"Everything is on computer these days."
"Then it's somebody else. Isn't the President heavily involved in the Cuban exile community? Through his son?"
"Remo," Smith pointed out, "the President suggested this assignment."
"Maybe to cover his butt," suggested Remo.
"Remo," Smith countered, "the President would not put you and Chiun on the trail of these people if he had a stake in their eventual success. I have explained the situation to you. Cuba is hands-off. We do not wish to ruffle the Russian bear's fur."
"Are they still a bear?" Remo wondered. "I thought they were just cubs now."
"Never mind," Smith said. "Give me five minutes." And he hung up.
Smith cleared his throat and lifted the red receiver. The dedicated direct line opened automatically, causing a matching red telephone in the Lincoln Bedroom to begin ringing.
As he waited, Smith turned down the sound of Fidel Castro haranguing a world that no longer had a place for him.
The President's voice was hushed when it came on the line. "Smith. Progress?" he hissed.
"Slight progress. We have located the comandante of the operation. He is a Cuban defector."
"Good."
"He insists that Washington is behind his efforts."
"That is insane! Unless . . . unless there's a rogue CIA effort under way."
"Not possible, Mr. President," Smith said crisply. "I have just gone through the CIA computer net. It is devoid of any such operation. Furthermore, the agency itself shows no activity or message traffic that would be consistent with the management of an ongoing operation of this magnitude."
"You have access to CIA files?" the President said, blank wonder in his tone.
"Part of the mission, Mr. President."
The President's voice grew disturbed. "Did you have it when I was in charge over there?"
"You may conclude that if you wish," Smith said flatly. "But the matter at hand is what should concern us now."
"Of course. Obviously this Cuban defector is lying through his teeth."
"Impossible. He has been subjected to an interrogation technique that is one-hundred-percent irresistible."
"But he implicated Washington," the President of the United States pointed out.
"Specifically, Uncle Sam."
"That could be anyone from a renegade senator to-"
"-to a person with high connections claiming to be operating with presidential sanction," Smith finished.
"Good point. But who?"
"Mr. President, I must ask you this question in the name of national security. You have a son who is active in the Cuban community in Miami. Can you vouch for his recent activities?"
Indignation rose in the President's tone. "I certainly can."
"If you are certain, that is enough for me," Smith said.
"Good," the President said tightly.
"Still," Smith went on, "it might be advisable to get him out of Florida if he happens to be there now."
"Why?"
"Because I am about to order my enforcement arm to terminate everyone connected with this operation."
"I didn't hear that."
"Contact your son, Mr. President. I am about to pull the plug on Ultima Hora forever."
Smith hung up and checked on the progress of the Castro speech. He was in the "History Will Absolve Me" phase. That meant the speech was coming to a climax. No more than an hour remained.
The blue contact phone rang and Smith brought the handset to his grim gray face.
"Remo," he said. "I want you and Chiun to render Ultima Hora completely and totally immobile."
"That mean what I think it means?" Remo asked.
"It does."
"And Zorilla?"
"Make sure he wakes up among the fallen."
"Yeah?"
"Then follow him to whoever he reports to."
"And lead us to his control, right?"
Smith sighed. "Let us hope. Otherwise, knowing the U.S. news media, Fidel Castro will become the next Bart Simpson."
"Huh?"
"His speech is into its fifth hour, with every network and CNN carrying it live with subtitles."
"For crying out loud, why?"