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"And you're Raúl." Er. gives him a limp hand- shake and stumps down in his seat. Hilda Inclán shakes her head and walks off."Who's Raúl" asks Rothchild."He's Rolando Martinez' son-in-law. One of the Wa- i spent a lot of time with him in Miami."mad at each other. Then Bosch got ar ed in Vene- zuela again, along with a whole bunch of Cuban exiles,Stories have been seeping out in the Venezuelan press linking Bosch with both Letelier and the Cuban plane. I picked up similar stories in Miami. My sources there tell me the Cubans in jail are almost all former CIA men, F.B.I. informants and a few veterans of the Ven- ezuelan secret police, the DISIP. Some people say DISIP has tortured the hell out of these guys, but other people say DISIP is in bed with thein-holding them under protective custody till the heat blows over. It's the biggest damn mess you ever saw.""What's so bad about that?" asks Rothchild."I don't know. It's just that he probably knows who my Cuban contacts are, and I don't know what the hell he's up to. You see, sonic of the people who have been telling me about the terrorists are right-wingers and some of them are left-wingers. I don't care about any thing except the Letelier murder, but I think it would be healthy for us if we could keep the two groups separate. The only way we can do that is to stay kind of incognito.""You folks wouldn't mind telling me who you are and what you're up to, would you?"Rothchild and Branch look up at the man standing in the aisle. He wears a leisure suit with a flashy shirt opened to his sternum, showing a lot of tan and some tufted chest hair."Well," says Branch, "I'm not sure. What are you doing? We're just thinking about racetracks and Cu- bans and stuff like that.""You're doing great so far," Rothchild says. His mind has been wandering over the Bosch briefing. "What makes you think we can get into the prison to see Bosch and his friends?" he asks. "And why would they want to talk to us?""Corse on now. You can tell me," the man urges."Don't tell him anything," says Hilda Inclán from behind. She is laughing as if it were a game, but her eves signal a warning.Branch is way off-balance. "I'll take the fifth. Why don't we start with you?""It's a long shot," Branch answers. "But Bosch is in a tough spot. The Castro government wants him, and Bosch knows that would mean curtains for him. He also knows that he could get killed any day in Vene zuela by either his friends or his enemies. He may fig ure that his best chance to survive is to come to the United States. What we hope is that he wants to get some of his story out in the American press to force the government to turn the screws and get him back in the States. That's what I hear from some of our Vene- zuelan contacts. I don't know if it's true, but they are pretty high up. Now even if we can't talk to Bosch and the other prisoners directly, we might get stuff indi- rectly from the Venezuelans.""Okay," says the man, smiling. "I'll play it your way, friend. My name's George Yoss. I'm an assistant state's attorney out of Miami." He flashes an ID card.Branch and Rothchild can't believe it. He seems more like a condominium salesman who wishes he could be a golf pro. "Is that right, Hilda?" Branch asks."What happens if all the Venezuelan contacts turn out to be flaky?""Yeah, but he's being a bad boy tonight," she re- plies "Tell him to mind his own business, whatever that is.""Then we'll just have to poke around," says Branch. "I have a lot of names. There's only one guy I know down here personally. He's a Cuban named Ricardo Morales. I interviewed him back in 1971, just before he came to Venezuela. People in Miami tell me he's way up high in the DISIP, the secret police. I don't know what he's doing now, but he might be a good fallback if nothing else works out.""Okay," says Yoss, "I'm going to give you one more chance. I know you're a journalist. Why don't we start with who you work for?"Branch looks down and notices that his hands have been covering up the news clippings unconsciously. These gave me away, eh?" he says weakly. "I'll tell you what, You've got me a little paranoid. Why don't you give me the name of your hotel and I'll call you when we get our feet on the ground? We can talk this over."Rothchild is encouraged. At least Branch knows one real person. "What's he like?""He's one of the most cynical people I've ever met," Branch replies, "but I liked him anyway. He doesn't have any illusions about the business he's in, and he makes fun of all the people who do. Ricardo is an old operator, even though he's only in his late thirties. He worked for Castro's secret police. Then he worked for the C.I.A. as an explosives expert. He fought for the Agency in the Congo in the mid-Sixties, and then be came an F.B.I. informant. He's the guy who got Bosch convicted in 1969. Small world, isn't it? lle surfaced in court with everything on tape. Then all hell broke loose. Morales' car was blown up. He survived but blamed Bosch for trying to kill him. Morales himself was indicted for first-degree murder, but he got off. He's a survivor if there ever was one.""Why don't we start with who you work for?" Yoss persists. He is still kidding, but there is an edge to it. You may need me down here. You never know. This is a strange country and you guys could find yourselves on the next plane out. I'll give you one more chance.""I think I'll lay low for the moment," Branch says. Yoss makes a few more thrusts, then saunters off."Maybe I was too set on getting into the country on the sly," Branch says. "That sure didn't work out. This tiger's like a goddamn convention! Tell me, Hilda. None of the Cuban cops is named Raúl Diaz, I hope?""So he must hate Bosch, then," says Rothchild."Well, yes," saya Branch. cochaned"That's Diaz right behind you," she replies."Oh, shit!" says Branch. He turns slowly in his seat and ends himself staring at one of the handsome Cubans"You must be Taylor Branch," Raúl Diaz says with a saila