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into the marsh.
    “Let me talk to him,” Juan told Burly. When he caught up with Atcho, the two friends walked in silence. At last Juan spoke. “Are you going straight to your sister’s house?” Atcho grunted affirmatively. “Has it occurred to you that this might be a trap?”
    “Of course! I’ll be careful!” More silence.
    “Do you realize that if it is a trap, Isabel might not be there?”
    Atcho whirled on him. “Do you know that if there is the slightest chance of saving my daughter, that’s what I’ll do?” His face was distorted in fury. “Juan, if you have something to say, say it!”
    “Atcho,” Juan said steadily. “Don’t treat me like this. I don’t deserve it.”
    Atcho sucked in his breath. “You’re right, Juan. What’s your point?”
    “Just this. You spoke about security back there. Now you’re running off with no confirmation or support, leaving an organization to flounder when you could help. Isabel might be at your sister’s house or she might not be. We can check that out.” He paused, and then continued. “We might save Cuba, or fail. One thing is certain. We won’t succeed if we don’t give it all we’ve got.” He placed a strong hand on Atcho’s shoulder. “Go, if you must, my friend. I, of all people, know what you’ve been through, and will never think less of you, whatever you decide.”
    A lump formed in Atcho’s throat. “Please, Juan. I need to be alone.” Juan nodded, then turned down the path towards the bungalow.
    Atcho sat under a tree and remained there while shadows lengthened and the sun slid down the western sky. Outwardly impassive, his mind and emotions wrestled with conflicting desires and responsibilities. Why has Isabel been returned now? If she really is safe …
    In late afternoon, he walked into the bungalow. Guerrilla leaders, seated in a circle, eyed him with awe and encouragement. Realization dawned that by now, every man in the room knew his story. Burly stood off to one side, eyeing him uncertainly. Atcho walked over to him and held out his hand. “I apologize,” he said. “You didn’t deserve that.”
    Burly stared at him expressionlessly. The men in the room stirred uneasily. Then he stepped close to Atcho, threw his arm around his neck and drew his head down. “You snot-nosed kid,” he said. “I said you shouldn’t get too much respect.” He grinned, and as the others breathed a collective sigh of relief, he whispered to Atcho. “I told you I would help anytime. Count on it.”
    Atcho gave him a friendly punch in his ribs, then turned to the group. “Amigos,” he said brusquely. “I am here to help.” Amid warm greetings and encouraging slaps on the back, he raised his hands for quiet. “I have two stipulations. First, I’ll use my own organization to confirm that my daughter is safe. Second, for two weeks, I’ll oversee the planning in all areas mentioned this morning. At that point, assuming I receive confirmation of Isabel’s safety, Juan will represent me while I visit my child for a week. If the invasion begins during that time, I’ll travel directly to battle and link up with you there. Any questions or objections?”
    There were none.
    Atcho threw himself into his duties with an unaccustomed light heart, and anticipated the day he would leave for Camaguey. He imagined hugging his tiny daughter, then playfully holding her in the air. That alone was worth the fight.
    Four days later, his messenger returned from Camaguey. For a day and a half, the man had sat, unobserved, on a hill above Raissa’s house. He had watched Isabel playing in the yard, and saw Raissa and her husband moving about the house. There was no evidence that they were being guarded or coerced. Using extreme caution, Atcho should be able to visit his daughter at a time of his choosing.
    5
    Two weeks later, Atcho sat on the hill overlooking Raissa’s house. Five men hid in a nearby stand of trees, armed and prepared for action.
    Isabel, in pink