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knocked on Cassidy’s door.
    â€œDo you know who owns this hotel?” Cassidy poured some scotch into a glass, added ice, and passed it to the senator, whose hair was wet from the shower.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œA couple of people, fronts, but mostly Meyer Lansky. Do you know who that is?”
    â€œSure. He’s a gangster.”
    â€œYeah, well, he’s the gangster. Some people call him the Mob’s accountant. Some say he’s the brains behind all the illegal gambling in the States. He’s got Batista in his pocket and Batista’s given him license to run gambling in Cuba. He’s one of those guys who thinks long-term. The film, the girls, you, that’s long-term thinking. It’s always good to have some weight with a U.S. Senator. Maybe assigning you a room with a one-way mirror wasn’t coincidence. Where’d you find the girls?”
    â€œThey found me in the bar.” The senator grinned and shrugged at his own gullibility. His eyes were wary, but he didn’t seem badly shaken by anything that had happened. Maybe he was one of those people who was used to people cleaning up after him. Maybe he was one of those men who liked to walk to the edge of the cliff just to see how high the fall might be. “What about you? Are you thinking about long-term benefits?”
    Cassidy tossed the reel of film to the senator. “You should burn this, unless you collect them, reminiscences for your old age.”
    The senator bounced the reel in his hand as if weighing it. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”
    â€œI haven’t thought about you at all. I saw what they were doing. I didn’t like it, so I stopped it.”
    â€œOkay. Thanks.” The senator waited to see what came next.
    â€œYou’re welcome.” Cassidy headed for the door.
    â€œWhere are you going?”
    â€œDownstairs.”
    *   *   *
    The lobby was full of people, some in bathrobes, some in party clothes. The lights of ambulances and fire engines and police cars flicked through the glass of the doors and windows and painted the walls in streaks of red and blue.
    Outside, the fire trucks and ambulances and police cars were parked at angles. They had come fast, and the men in them had gotten out fast, but after that they had discovered there wasn’t much to do. An explosion had blackened the façade of the casino wing, and the glass had blown into some of the ground-floor windows, but that was the extent of the damage. Flashbulbs flared. Cops and uniformed SIM officers stood talking in clumps. A group of firemen put more energy than necessary into extinguishing flames in a grouping of small ornamental palms.
    A cop grabbed Cassidy’s arm and pushed him back toward the other tourists. Cassidy gestured toward the group of uniformed officers bunched near the casino entrance. “ Estoy con el Coronel Fuentes. ” The cop stepped back and touched the brim of his hat and nodded.
    Fuentes seemed unsurprised to see him.
    â€œWhat happened?” Cassidy asked.
    â€œThe bomb went off before she could get it inside.” He nodded toward where Sergeant Lopato crouched by a young woman who lay on the sidewalk. Light from the hotel windows fell on her. She wore a yellow party dress. The dress was dark with blood. Her left side was heavily bandaged. Blood had flowed from under her and pooled at the raised sill of the entrance. One foot still wore a green high-heeled shoe. She moaned, and Lopato leaned close and said something to her. She moved her head from side to side, either in refusal or in pain.
    â€œIt blew her left arm off,” Fuentes said. “Clearly she meant to carry it into the casino. Maximum damage, hey? Dead tourists. Innocent Americans killed. The outrage. The terror. Now the tourists don’t come. The economy suffers. The new order rises. The old order falls. A good plan when you’re sitting with your Communist