They came into the lounge for coffee and a game of chess after dinner, and, much to my relief, Maria Posador invited me to join them. O’Rourke commented on the fact by glancing at her, at me, and then at her again, but said nothing. In fact, his contribution to the conversation at first consisted of grunts before making his own moves and after Maria Posador had made hers.

I would never have pictured O’Rourke as a chess-player in any other country in the world, except perhaps the Soviet Union. In the States or back home I’d have said he probably played poker for relaxation. Nonetheless he played competently, with a style that fitted his personality: direct, aggressive, concentrating on the officers and not worrying much about pawn development except to ensure that his pawns got in his opponent’s way rather than his own. This two-fisted technique had faults; he would probably have made mincemeat out of me, but Maria Posador was on playing terms with grand master Pablo Garcia, and pretty soon the game was going all her way.

Trying to stir up conversation, I said, “This game is so popular here I’m surprised I haven’t seen any fights over it.”

O’Rourke raised his head and gave me a blunt look. “In our country, señor, we know this is the game which is always honest. We save our bad temper for other things which are not so.”

Señora Posador cut in quickly, “But that is not always true. You will hear sometimes of fights, if not about the game itself, then about the bets that have been made on the result of a match.”

O’Rourke moved a pawn and sat back with a satisfied noise. “Betting is for fools. We have more fools than we need, anyway.”

Maria Posador took the pawn, and O’Rourke scratched his chin thoughtfully. Before making his own countermove, he glanced at me. “The señor himself plays chess?”

“If you can call it playing. Ask Señora Posador — she beat me easily.”

“Señor Hakluyt has some understanding of the game,” said Señora Posador, her eyes on the board, “but lacks practice in the principles of combination.”

“He should then use his eyes and look about him,” O’Rourke retorted, and decided to castle queen side, about four moves later than he should have done. “Except that in actuality few people obey rules, there is much to be learned from what can be seen in the world.”

I had a fleeting impression that Maria Posador would have preferred the conversation to turn into other channels. I snapped quickly, “In what way, Señor O’Rourke?”

“Check,” said Señora Posador, taking another of O’Rourke’s pawns. “I think what Tomas means, Señor Hakluyt, is the same as I was saying to you the other day. One must not think from move to move, in real life as in chess; one must remember the overall picture.”

She gave me a sweet and dazzling smile, and — I thought, but couldn’t be sure — trod hard on O’Rourke’s toe under the table. O’Rourke caught on; I didn’t get anything further out of him, and eventually I gave up trying and went to the bar.

It was almost empty this evening. The now useless television set was gone from its regular place, and where it had stood was a shabby old radio, obviously dug out of storage. It was giving out with a pep talk when I arrived; I recognized the voice of Professor Cortes, who had assumed temporary direction of the emergency broadcasting service. I listened for a little while, but there was no real meat in the words. Aside from another broadside at Miguel Dominguez — Cortes was still not convinced, apparently, of the charges he had made about Caldwell and the health department — it was a woolly reiteration of trust in God and the President to see the citizens through their time of tribulation.

Mayor had certainly been a loss to the regime — perhaps far more of a loss than the television center itself. As a publicity man, Cortes was a good dishwasher.

Shutting my ears, I said to Manuel, who was polishing glasses behind the bar, “Señora Posador spends a lot of time in this place, doesn’t she?”

Manuel’s dark eyes flitted across my face. “She lived in this hotel when she first returned to Aguazul after her time of exile, señor,” he said. “She had grown fond of it, I am told.”

“Ah-hah. For someone who’s supposed to be in official disgrace, she seems to have a lot of important friends, doesn’t she?”

“Many of them were friends of her husband, señor.”

“Of course. Does that include el Jefe?”

“I believe so, señor. El Jefe is her guest to dinner here this evening — you have perhaps seen?”

“Yes, I saw. You’re a fountain of information, Manuel — maybe you can tell me whether they’ve made any progress toward finding out who burned down the television center. I was just wondering when I saw this old radio you’ve put up on that shelf.”

His eyes switched briefly to the radio and back to the glass he was rubbing. “It is said not, señor, and — and some people begin to be disquieted. For many reasons. Whoever took away our television has made himself many enemies. Because, you understand, the chess championships have now commenced, and it has been customary for them to be shown on the television for many years. Now there is no television, and it is much more difficult to understand what is being done from a spoken description on a radio.”

I sipped my drink. “So presumably there are a lot of people who want to know why the police haven’t already presented the culprit’s head on a plate.”

“Exactly, señor.” Manuel sighed. “I am myself one of the people who desire that, señor. This year my son is playing in the junior division, and I wished much to see him on the television. But—” and he shrugged expressively before putting the glass, sparkling, on its shelf and taking another.

I thought over what I had just heard. So O’Rourke was in Dutch with the public, was he? I wondered why he hadn’t produced some kind of scapegoat to distract public attention. Maybe he would. Maybe he and Señora Posador were hatching something this evening. I went back to the lounge to see if they were still there, but they had gone.

Obviously, they had been hatching something. Next morning’s Liberdad stated that the police had descended on the city health department, acting on instructions from someone unspecified, but assumed to be Diaz — assumed by the paper, that is — and had questioned Caldwell extensively about the situation in the shantytowns. O’Rourke was quoted as saying that Caldwell had no right to make wild statements about the incidence of crime among the squatters; the police hadn’t found the lawlessness Caldwell described, and it was an unjustified reflection on their devotion to duty to talk of it.

In other words, “Mind your own business!”

That seemed like good advice to me, too. Such as my business was at the moment. Vados accepted the plan I’d given him for the monorail central — I’d been pretty certain he would — and gave orders for it to be published at once. I got the impression that he had been pretty desperate for some favorable publicity, because naturally, since he and his city were so tied together in the public’s mind, the recent disturbances had been extremely bad for his status.

I could have done without the effusive comments on my skill and ingenuity which accompanied the publication of the plan; if that got to the eyes of any of my potential future employers, it would likely do considerable harm to my status, too.

What the hell!

I went over to see Seixas in the treasury department about the estimates for the project, and he greeted me with a smile that threatened to cut his head in two.

“Señor Hakluyt!” he exclaimed. “Come in! Siddown! Have a drink! Have a cigar!”

It was a tan suit, with palm-trees on the tie, today, and the cigar I got was bigger than usual. Seixas was plainly in a tremendously good mood.