"Why? For the love of God, Jaime, if you can give me the proof, we can ..." He told Lobo about the plans of Lavandero and the anti-fascists in San Hermano.
"I understand," Lobo said. "I've already sent for the dossier on Ansaldo. It should be here in a few minutes. But while we're waiting, there are a few things I'd like to show you." He opened the drawer in his desk and took out an automatic wrapped in a brown-silk handkerchief. "Take a look at this gun," he said, "but don't touch. I want to save the fingerprints."
"What about it?" Hall asked.
"Oh, nothing. I thought you might know something about it. The hell with it. But tell me, Mateo, when did you get to town?"
"This evening."
"Panair?"
"Sure, why?"
"Then you're staying at the Jefferson, registered as Victor Ortiz Tinoco, eh?"
"My God," Hall laughed. "That's my gun!"
"That was your gun, chico. It is now Cuban Government Exhibit A in the case against your brains. So you had it all figured out, my boy. You'd come to Havana with fake papers, put up at an out-of-the-way hotel, check your gun with the hotel management, shoot the Spanish Ambassador, and then plant the gun in my back pocket and blow town on your diplomatic Mexican passport. But you reckoned without two suspicious and smart young second lieutenants from Oriente Province."