He is dying, _chico_. He may be dead by now. I think he was killed bythe Falange. I came here for the proof. Santiago knows. We've exchangedletters."

  "_Hola!_" Santiago Iglesias was at the door. "Then you got my letters?"He was ten years older than Rafael, tall and powerfully built. Hecrossed the room in long, athlete's strides, his head thrown back as ifto announce to the world that the white hairs which outnumbered theblack of his head were merely an accident of the war.

  "I knew you would understand," Hall said.

  "What happens?"

  "Don Anibal is dying. I think Ansaldo did it."

  "He is a fascist, Mateo. You were absolutely right."

  "How do you know? I need the proof immediately."

  "There is a man in town who was trapped behind Franco's lines for twoyears. He knew Ansaldo well."

  "That is good--for you and me. But it is not enough. There is too muchat stake."

  "I guessed as much, Mateo. General Mogrado sent a message from MexicoCity a few days ago. He wanted the information also. I took this man inHavana and we went to a lawyer and he made a long affidavit aboutAnsaldo. Mogrado has the affidavit by this time."

  "Who is this man? Is he well known?"

  "No, Mateo. He was a minor official of the Ministry of Commerce. I havea copy of his affidavit, and you can meet him tomorrow if you wish. Heis staying with relatives in Marianao."

  "Let us try to see him tomorrow. But I need much more than hisaffidavit. I need more than anything else a picture of Ansaldo inFalange uniform, a picture that shows him with officers of Germany andItaly. I was in Burgos when the picture was taken--and I have a feelingthat the picture is right here in Havana."

  "Here? In Havana?"

  "Listen, _companeros_. I saw the _Arriba_ man take that picture. I wasstanding a hundred feet away. It was in the spring or summer of 1938,"Hall said. "I know you have the complete file of _Arriba_ here."

  "No, Mateo. We do not."

  The blood left Hall's head. "You don't?" he said. "But when I was herewe ..."

  "It is the complete file of _Arriba_ of Madrid since April of 1939,Mateo. Since Franco entered Madrid, _amigo_."

  "And before that?"

  "There are some, but not a complete file. They have many fascist papersat _Ahora_, and at the University there is Dr. Nazario with his personalcollection of fascist publications. It is very large, and it goes backto 1935 in some cases, but it has many empty places."

  "And the Secret Police? What has Colonel Lobo got?"

  "Dossiers and documents. But papers--who knows?"

  "I'll be back in Madrid in a month," Rafael said. "I can go back soonerif it will help the cause, Mateo. There is surely a complete filethere."

  "No, thank you, Rafael, but I need the picture in a few hours." He toldthem why the pictures were needed, and how they would be used if hecould find them.

  "Don't worry," Santiago said. "There are three collections to examine,and in the meanwhile we might get some further clues from de Sola. He isa very intelligent fellow. I'll put him to work on Dr. Nazario'scollection in the morning. Rafael, tonight you go to _Ahora_. Go throughtheir Spanish collection, and then examine their files of _Arriba_ ofHavana. The local _Arriba_ used more pictures than an American magazine,and most of them came from Franco Spain. You'd better go right now."

  "I'll be there in ten minutes. Shall I tell them what it's about,Mateo?"

  "No, I'll tell them myself. I'm here on false papers. Just warn themthat if they see me on the street I'm not to be recognized. But I'll seethem before I leave."

  "I'm going to call Lobo," Hall said. "At the very least his dossiers aremore official than de Sola's affidavit."

  Santiago shoved the phone toward Hall. "I was going to suggest itmyself. Do you remember the number?"

  "Of course."

  There was no answer at Lobo's house. Hall called the headquarters of theNational Police. "I want to reach Colonel Lobo," he said to the man whoanswered his call.

  "We no longer have a Colonel Lobo."

  "What?"

  "We have a General Lobo, senor."

  "Where is he?"

  "Who is this speaking?"

  "Who am I?" Hall hesitated. "If he's there, just tell him it's JohnnyVerde Luna. He'll know who it is." Lobo called all Americans Johnny;Verde Luna was a horse he and Hall had played for three straight weeksat the Hipodromo until it romped home in front at the longest odds inten years.

  "I will, Mr. Johnny Green Moon," the other man said, in English. "When Isee him tomorrow."

