The hatch was opened and the men armed themselves. Tedder offered George a pistol. George shook his head. “Take it,” Tedder said. “This is dangerous.”

George knew what Tedder was up to. Tedder wanted him to get blood on his hands. That way he would lose the ability to criticize Mongoose. But George was not so easy to manipulate. “No, thanks,” he said. “I’m strictly an observer.”

“I’m in charge of this mission, and I’m ordering you.”

“And I’m telling you to fuck off.”

Tedder gave in.

Sanchez tied up the boat and they all disembarked. No one spoke. Sanchez pointed to the nearest warehouse, which also seemed to be the largest. They all ran toward it. George brought up the rear.

No one else was in sight. George could see a row of houses that looked little more than timber shacks. A tethered ass was cropping the sparse grass at the side of the dirt road. The only vehicle in sight was a rusty pickup truck of 1940s vintage. This was a very poor place, he realized. Clearly it had once been a busy port. George guessed it had been ruined by President Eisenhower, who had imposed an embargo on trade between the USA and Cuba in 1960.

Somewhere, a dog started barking.

The warehouse had timber sides and a corrugated-iron roof, but no windows. Sanchez found a small door and kicked it in. They all ran inside. The place was empty but for packaging litter: broken packing cases, cardboard boxes, short lengths of rope and string, discarded sacks and torn netting.

“Perfect,” said Sanchez.

The four Cubans threw incendiary bombs around the floor. A moment later they flamed up. The litter caught fire immediately. The timber walls would light in moments. They all ran outside again.

A voice said in Spanish: “Hey! What’s this?”

George turned to see a white-haired Cuban man in some kind of uniform. He was too old to be a cop or a soldier, so George guessed he was the night watchman. He wore sandals. However, he had a handgun on his belt, and he was fumbling to open the holster.

Before he could get his gun out, Sanchez shot him. Blood bloomed from the breast of his white uniform shirt and he fell backward.

“Let’s go!” Sanchez said, and the five men ran toward the speedboat.

George knelt over the old man. The eyes stared up at the brightening sky, seeing nothing.

Behind him, Tedder yelled: “George! Let’s go!”

Blood pumped from the chest wound for a few moments, then slowed to a trickle. George felt for a pulse, but there was none. At least the man had died fast.

The blaze in the warehouse was spreading rapidly, and George could feel its heat.

Tedder said: “George! We’ll leave you behind!”

The speedboat’s engine started with a roar.

George closed the dead man’s eyes. He stood up. For a few seconds he remained standing, head bowed. Then he ran for the speedboat.

As soon as he was aboard, the boat veered away from the dock and headed across the bay. George strapped himself in.