The Bolero trio bowed deeply. Stan stepped forward and held out a hand.
“Glad to meet you, Lorenzo,” he said.
The fliers shook hands while the general beamed happily upon them.
“Sit down. I have much to say to you men,” he said.
They found chairs and pulled them up beside a table. The general seated himself and puffed out his cheeks as he fished a thick envelope from his pocket.
“What I am about to say is most unusual. I have a request to make of you Americans. I wish you to extend your parole.” He lifted a hand as O’Malley opened his mouth to say no. “I feel that you should do this after the manner in which you have been treated.” He smiled at Stan.
“For how long, sir?” Stan asked.
“I cannot say exactly, but not for very much longer. I am leaving my boys here and they will be with you during the time you stay here.” His smile faded and he suddenly looked tired and old. “I ask this for a personal reason. Perhaps I am selfish.”
“You saved our lives, sir,” Allison said. “I’m giving my parole for a while longer.”
“I’ll give mine, sir,” Stan promised.