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still not telling me everything, dammit!”
    He stared at me in mild surprise. Boyish. A “What, me?” kind of innocence.
    I knew that look. I’d seen it before. Back in an attack assignment in the jungles of Southeast Asia where no American was ever supposed to be. I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on the table between us. “Norm, old buddy, I was raised in the circus, remember? I grew up with the ten-in-one-show gypsters, the fire eaters, the magicians, and the backlot crapshooters. Don’t try to con a carnie, Norm. I learned to recognize a scam before I learned the Pledge of Allegiance. There’s a big chunk of your story missing, old buddy. Why not just tell me straight?”
    â€œTell you what?” The mock innocence was gone, replaced by a somber, searching look.
    â€œTell me who else might have snatched those three CIA people. I mean, if they’ve turned up missing, why not just assume it was Castro’s people? Our people sure as hell just didn’t sink in Mariel Harbor with fifteen hundred other boats anchored around them, did they? You’re not telling me something, Stormin’ Norman. The CIA isn’t going to take the chance of losing another good agent just to prove a point. So why not tell your old friend Dusky who else might have grabbed the agents?”
    He stood up and walked across the room, draining his beer in long, thoughtful swallows. The planks of the stilthouse creaked beneath the solid weight of him.
    â€œThat’s all I’m supposed to tell you, Dusky.”
    I shrugged. “So get yourself another boy. I’m not going into this thing with blinders on.”
    â€œIt’s for your own good—”
    â€œHorsecrap!”
    He studied me momentarily, and then the grin returned. “Sometimes, MacMorgan, you’re a little too smart for your own good.”
    â€œWe hermits do a lot of reading.”
    He sat back down, all business now. “Okay, you asked for it. But you have to promise that you’ll play dumb with Santarun—it could get you both killed. Okay? When the CIA first realized its agents had vanished, it was pretty much—as you said—assumed that the Cuban authorities had gotten hold of them. And just when the CIA was about to raise holy hell about it, this Lieutenant Santarun came up with a very interesting alternative explanation for their disappearance.”
    â€œAnd that is?”
    Norm leaned back in his chair, measuring his words. He said, “It’s just possible that the three agents weren’t snatched at all. It’s just possible that they disappeared of their own free will.”
    â€œDouble agents? All three of them?”
    Fizer shook his head. “Worse than that, I’m afraid. It’s just possible that they’ve turned renegade. And the more I think about it, the more plausible it seems. No one hates the Castro regime more than our own Cuban-Americans. CIA agents or not. They could have gone to Mariel Harbor, abandoned their orders to try to evacuate General Halcón, and disappeared into the backcountry to regroup and carry out some kind of private commando operations. I don’t have to tell you the immediate effect that would have on the eight or ten thousand Americans waiting in Mariel. Any act of war by those agents would make the members of the Freedom Flotilla prisoners—and damned unpopular prisoners at that.”
    I said, “So in a way you’re actually hoping this Lieutenant Santarun will be snatched?”
    â€œI know it seems crazy to hope that the CIA does have some kind of security leak, but we are. That will be a hell of a lot easier to deal with. But either way, we have to find out. We have to know for sure.”
    There was still something else on Fizer’s mind, but he didn’t need any nudging now. I gave him time, and after a thoughtful moment he said:
    â€œDo you know what we’re scared of, Dusky? If those agents