"Well," Hall said, "I'll try to get back within the week—if I'm lucky." He held out his hand to the Minister.
"Thank you, compañero." Lavandero raised his arms to Hall's shoulders and embraced him. "You were worthy of his trust."
"And you of his love," Hall answered. He was sorry for Lavandero, sorry for him as a friend, as a man, as a leader so intent on answering his responsibilities to his moment in history that he had to allow his own personal rages to simmer unattended within him until there again came a time when a man could walk off alone and be his own master.
"I will see you in a week, compañero."
Hall walked back to the living room. Segador was trying to convey to Jerry his impressions of Atlantic City in 1919. "Womans bonitas," he was shouting, "whisky bad. Much bad. I have young years, much money. Well, well. So."
"We'll listen to your memoirs when I get back," Hall said.
"When we get back," Segador said.
"You're coming with me?"
"I'm meeting you on your way back. We'll meet in Caracas. Listen to me, compañero. The chief of our Air Force is loyal. He will give me one of our American bombers. From the San Martin airport, a bomber can make Caracas in fifteen hours. Give me ten hours' notice, and I will meet you in time. I already have a loyal flying crew standing by for my orders."
"Where can we meet in Caracas?"