  "I don't understand you, senor. I ..."

  "He is not here, senor."

  "I know. Don't tell me where he is. But do you know?"

  "That depends."

  "Listen to me, my friend," Hall said, his voice rising angrily, "I haveno time to play games. If you know where he is, find him and give him mymessage. I'll call you every fifteen minutes until you get word fromhim."

  "Yes, senor. I will do what I can. Where can I call you?"

  "Never mind. I will call you." Hall hung up. "A clown!" he muttered.

  "I forgot to tell you that Lobo is now a general."

  "When did it happen?"

  "Last week. It came as a reward for breaking up the Pinar del RioNazi-Falange ring. You know, the one that was in radio contact with theGerman submarines."

  "I remember it well." Hall had worked with Lobo in rooting the spy ringout. "I wonder where the hell he is?"

  "Who knows? But listen, Mateo, I know a man who knows all of Lobo'shangouts. Suppose I send him out to look?"

  "Excellent. Just tell him to give Lobo this message--that he is the onlyman who can save the life of Don Anibal Tabio. Eh?"

  "We'll try it. Wait here for me. I'll be right back."

&nb
sp; Hall started to tell Santiago the whole story of his experiences in SanHermano when the Spaniard returned to the office. As soon as hementioned the fact that Ansaldo's assistant Marina was a morphineaddict, Santiago interrupted him.

  "_Hijo de la gran puta!_ I think I know him. Wait, I'll describe him. Iknow him, all right, Mateo. Wait, I'll close the shutters. Then we canturn on the light. I think I have his picture in this room."

  "Who is he, Santiago?"

  "Just a second. That's better." He turned on the small desk light."Let's go to the files."

  The Spaniard took a set of keys from his pocket, opened a heavy doorbehind the desk and snapped on the light in a small store room. Hestepped in front of a row of steel filing cabinets, opened one withanother key. "He used another name in Spain--and in Paris. I know it'sthe same man. Called himself Marcelino Gassau in 1937. Wait. Here itis."

  "It's the _maricon_!" Hall cried when he saw the picture Santiago drewfrom the file.

  "I knew it."

  Hall glanced at his watch. "Just a second. I'm going to call Lobo back.It's time. Let's bring the whole file on the bastard out to the desk."

  The man at police headquarters had no news of Lobo. "I'll call youback," Hall said. "Keep trying him."

  "So Gassau is your Marina," Santiago laughed. "We knew him well, the_cabron_. He was working in Portugal and Berlin as a liaison betweenSanjurjo and von Faupel in 1935 and 1936. Then, when the war started, hewent to Paris, the coward, spying on the German anti-fascists who wereon their way to fight with the Thaelmanns in Spain. He posed as acontact man for the U.G.T., and then he'd lead the Germans straight tothe French police and notify the German Embassy. Then the Nazis wouldstart to complain that they were criminals who escaped from Germanprisons and claim them back. Not one of the poor devils ever got toSpain, but some of them were ultimately turned over to the GermanGovernment and killed. It's all in this file."

  "What else can I find here?"

  "Not too much. He made a trip to Barcelona in 1937. The authoritiesarrested him, but his friends got the British consulate to make aspecial plea for his release, and the damned fools gave in and let himgo. After that he went to Argentina, but he returned to Madrid in May of1939."

  The papers contained a detailed record of the fascist agent's crimesagainst the Republic, and ended with a clipping from _Informaciones_ ofMadrid which revealed that Gassau-Marina was one of ten men to bedecorated by the Falangist Government for distinguished service duringthe three years of the war. A footnote to this list said thatGassau-Marina was one of the three men decorated that day who hadpreviously been awarded the Order of the German Eagle, Second Class, byGerman Ambassador to Spain, General Wilhelm von Faupel.

  "This will help," Hall said. "It's a good start."

  "There's my phone. Just a minute." It was Rafael. He was calling fromthe offices of _Ahora_, and he suggested that Santiago join him there.

  "Let's go," Hall said. "Do we use separate cabs?"

  "Don't be a child, Mateo. You're in Havana."

  "I'd better check with police headquarters on Lobo before we leave."

  They found Rafael in a tile-lined office on the second floor of thenewspaper building. He was sitting at a large table, three large pilesof fascist publications before him, and an opened copy of the Havana_Arriba_ in his hands. "No luck yet," he said. "But Eduardo Sanchez hadan idea where the picture can be found."

