"I don't think so. I didn't tell them, anyway. I wouldn't, without your permission."
"Maybe you should tell them. It might do some good. But what are we going to do now that we know about the fire? I still feel like a drunk on a merry-go-round."
Duarte laughed. "You can always get off and go home," he said.
"No. It feels worse when I get off."
"I did something this morning, Mateo. I sent word to General Mogrado through one of our diplomatic couriers."
"Mogrado? Of the Spanish air force?"
"He's living in Mexico City now. I asked him to rush everything he could get on Ansaldo. The largest Spanish Republican colony in the hemisphere is in Mexico, you know. I figured that surely there must be one man among the exiles—a doctor, a former Army officer, someone—who could give us the dope on Ansaldo."
"Sounds like a possibility."
"We'll see."
"Don't let me fall asleep here. I've got things to do."