"Claudia." She tried to make out his face, but the shadows covered him.

"Welcome to the Southern Manor, Claudia. Will you be staying here long?"

"Maybe. Who knows?"

"You probably won't. Nothing happens here, nothing exciting."

"Did I say that I was looking for excitement?"

He laughed again. "No, you didn't. Goodnight." He turned to go inside.

"Goodnight."

His back was to her. He was the last one, and she decided to tap him on the spot. One quick sweep of his head was all that she needed. She tapped, but nothing happened. She frowned, and tapped again. Still nothing. She tapped a third time, but it was like banging against a wall. She couldn't get in. He had a block up, a mental barricade that no normal person could have erected. Only an ace could have done it.

He wheeled around to face her. Head-to-head, he said, Who the hell are you?

You felt it?

Of course I felt it. You hit me like a sledgehammer.

And you brushed it off like a feather. You're good.

I used to be.

Do we talk?

If you wish.

Walk into the light.

They both moved at the same time, and stood facing each other under the porch light. They stared at each other. Snake saw a lean, dark-haired man with smooth olive skin and a thin mustache. Her eyes widened. So did his.

Snake.

Rafael.

The moment hung on tip-toes, and then they had their arms around each other. They kissed. He cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her again. They both grinned broadly. They both were close to tears. Snake stepped back.

"I don't believe this," she said. "What are you doing here?"

He looked dazed. "How did you find me?"

"I didn't. I mean, I wasn't looking for you."

"Then why…?"

She shook her head. "You look older."

"How kind of you to say so. You don't."

"Who's Julio Ramirez?" She had known him as Rafael Canero.

He shrugged. "Just a name."

"What do I call you?"

"Make it Julio, I'm used to it. When you said Claudia-I always thought of you as Snake."

She put her hands on his shoulders, and stood back. "Let me look at you."

She looked long and hard at the man who once, for a brief time, had been her lover. In those days, Rafael Canero had been an ace in the employ of the Dirección General de Inteligencia, the Cuban version of the CIA-how long ago? Six years back, she figured, at the United Nations when he had been attached to the Cuban mission, and she to the American. His cover job had been as the commercial attaché, and hers had been as a translator, but both had done what all sensitives do. They were snoops.

They had been lovers for three months, and it had been a time of desperate loving, for by the rules of the topsy-turvy world in which they lived they were forbidden to know one another. They were on opposite sides of the political fence, security risks if they exchanged so much as a word, but they had managed. As sensitives, they had their own ways, and it had started during one of those slam-bang cocktail hours in the North Delegates' Lounge where drinks were still a dollar apiece and the place was packed every night with all ranks and all nations. Doing it the way aces did it, head-to-head from opposite ends of the bar with the crowd in between unaware of what was going on.

Hey, you down there in the blue dress and the pretty eyes-yeah, you, the Yankee ace-you read me?

It isn't blue, it's aqua, and which one are you?

The good-looking guy in the grey pinstripe suit.

From here I can see four grey suits, and none of the guys inside them look all that great.

You got to be kidding. Look, I'm raising my glass now.

Oh sure, the Cuban.

You know me?

I've seen you around. What's on your mind?

I could get arrested for what's on my mind.

Save it for your dreams.

No, I mean really arrested, because what I got on my mind is to come down to your end of the bar, say hello, maybe buy you a drink, but if I do that we're both in trouble. A Cuban and a Yankee, both aces, not so good.

My people wouldn't be happy.

Neither would mine. Bright lights and lots of questions, you know?

I know.

So I was thinking… you got a keeper?

No, we don't work it that way.

You're lucky. I've got a keeper, but he doesn't have the brains that God gives to goats. I can lose him easy if I want to.

Now why would you want to do that?

Come on, what do you say?

It's risky.

What isn't?

Plenty of things. Watching television. Washing my hair. Things like that.

Sure, if you play by the rules then nothing's risky. You always play by the rules?

That did it. Where and when?

You know Woody's on Third Avenue?

Sure.

Half an hour?

I'll be there.

That was the way it began, and from there it had escalated into three months of frantic loving, months of meeting on the sly, drinking in bars that no one knew, using motels in Jersey and Queens. Three months of looking over their shoulders before diving into bed, and then one day it was over. He was ordered back to Havana, and that was the end of it. There was time for a quick farewell, one last night of laughter, and then he was gone. Until now. Now he was here with his arms around her, and the years had dropped away.

She rested her head against his shoulder, and said, "We have some things to talk about."

"We can talk in my room."

"I don't think so. We'd better talk here."

"Oh?" He took his arms away. "Sorry, didn't mean to push."

"It isn't that."

"Then what?"

"I think we have to talk business."

He laughed. "What a Yankee you can be, always business first. You're not exactly overwhelmed by this reunion, are you?"

"More than you think, but we still have to talk. You can start by telling me what a Cuban ace is doing here in Glen Grove."

"Wait here, I'll be right back."

He went into the darkened house, and returned in a moment with two cold bottles of San Miguel beer. He gave one to Snake.

"Mrs. Costigan keeps a few bottles in the refrigerator for me," he explained. "She thinks it helps to remind me of home. Actually, it's made in Tampa and it tastes like Bud, but I drink it. It makes the old lady happy."

Snake took a sip. "You haven't answered my question."

"I don't see that I'm obliged to."

"You're not, but I'm hoping that you will."

"For old times sake? You're here on a job, aren't you?"

"Of course, and I assume that you are, too."

"As a matter of fact, I'm not."

"Oh sure, you just decided to take your vacation in Florida this year."

"It's simpler than that. I don't work for anyone anymore. Not the DGI, not anyone. I'm retired."

Snake said flatly, "You wouldn't kid an old lover, would you? No ace ever retires. My people don't allow it, and neither do yours. No agency allows it."

"Who said I asked permission?"

"You mean you came over?" She knew that could not be. If he had defected to the Agency, she would have known about it.

"You're not listening to me. I said I was out of the business."

"Do you mind if I tell you that you're a lousy liar?"

"I don't mind at all," he said cheerfully, "but it's true. Do you want me to prove it?"

"How?"

"I'll open up long enough for you to take a look. Just long enough. You can see for yourself. Do you want that?"

She was suddenly unsure. "If you do."

"Go ahead. I have nothing to hide anymore."

He opened up. She went in and saw that he was telling the truth. She came out quickly. He slammed the gates.