  "Where is he?"

  "He's in there," Rafael pointed to a door. "He's digging out some moremagazines."

  Sanchez walked in with an armload of bright-colored Havana _Arribas_."It's good to see you again, Mateo," he said. "What passes?"

  "Trouble. How are you making out?"

  "Who knows? Are you going to stay long?"

  "I'm leaving tomorrow if I can get what I need."

  "You say the picture would be in _Arriba_ for 1938?"

  "If at all, Eduardo."

  "That's serious. There is only one place in town where I know definitelythere is a complete file of _Arriba_. It might be a little hard to getinto."

  "Where is it?"

  "The third floor of the Spanish Embassy."

  "That's bad," Hall said.

  "Bad, yes," Santiago said. He put his arms over the shoulders of Rafaeland Eduardo. "But not hopeless, eh, _companeros_?"

  Eduardo smiled, grimly. Rafael grinned, a sudden glint in his blue eyes.

  "What do you think, Rafael?"

  "I think we should shoot our way in, _mi coronel_."

  "And you, Eduardo?"

  "I don't know. If we shoot our way in, we have to shoot our way outagain too. Maybe we'll kill a few fascists, but will we be able to getat their files?"

  "It would do us good," Rafael said, "to kill ourselves a few fascists. Ithink we are getting out of practice."

  "Sit down," Santiago said. "This takes some planning. Mateo, you hadbetter tell Eduardo what is at stake."

  "In a minute. I want some water. And I'd better phone Lobo'sheadquarters again."

  "Use this phone," Eduardo said. "I'll bring you water." He took threesheets of gray copy paper from his desk and fashioned a water cup. "Wecan't get paper cups since Pearl Harbor."

  "Listen to me," Santiago said. "There is a way we can kill two birdswith one stone. Eduardo, if Hall gets the picture, it kills Gamburdo andthe Falange in San Hermano. That's one bird."

  "And the other?"

  "The other, _companeros_, is Fernando Rivas."

  "Rivas?" Eduardo's dark, good-looking face grew puzzled. "Is he in thistoo?"

  "Wait. I should bring _Companero_ Hall up to date. You don't know Rivas,Mateo. He is a queer bird. He comes from a good Republican family inMadrid. A very good family. Republican since before the First Republic.This Rivas, this Fernando, he was good. Under Alfonso, he got a job inthe Foreign Office. They sent him to Havana as an attache in thelegation. Even then he was a good Republican. But something happened tothe man when the war started. He didn't fight for the fascists, but ..."

  "Tell him about his wife," Rafael said.

  "That's what I think did it. He had a British wife, and she hadhigh-life aspirations."

  "I think I understand," Hall said.

  "I don't have to go into the details. There is no time for that, anyway.The point is that he had to go to Spain last year, and he came backfilled with loathing for everything he saw. This I know for a fact.First, he started to sit home alone every night and get drunk, and thenhe began to write a memoir about what he saw. He didn't think anyonewould ever see it. He still doesn't know that anyone but himself hasever seen it. I got it from his servant one morning a few weeks ago. Sheis one of ours. We photographed it and she put it back before he gothome that night."

  Eduardo passed a box of inexpensive cigars around. "The week beforethat," he said, "I ran into Rivas at a cafe in Matanzas. He was soberingup after a drinking bout. I tried to avoid him but he followed me out ofthe place. He was crying. He called himself a son of a whore mother anda traitor to his honor and his people and carried on like a fool. Thenhe started to tell me about his wife's lover--we've known all about thatfor months, but Rivas had just found out--and I became filled withdisgust for the creature. I shook him off and left him standing in thestreet crying like a whipped dog. I hate weaklings."

  "I get it," Hall said. "But when you saw his diary, you started tochange your mind, eh?"

  "I still don't trust him. I introduced him to Santiago because Santiagowanted to meet him."

  "I wouldn't trust him with Franco's daughter," Rafael said.

  Santiago Iglesias sighed heavily. "No one asks you to sleep with him,Rafael," he said. "It isn't that. But you remember what happened in theearly days of the war. We had to take any officer who swore loyalty tothe Republic. We had no choice in the matter, did we, _chico_?"

