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Camba finished lighting the cigar and dropped the match into an ash-tray. “Perhaps you know John Delgados?” He leaned back into the shadowy corner of the booth.

Johnny! Out of all the people in the world, how could the government be interested in him? Alcala tried to sound casual. “An associate of mine. A friend.”

“I would like to contact the gentleman.” The request was completely unforceful, undemanding. “I called, but he was not at home. Could you tell me where he might be?”

“I’m sorry, Senor Camba, but I cannot say. He could be on a business trip.” Alcala was feeling increasingly nervous. Actually, Johnny was working at his laboratory.

“What do you know of his activities?” Camba asked.

“A biochemist.” Alcala tried to see past the meditative mask of the thin dark face. “He makes small job-lots of chemical compounds. Special bug spray for sale to experimental plantations, hormone spray for fruits, that sort of thing. Sometimes, when he collects some money ahead, he does research.”

Camba waited, and his silence became a question. Alcala spoke reluctantly, anger rising in him. “Oh, it’s genuine research. He has some patents and publications to his credit. You can confirm that if you choose.” He was unable to keep the hostility out of his voice.