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El Gato was lying, exaggerating the number to impress Vargas, it didn’t show in his face.
    “Some of that money, a small amount it is true, came directly from the Cuban government,” El Gato said. “I believe you authorized those payments.”
    “You have a sense of the sardonic, I see,” Vargas said without humor. One got the impression he had not smiled in his lifetime, nor would he.
    El Gato nodded.
    “You had a commodity to sell, we wished to buy. We paid a fair price.”
    “Come, come, Señor Vargas. Let’s not pretend with each other. I arranged for you to acquire the equipment and chemicals necessary to create a biological warfare program. What you have done with those chemicals and equipment I don’t know, nor do I want to know. But you know as well as I that if the American government found out about the sale I would be ruined. And you know that I made no profit in the transaction.”
    Vargas nodded, a dip of the head.
    “Nor have I asked for money for arranging to steal Nuestra Señora.”
    “That is true, but if the operation succeeds, we would have paid a fair amount.”
    “I do not want your money.”
    “You want something. What?”
    El Gato walked a few paces with his hands in his pockets before he spoke. “After Castro I envision a Cuba much more friendly to American interests, more open to a free flow of capital in and out. A great many people in the
United States have a great deal of money accumulated that they want to invest in Cuba, which they will do as soon as the United States government allows them to do so, and as soon as the Cuban government guarantees these investors that their investment will not be confiscated or stolen with hidden taxes or demands for graft. A man who could guarantee that his friends would be fairly treated in Cuba could make a lot of money. He would be a patron, if you will. And if he carefully screened his friends, Cuba would get a vetted flow of capable investors who would perform as promised.”
    “Something for everyone,” Vargas said.
    “Precisely.”
    “Just so that I understand—are you suggesting that you want to be that man, el jefecito?”
    “I could do it, I believe.”
    “The exiles expect to come to Cuba at Castro’s death and take over the country. They want billions in repatriations. I tell you now, you have helped fuel their expectations with your five million dollars.”
    What he failed to mention was the fact that the Cuban government had played to the fears of the peons who stayed, telling them they would be thrown from their homes if the exiles ever returned.
    El Gato smiled. “Like the exiles, you fail to clearly see the situation. They are Americans. They make more money in America than they ever could in Cuba. They will never return in significant numbers. In fact, if the borders are thrown open, the net human flow will be toward the United States, not back to Cuba. If the American government would allow it, a million Cubans a year would leave this island. You would be wise to let people go where they wish to go.”
    “You are saying the exile problem will just disappear?”
    “Except for a few bitter old men, yes, I believe it will. The young ones have gotten on with their lives. They have no old scores to settle.”

    “So you betray these old ones for your own profit?”
    “Señor Vargas, if they wish to nurse old grudges and dream of a time which is long past and will never come again, who am I to tell them no? Most of these people are quite harmless. Those who aren’t can be dealt with when they cause problems. A public apology to dispossessed old people, a plea for healing, a few pesos, and the exiles could be appeased.”
    “Assassination plots against Castro and the like?”
    “Plots that never get off the ground are harmless. Let them have their meetings and their thunderous denunciations. These people will pass from the scene soon enough.”
    Vargas made a gesture of irritation. He had his own opinions and didn’t