  "But we also put in commissars to keep an eye on them."

  "It's true, _chico_. But some of them proved to be really loyal, eh?"

  "A handful."

  "All right, even a h
andful. But the point is that they were useful. Hereis the situation as of tonight: if the pictures which will kill theFalange in San Hermano are anywhere within our reach at all, they are inthe Spanish Embassy. We have no contact we can trust inside the Embassy.The nearest thing to such a contact is Rivas. He is a weakling and hewas a traitor. We know that. What we don't know is whether hisrepentance is sincere. The only way to really find out is to test theman. This is the time to test him. I've spoken with him three times inthe past week. He begs for a chance to prove that he has the right toserve the Republic again."

  "He can serve the Republic best," Rafael insisted, "by blowing hisbrains out."

  "Rafael!"

  "I'm sorry, Colonel Iglesias. I hate traitors."

  "I don't love them, _chico_. But it is not for us to put our personallikes and dislikes before our greater duties, Major. And pleaseremember," he added, smiling, "you still are a major in the People'sArmy. Neither your commission nor your Army has expired yet."

  "What do you want me to do?" Rafael asked, softly. "I will respect yourcommands as my superior--and my friend."

  Santiago toyed with a thick copy pencil. "I am going to put it to a voteright here. Who is for getting Fernando Rivas to let us into the SpanishEmbassy and removing what we need from the files? Understand, we won'ttell him what we want in the files--that would be trusting him too muchbefore he proves himself. Who is for raiding the Embassy with the helpof Rivas? On this, Mateo, you will have to vote also."

  Hall and Eduardo Sanchez raised their hands.

  "Against?"

  The three men looked at Rafael. He folded his hands in his lap,ostentatiously studied the ceiling.

  "Are you against the idea, Rafael?"

  "I think it is crazy, Santiago. I am not afraid. I just think it iscrazy. Can't we get in without the traitor?"

  "I don't know how," Santiago said. "I guess we'll have to try it withoutyou, Rafael."

  "Over my dead body, my friend. I'm going with you. I've been wrongbefore, but I've never avoided a battle. I'm not ducking this one,Santiago."

  Eduardo winked at Hall. "Listen to the strategist," he laughed, butthere was pride and real affection in his words. "Rafael," he said, "ifyou didn't shoot so straight I'd say that you talk too damned much."

  "Go to hell," Rafael said. "You're wasting good time. Let's finishexamining these fascist papers. Maybe we'll find the filthy picturetonight in these piles, and then we won't have to risk three, no four,"he looked at Hall, "four good Republican lives on the guts of a traitor.Come on, Eduardo, get to work."

  Hall motioned Santiago to the door. "Let's go around the corner," hewhispered, "and bring back a few bottles of Cristal."

  They walked slowly to the _cantineria_ on the corner, had some beer, andbought a dozen bottles to take back with them. Santiago said that hehoped it would not be necessary to raid the Embassy without previouslytesting Rivas on less hazardous tasks.

  "Personally," he said, "I think Rivas is honest about wanting to comeback. I think he can be trusted if we have to do it with him. But itmight mean shooting, and you cannot afford to get shot. Perhaps you hadbetter not join us."

  "No. Don't try to cut me out, _viejo_, or I'll do it alone with Rafael."

  "All right. But I hope we find it before we have to raid the fascists."

  They went upstairs. "Call Fabri at your office," Eduardo told Santiago."He says he has some good news for you."

  "He must have found Lobo." Santiago was right. His man had reached theGeneral. "He says for you to meet him at headquarters in an hour. Fabrifound him at a party in Vedado. If I know Jaime Lobo, that means he willactually be back in two hours. You've got plenty of time."

  Eduardo took a bottle opener from his desk. "You'll get me in trouble,"he said. "We're not allowed to drink in the office."

  "Tell Escalante it was my fault," Hall laughed.

  "You'd better sign a sworn statement."

  "Tomorrow. Listen, Eduardo, there is something you must do for me.Santiago has a file on a man named Marcelino Gassau. I want the wholething copied on microfilm, four negatives of everything in the file. Canyou have it done in your dark room tomorrow morning?"

  "Consider it done, Mateo."

  Rafael drank his beer and cursed the magazines for not having thepictures of Ansaldo that Hall wanted. "Let's get back to work," he said,impatiently. "Let's find the damned pictures if they're here."

