“Excellent. I’m John Stanton, by the way. And these are my colleagues, Kemper Boyd and Guy Banister.”

Paez shook hands all around. Banister pocketed the rest of the cigars and turned on the tape machine.

“Can we get you anything before we start?”

“No. I would like my first American meal to be a sandwich at Wolfie’s Delicatessen in Miami Beach.”

Kemper smiled. Banister laughed outright. Stanton said, “Teo, is Fidel Castro a Communist?”

Paez nodded. “Yes. Indubitably so. He is a Communist in both thought and practice, and my old network of student informants have told me that airplanes carrying Russian diplomats have flown in to Havana late at night on several occasions recently. My friend Wilfredo Olmos Delsol, who was on the boat with me, has the flight numbers memorized.”

Banister lit a cigarette. “Che Guevara’s been Red since way back.”

“Yes. And Fidel’s brother Raul is a Communisto pig himself. Moreover, he is a hypocriticize. My friend Tomбs Obregуn says that Raul is seffing confiscated heroin to rich drug addicts and hypocriticizingly spewing Communist rhetoric at the same time.”

Kemper checked his custody list. “Tomбs Obregуn was on the boat with you.”

“Yes.”

“How would he have information on the Cuban heroin trade?”

“Because, Mr. Boyd, he was involved in the heroin trade himself. You see, my fellow boat passengers are mostly criminal scum. Fidel wanted to be rid of them and foisted them on America in hopes that they would practice their trades on your shores. What he failed to realize was that Communism is a bigger crime than dope peddling or robbery or murder, and that even criminals might possess the patriotic desire to reclaim their homeland.”

Stanton rocked his chair back. “We’ve heard that Castro has taken over the Mafia-owned hotels and casinos.”

“It is true. Fidel calls it ‘nationalization.’ He has stolen the casinos and millions of dollars from the Mafia. Tomбs Obregуn told me that the illustrious American gangster Santo Trafficante Jr. is currently in custody at the Nacional Hotel.”

Banister sighed. “That cocksucker Castro has a death wish. He is fucking with both the United States of America and the Mafia.”

“There is no Mafia, Guy. At least Mr. Hoover has always said so.”

“Kemper, even God can make mistakes.”

Stanton said, “Enough of that. Teo, what’s the status of the American citizens remaining inside Cuba?”

Paez scratched and stretched. “Fidel wants to appear humane. He is coddling the influential Americans still in Cuba and allowing them to see only the alleged good his revolution has done. He is going to release them slowly, to return to America as duped tools to dispense communistic propaganda. And in the meantime, Fidel has burned many of the cane fields of my beloved United Fruit, and has tortured and killed many of my student infonnants under the indictment that they are spies for the ‘imperialisto y fascisto’ La United.”

Stanton checked his watch. “Guy, take Teo over for his medical. Teo, go with Mr. Banister. Mr. Boyd will drive you into Miami in a little while.”

Banister hustled Paez out Kemper watched them walk to the X-ray shack.

Stanton shut the door. “Dump the dead man somewhere, Kemper. I’ll debrief all the personnel who’ve seen him. And don’t rattle Guy’s cage, he can be volatile.”

“I’ve heard. Rumor has it that he was assistant superintendent of the New Orleans Police for about ten minutes, until he got drunk and shot off his gun in a crowded restaurant.”

Stanton smiled. “And rumor has it that you’ve fenced a few hot Corvettes in your day.”

“Touchй. And parenthetically, what did you think of Pete Bondurant’s gun donation?”

“I was impressed. We’re thinking of making Pete an offer, and I’ll be bringing it up the next time I talk to the deputy director.”

Kemper said, “Pete’s a good man. He’s good at keeping rowdies in line.”

“Yes, he is. Jimmy Hoffa uses him to good effect at that Tiger Kab place. Keep going, Kemper. I can tell that you’ve got your thinking cap on.”

Kemper turned off the tape recorder. “John, you’re going to find that a sizable percentage of those men out there are uncontrollably psychopathic. Your notion of indoctrinating them and training them as potential anti-Castro guerrillas may not work. If you house them with stable Cuban immigrant families and find them work, per your existing plan, you’ll find them reverting to their former criminal predilections as soon as the novelty of being in this country wears off.”

“You’re saying we should screen them more thoroughly.”

“No, I’m saying I should. I’m saying we should extend the detention period at the Agency’s motel, and I should be the one with final authority as to who we recruit.”

Stanton laughed. “May I ask what qualifies you for this?”

Kemper ticked off points on his fingers. “I worked undercover for nine years. I know criminals, and I like them. I infiltrated car theft rings, arrested the members and worked with the U.S. Attorney’s Office in building their cases for prosecution. I understand the need certain criminals have to acquiesce to authority. John, I got so close to some of those car thieves that they insisted on deposing their confessions to me only-the agent who betrayed them and arrested them.”

Stanton whistled-out-of-character for him. “Are you suggesting that you expand your duties and remain with the men you select as their field officer? That seems unrealistic to me, given your other entanglements.”

Kemper slapped the table. “No. I’m strongly proposing Pete Bondurant for that job. What I’m saying is this: A hardcore criminal contingent, properly indoctrinated and supervised, could be very effective. Let’s assume that the Castro problem extends. I think that even at this early date, it’s safe to assume that the Agency will have a large pool of future deportees and legally emigrated Cubans to choose from. Let’s make this first cadre an elite one. It’s ours, John. Let’s make it the best.”

Stanton tapped his chin. “Mr. Dulles was ready to request green cards for all the men. He’d be pleased to know that we’re being so selective early on. He hates begging the INS for favors.”

Kemper put a hand up. “Don’t deport the men we reject Banister knows some Cubans in New Orleans, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. There’s a large Batistaite community there.”

“Then let Guy have the men we reject Let them find jobs or not find jobs, and have them file for visas on their own in Louisiana.”

“How many men do you think will meet your qualifications?’

“I have no idea.”

Stanton looked eager. “Mr. Dulles has approved the purchase of some cheap south Florida land for our initial training site. I think I could convince him to keep our permanent cadre there small and contained, if you think the men you select can also train future arrivals before we disperse them to the other camps that I’m certain will be springing up.”

Kemper nodded. “I’ll make training skills one of my criteria. Where is this land?”

“It’s on the coast, outside a small town named Blessington.”

“Is it accessible to Miami?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I was thinking of the Tiger Kab stand as a recruiting hub.”

Stanton looked almost hot and bothered. “Gangster connotations aside, I think the Tiger Kab place could be utilized. Chuck Rogers is working there already, so we’ve already got an in.”

Kemper said, “John”-very slowly.

Stanton looked dead ecstatic. “The answer to all your suggestions is yes, pending the deputy director’s approval. And bravo, Kemper. You’re more than fulfilling my expectations.”

Kemper stood up and bowed. “Thanks. And I think we’ll make Castro rue the day he sent that boat off.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears. And by the way, what do you think your friend Jack would say about our little freedom barge?’