"You are surprised, Rivas? Please let me assure you that there are many of us. We are everywhere where they are. Claro?"
"I understand." For a fleeting moment Rivas had been back with the Republic, a free man among free men. Now he was again a prisoner, but with two jailers—Franco and the Republic. Now the Republic could force the other to destroy him. "Yes," he said, "I understand." The Republic, he knew, gave him his choice of executioners or his opportunity to fight for his freedom.
"Well?"
"I am grateful," he said. "I am grateful for the chance to belong to the Republic again."
"Good. We must plan. Shall we drink on it?"
There was a decanter of Scotch whisky on Dr. Moré's sideboard. Santiago filled four glasses to the brim, then called for and filled a fifth glass. "It is for the other who will be with us tonight," he said. Eduardo was getting the affidavit on Ansaldo from the exile in Marianao.
"To the Republic!"
Hall watched Rivas drink his Scotch in one greedy, hysterical gulp. He quietly filled the man's glass, shoved the bottle toward him. Rivas downed the second Scotch, reached for the bottle, then changed his mind as his hand was in mid-air.
"Paper," Rivas said. "The desk. I must draw a floor plan of the Embassy."