  Hall and Santiago sat down at the desk and started to go throughindividual issues of various fascist publications for the year 1938.While they worked, Hall asked Santiago if he knew the Figueroa whom hehad to see in the Mexican Embassy.

  "He is a friend," the Spaniard said. "He is completely reliable. He willdo anything you ask within reason--and nearly anything that is withoutreason at all."

  None of the men found the photo Hall was seeking by the time he wasready to leave for General Lobo's headquarters. "I'll get you a taxi,"Eduardo said. "You can take a look at the AP ticker in the wire room inthe meanwhile. There might be some news on Tabio's condition."

  The wires reported that Tabio still breathed.

  * * * * *

  It was nearly midnight when Hall crossed the threshold of the broodingstone building that was Secret Police Headquarters. Like all policeheadquarters the world over, this one also smelled faintly of carbolicand damp stone, a stench Hall had grown to detest in San Sebastian. Hewalked briskly down the dark corridor which led to Lobo's office.

  A young lieutenant was sitting at the desk in the anteroom. "Mr. JohnnyGreen Moon?" he asked, grinning.

  "Hello," Hall laughed. "You still here?"

  "Just a second." The lieutenant pressed a button on his desk. There wasa click in the electric door stop of the massive oak and iron doorbehind the desk. "Go right in, Mr. Green Moon."

  Hall pushed the door open, stepped into the Spartan simplicity of Lobo'sprivate office, and quickly shut out the smell of carbolic by slammingthe door behind him. Lobo, who had equally good reasons for hating thatodor, had installed an American air-cleaning system in his own office.

  The young general--he was about three years younger than Hall--wassitting at his tremendous carved desk and studying some papers."Johnny!" he shouted. "_Que tal?_" He was wearing a very formal whitedress uniform heavy with medals and gold braid.

  "Hello, Jaime," Hall said. "You look like an American Christmas tree."

  "Johnny, you dog! You took me away from a most beautiful reception."

  "Beautiful?"

  "A dream. Unbelievable! Four and twenty blonde Vassar girls dancingaround Lobo and wondering out loud if the handsome spik speaks English.Sensational!"

  Hall had to laugh with the general. He could easily picture the effectof Jaime Lobo's towering dark attractiveness--more than once in theUnited States Hollywood talent scouts had begged him to signcontracts--in the eyes of the American women one could find at a lavishreception in Havana. "An American sugar king's party?"

  "No. The British business colony. It was stupendous." Lobo had lived inthe United States for five years, got a great kick out of scattering thesuperlatives of Hollywood in his speech when he spoke English.

  "O.K.," Hall said, dryly. "It was super-colossal." He sat down in thelarge armchair at the side of the desk, helped himself to one of Lobo'scigars.

  "So you don't want to play," Lobo said, sobering and taking his ownseat.

  "Some other time, Jaime."

  "Sounds bad, keed. But tell me, Johnny, is it true that Don Anibal isdying?"

  "He may be dead by now."

  "Ansaldo killed him?"

  Hall started. "What do you know about Ansaldo?"

  "I know he's a fascist pig. Why?"

  "Why? For the love of God, Jaime, if you can give me the proof, wecan ..." He told Lobo about the plans of Lavandero and the anti-fascistsin San Hermano.

  "I understand," Lobo said. "I've already sent for the dossier onAnsaldo. It should be here in a few minutes. But while we're waiting,
there are a few things I'd like to show you." He opened the drawer inhis desk and took out an automatic wrapped in a brown-silk handkerchief."Take a look at this gun," he said, "but don't touch. I want to save thefingerprints."

  "What about it?" Hall asked.

  "Oh, nothing. I thought you might know something about it. The hell withit. But tell me, Mateo, when did you get to town?"

  "This evening."

  "Panair?"

  "Sure, why?"

  "Then you're staying at the Jefferson, registered as Victor OrtizTinoco, eh?"

  "My God," Hall laughed. "That's my gun!"

  "That was your gun, _chico_. It is now Cuban Government Exhibit A in thecase against your brains. So you had it all figured out, my boy. You'dcome to Havana with fake papers, put up at an out-of-the-way hotel,check your gun with the hotel management, shoot the Spanish Ambassador,and then plant the gun in my back pocket and blow town on yourdiplomatic Mexican passport. But you reckoned without two suspicious andsmart young second lieutenants from Oriente Province."

