"Since when is it a crime to be anti-Castro?" Revuelta asked in an injured tone.
"Since Fidel started flying MIGs over Florida nuclear plants and jamming TV transmissions," said the Anglo.
"These are terrible things, but I think if jou have complaints jou should take them to Havana."
"Count on it," said the Anglo.
Revuelta smiled broadly then. "So we are on the same side?"
"Depends."
"I have always suspected the CIA of steering certain-how jou say?-assets my way."
"What assets?"
"Ah, but I am a good soldado. I do not reveal these things. If names are known to jou, there is no need to repeat them. If not, jou have no-what is the phrase?-no need to know."
"Remo, what is this idiot babbling about?" asked the Asian suddenly, his wizened face puckering.
"May I inquire jour name, senor?" Dr. Revuelta asked.
"You may not."
"Jou are not Vietnamese?"
"I am never Vietnamese! I am Korean!"
"Ah. South Korean, yes?"
"North."
At that, Dr. Osvaldo Revuelta took an involuntary step backward. The North Koreans were among the last of Castro's close allies. What was transpiring here, that an Anglo CIA operative and a North Korean agent would come together to see him?
"I do not understand," he said carefully, backing away.
The others moved with him.
"You launch the Bay of Pigs operation?" demanded the Anglo.
"No."
"Liar!" snapped the North Korean. And suddenly the little old man was between Osvaldo Revuelta and the window he'd been planning to break, in a desperate effort to summon help in the form of his Cuban guards who patrolled outside, somehow unaware of this invasion.
"Speak the truth," the Korean demanded, and took hold of Osvaldo Revuelta's wrist.
There was strength in the little man's wrist. Great strength. It was like being seized by a tiny steam shovel powered by a dynamo of great size. Birdlike yellow fingers constricted, and things began popping out all over Osvaldo's body. Veins. Tendons. Sweat.
"The pain!" screamed Osvaldo Revuelta.
"The faster you come clean," the Anglo said coolly, "the sooner it goes away."
"I send no one!"
"We don't believe you."
"I only loan soldados!"
"What's a soldado?"
"A soldier," the tiny Korean said before Osvaldo could. But he said it anyway. Anything to lessen the fierce agony.
"Soldiers! I loaned my Ultima Hora soldiers to a man. A brave man."
"His name?" demanded the Korean, inflicting crushing force. Revuelta lowered himself to his knees, unaware that he was doing so. In his scarlet agony, he thought the tiny man was growing in strength and stature before his very eyes.
"He is Leopoldo Zorilla!" Revuelta shrieked.
"Who's Leopoldo Zorilla?" asked the Anglo, in a voice that seemed far, far from Osvaldo Revuelta's inflamed nervous system.
"How could jou not know?" he gasped.
"We're new in town. Haven't hit the night spots yet. Who's Leopoldo Zorilla?"
"A Cuban defector! He was former defense minister! He have been in Miami many months now! To him, I loan my best!"
"For what purpose?" asked the old Korean.
"I do not ask these questions! I am given money, and told to be prepared to return to Havana in triumph!"
The Anglo turned to the other and asked, "What do you think, Little Father?"
"He is telling the truth," the old one said disappointedly. The pain began to lessen, and the tears stopped flowing from Dr. Revuelta's eyes. He was able to see semi-clearly again.
"Why am I on my knees?" he asked wonderingly, noticing the nearness of the rug.
"Because we're here for information."
Dr. Revuelta looked up. "I do not understand. What difference would that make?"
"If we weren't, you'd be in the ground."
"Yo comprendo. "
"Where do we find Zorilla?"
The pain was still there. It was tolerable. Dr. Revuelta took a chance. He spoke two words very fast.