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password and said, “I’ve been sent from national headquarters.”
    “Indeed. For what purpose?” The dentist had come to his feet. He shook hands across the desk with first Joe, and then Max.
    Joe looked around the room. “Is there any possibility at all that this room is bugged?”
    “Bugged?”
    Joe said, “An electronic microphone to pick up any conversations that take place. They’ve got some fantastically advanced models these days.”
    The other looked startled. “It never occurred to me.”
    Max said, “I’d hate to be the cloddy who had to monitor a dentists office. The screams would give me ulcers before the week was out.”
    Zavala looked at him questioningly, then back to Joe. He said, “The girl gave me your name, of course, Señor Mauser. And I am familiar with it. I followed the news of your remarkable duel with the Hungarian in Budapest. However… this gentleman?”
    “Names aren’t important,” Joe said, avoiding introducing Max. “Is there someplace we can talk that we absolutely know couldn’t be bugged?”
    The dentist looked at his wrist chronometer and said, “Have you eaten?”
    “Only sandwiches and such for the past three days,” Joe told him.
    “Then, let us go. It’s my lunch hour and I have no appointments until four.”
    Joe said, “I see that the institution of the siesta is still with us in Mexico.”
    They filed out, Max tipping the girl another wink as he went by. She smiled at him. Joe had a sneaking suspicion that given a few days in town Max would have her in the sack in short order. Especially if he told her he was Category Military and had fought in the fracases.
    The small, thin dentist led the way to the street and then to the nearest entry to the famous Mexico City Metro. Some stations had small Aztec pyramids or temples in them, which were found when the underground was being excavated.
    Max said, “Subway? Don’t you have no vacuum-tube transport in this here town?”
    The dentist looked at him testily. “To some extent, but we also have the metro for mass transportation. What I had in mind was the fact that anyone attempting to trail us through the mobs that press into metro cars would have quite a problem on their hands.”
    “Good thinking,” Joe said. “Let’s all keep our eyes peeled for anyone who looks as though he’s tailing us.”
    They got out at the station at the far end of Alameda Park near the Bellas Artes building, turned right down San Juan de Letran, and then left at the next street.
    “Here we are,” Zavala said. “Prendes. One of the oldest restaurants in Mexico City. Emiliano Zapata once rode in here on his horse, gun in hand, seeking an enemy.”
    “How’s the food?” Max said cynically.
    The dentist didn’t answer.
    The Prendes certainly looked like one of the oldest restaurants in Mexico City. In fact, it looked like one of the oldest restaurants anywhere.
    “Many of we Mexicans like the old ways,” Zavala said to Joe, no apology in his voice.
    “Can’t blame you,” Joe said. “Looks like a damn good place to get a meal.”
    The dentist, being acquainted with the specialties, made suggestions and ordered for them. Largely, it was seafood, though the steak Max selected was probably the first real steak he had ever eaten in his life. Mexicans, Zavala explained, didn’t go for commercial whale meat from the herds now being exploited by the whale “cowboys” with their porpoise assistants. The food was accompanied by the darkest, richest, and strongest beer Joe Mauser had ever tasted.
    Joe looked around at the hundreds of persons, ninety-five percent male, packed into the place, and then back to Jesus Zavala. He said. “Do you mean this is the quiet place where we can talk?”
    The other smiled. “My dear Señor Mauser, have you ever been anywhere more conducive to secret conversation than a popular businessman’s restaurant at lunch time? In this babble, no one will hear us, or bother to try. Over this babble, our