  "What was my fatal mistake, chief?"

  "Your accent and the cardinal stupidity of giving your attache case tothe desk clerk. He's a communist from Oriente. The weight made himsuspicious, and he called his friends in my office. Only he guessed fromyour accent that you were a Spaniard, and that the gun was for thepurpose of shooting up the Mexican Embassy."

  "You know what Jefferson said about eternal vigilance being the price ofliberty, Jaime."

  "Sure. Jefferson and the natural shrewdness of a peasant from OrienteProvince. Of course the minute I saw the report describing Ortiz Tinocoas a Spaniard with scars on the face, a broken nose, and big feet whichtook him directly to the Casa de la Cultura, I knew it was Matthew Hallin a beard."

  "Yeah. Of course my phone calls every fifteen minutes didn't give youany idea."

  "They helped, my boy. I'll admit that." He took the envelope bearingAndrotten's pictures and fingerprints from his desk. "Who is thisindividual? He looks as if he is very seriously dead."

  "I brought that envelope here for you, Jaime. He was shot three days agoin San Hermano, but I'm afraid I broke his nose before he died. Thatother picture of him with his family and the letter from the DutchGovernment-in-Exile might be more interesting."

  "Wilhelm Androtten? Sounds like a brand of gin. Why did you kill him?"

  "He's a Nazi, Jaime. He was trying to kill me."

  General Lobo took some notes as he listened to Hall's account ofAndrotten's role in the Ansaldo mission. "I guess the first thing to dois to find out if the letter from Queen Wilhelmina is genuine. But itstill wouldn't prove anything. The Nazi, if he was an agent, could havepicked the name Androtten from a casualty list and then written to theDutch Government in the name of the soldier's father. I'll check thephotos and the fingerprints here, and also with American F.B.I. and theBritish. The F.B.I. has been very good lately. They've helped outterrifically here with technical things."

  A green light on Lobo's desk began to flicker. "It's the file room," hesaid. "I guess they have the Ansaldo dossier." He called the lieutenanton the inter-phone, told him to bring in the Ansaldo dossier.

  The dossier was not very long. It told the story how, in the winter of1938, a prominent Cuban Falangist in the best of health had suddenlytaken to bed with a "serious complaint." His family announced to friendsthat they had sent to Spain for a great doctor, one Varela Ansaldo. Theysaid Ansaldo cured the Cuban, to be sure, but he also had long privatesessions with the leaders of the Falange at the Spanish Embassy and,before he returned to Franco Spain, the Falange in Cuba had undergone acomplete shake-up of its leadership. There were pictures of Ansaldo, butalone and in plain clothes.

  "Are these the only pictures?" Hall asked.

  "Perhaps not. We took about three thousand feet of movie film from theInspector General of the Falange for Latin America when he tried toescape to Spain on a C.T.E. ship two years ago. Let's look at them, oldman." He pressed a key in his inter-phone box. "Pablo," he barked, "setup those Villanueva films in the machine. I'm coming in in ten minutes."

  "I didn't think of that film," Hall confessed. "Every time you weresupposed to show it to me, something came up, remember?"

  Lobo was barking into the inter-phone again. "Teniente, scare up twocold bottles of champagne for the theater, will you? We have a thirstthat is killing us."

  "Are you screening the film in a theater?"

  "No. It's a crime laboratory the F.B.I. installed for us. The wholeworks. Wait till you see it, Matt. It's just like Hollywood. Colossal!"

  "And the champagne?"

  "That's my own contribution. I'll be damned if I can stop drinkingchampagne in the middle of a party just because Johnny Green Moon dragsme out. Come on, let me show you the joint." He led Hall on a ten-minuteCook's tour of the crime laboratory, his patter a slightly off-colorimitation of an American tourist guide's spiel. A small beaded screenhad been pulled down from the ceiling, facing two chromium-and-leatherlounge chairs. When the lieutenant brought in the champagne in two icebuckets, General Lobo signaled the soldier in the tiny projection boothto start the film.

  There was everything but a shot of Ansaldo.

  "He was too smart, the _cabron_," Lobo said. "Let's go back to my officeand think it over." He poured what remained of the champagne into Hall'sglass.

