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and when he spoke again his voice was grave. “You might be right about Cuba’s population,” he said, “and if that’s the case, we’ll have made one hell of a miscalculation.” He paused. “As for the amphibious landing, you know that your guys will be trained and supported by the most successful, experienced landing force in history.” He noted approving reactions. “You had another question?”
    “Just one.” Atcho weighed his words. “This situation developed under President Eisenhower. Generally, he was believed to support the effort, but I have doubts about his enthusiasm. For two months now, Kennedy has been the president. What assurance do we have that he supports this operation?”
    “My presence here,” Burly answered.
    Just then, another voice cut in. “I’d like to answer that.” A distinguished, elderly gentleman in a business suit stood on the opposite side of the room. “My name is Enrique. I was in Key Biscayne in Florida last October.” All heads turned in his direction. “The occasion was a fundraiser held at a friend’s house for Kennedy’s election campaign.” The old man reached for the back of a chair. “Mr. Kennedy himself was in attendance.”
    All ears strained to hear. “This fundraiser was mainly sponsored by wealthy Cubans, so naturally, we were interested in Mr. Kennedy’s position regarding Cuba. We asked him the same question about supporting the resistance. Mr. Kennedy replied that he had lost a brother in World War II. He asked how he could do anything else but lend assistance to those struggling for liberty.” The old man’s voice shook. “He said that if we are willing to pay the same price, that is, risk our lives, then he would move heaven and earth to help us.”
    “Enrique,” a man called from a far corner. “Do you think Mr. Kennedy is a man of his word, or just a clever politician? Can we trust him?”
    “Si,” Enrique said firmly. “I think we can trust President Kennedy.”
    Applause erupted, accompanied by loud cheering. Only Atcho and a few others seemed unmoved by the old man’s words. When the noise died, Burly called for quiet. “Tomas, you look doubtful. Do you have more questions?”
    Atcho sighed. “No,” he said slowly. “Not more questions, just the same ones. I believe, Burly, that you have done your best to be honest. Thank you. But with so many issues left unclear, I see the probability of success being very small. Meaning no disrespect, I just do not believe Mr. Kennedy will risk all-out war with the Soviets to save this island.”
    Gloom replaced momentary elation as Atcho’s rationale sank in. Finally, Burly spoke. “Then Tomas, what will you do?”
    Atcho thought deeply in silence for a moment. He straightened to full height. “I will fight,” he said gravely. “It is our only chance to save Cuba.”
    The room erupted in cheers, with men hugging and clapping each other on their backs. Suddenly needing fresh air, Atcho turned and strode through the door. Juan followed, watching his young leader with the light of fresh respect in his eyes. “You were brilliant,” he said.
    “Juan, that was bullshit in there, and you know it.”
    Before Juan could speak, Burly appeared before them, having exited through another door. He extended his hand to Atcho. “I want to shake your hand.”
    Atcho gripped it firmly, but stood with feet planted firmly apart, his face expressing respectful skepticism. “I know you want to help,” he said. “I’m just doubtful that you can deliver.”
    “Got it,” Burly replied. He started to say something else, but just then other men grouped around Atcho. Several clapped him on the shoulder; others reached in trying to shake his hand. One pushed through and handed Atcho an envelope. It was a letter from Raissa. Atcho took it excitedly, but forced his composure. He excused himself, stepped a few feet away, tore it open, read the first line, and blanched.
    Atcho, Isabel is safe. She’s here with