  On the way back to his office, he asked the lieutenant to join Hall andhimself. "Lieutenant," he said, "here are some pictures and data on aman named Wilhelm Androtten, and some notes I made. Put them all throughthe mill--our own files, F.B.I., the British. Check the papers andletters of Villanueva and Alvarez Garcia for any reference to VarelaAnsaldo. And give me a report by noon tomorrow. Anything else you canthink of for the moment, Mateo?"

  "One thing. Those pictures of Gamburdo at the secret Falange dinner inSan Hermano. Remember it? I want about six microfilm negatives of eachshot."

  "Give them to me with your report, Lieutenant."

  The young officer accepted the papers, saluted smartly, and left.

  "There's one place in Havana where I can get that picture, Jaime," Hallsaid. "The Spanish Embassy has a complete file of the Spanish _Arriba_,and I'll stake my life on that picture of Ansaldo's being in that file."

  "So?"

  "Listen, Jaime, I don't know if I'll have to examine that file. I won'tknow until some time tomorrow morning. There's an outside chance thatold man Nazario has the _Arriba_ we need in his collection at theUniversity. But please, Jaime, if I do have to go through the files onOficios Street, I don't want any of your excellent boys from OrienteProvince giving me a nice case of Cuban lead poisoning."

  Lobo, who had opened his collar and draped his long feet over his desk,stopped smiling. He put his feet on the floor, buttoned the tuniccollar. "You don't understand," he said, speaking to Hall in Spanish forthe first time that evening. "In there, with the foolish movies, I makefoolish sayings. At the circus Lobo becomes the clown. But pleaseremember, Mateo, that I am a Latin American. My own people were drivenout of Spain by the spiritual forefathers of the Falange. I know whatwill happen to Latin America if the Falange crowd wins out anywhere."

  "I know you do, Jaime."

  "I'm not always the playboy, Mateo. I know what my chief means to thelittle nations of the Caribbean. I know what Don Anibal means to everycountry south of Miami. I love Don Anibal. I love you because you lovemy chief and my people and Don Anibal. _Claro?_"

  "Thanks, Jaime. Then you'll tell your men I'm O.K.?"

  "On the contrary, my friend. I must tell them much more than that."

  "Thanks. I'll try not to make any trouble. No international incidents."

  "If you don't have to shoot." Lobo became gay again. "Ay, Senor OrtizTinoco," he sighed, "you might want to shoot, but you are without ashooter to shoot with. My men are too good for you. They stole yourgun."

  "They are very good men, my general."

  "They have a good chief. But look, friend, in this drawer. I have atreasure for you." He emptied
the contents of a canvas bag on the desk."Ay, Senor Ortiz Tinoco, when I relieved Jefe Villanueva of hissuper-production, I also took his gun. Such a wonderful little Swissautomatic, built to be carried in a lady's purse or a horse's--ear. Andsuch a dainty Spanish leather shoulder holster. You would be a fool notto accept this outfit in return for your gigantic cannon."

  Hall took off his jacket. "It's a deal," he said. "Help me get theholster on."

  "Where are you going when you get the picture--if you get it, Mateo?"

  "Caracas. Someone is meeting me there."

  The General laughed. "Caracas? Ay, we'll get you back to Caracas instyle, _chico_." He opened his cigar box, held it out in front of Hall."By the way, Mateo," he said, "I never asked you before. Are you a Red?"

  "No. I'm a Red, White and Blue Kid. Why?"

  "Your government. Your embassy in San Hermano was sure that Pepe Stalinwas paying for your rice and beans. They asked your Embassy here tocheck on you with me."

  "What did you tell them?"

  "Naturally, I told them that you were an agent. _Si_, senor! I told themthat you were a triple agent: mornings for the Kuomintang, afternoonsfor the Grand Llama of Tibet, and evenings for the Protocols of Zion.You'd better be careful when you get back to New York."

  "You bastard!"

  "Where are you going now? Me, I'm going right back to that party. Ipromised a certain Vassar female, in my halting English, that I would beback. Can I drop you anywhere?"

  "I'm going to the Casa de la Cultura."

  "Good. But listen, Mateo, give me at least five hours' notice if youdecide to do any scholarly research on Oficios Street, eh? _Vamonos._"