For goddamned utter foolishness you could not have asked better. The time between some joker's telling the pigs and the cops' coming to call on us would be very short. I was hopping mad, and I had every reason to be: we had three bombs there in the car, two in the trunk and one on the back seat, covered with a rug.

"Well, they're a terrific bunch, your friends. If they're all like this, we needn't bother: we might just as well go straight to prison."

Deloifre howled with laughter, as calm as if he were going to a ball; he was delighted with himself in his colonel's uniform, and he kept admiring his reflection in the mirror. "Don't you worry, Papillon. Anyhow, we aren't going to hurt anyone. As you know, these three gas bottles have got nothing but powder in them. Just to make a noise, that's all."

"And what's going to be the point of this little noise of yours?"

"It's merely to give the signal to the conspirators scattered about the town. That's all. There's nothing bloody or savage about it, you see-we don't want to hurt anybody. We just insist on their going away, that's all."

Okay. Anyhow, whether I liked it or not I was up to the neck in this. It was not my job to quiver with alarm or be sorry: all I had to do was wait for the given time.

I refused Deloffre's port-it was the only thing he drank: two bottles a day at least. He tossed back a few glasses.

The three musketeers arrived in a command car transformed into a crane. It was going to be used to carry off two safes, one belonging to the airline company and the other to the Model Prison; one of the governors-or maybe the man in command of the garrison-was in the plot. I was to have 50 percent of what was inside and I had insisted on being there when the prison safe was grabbed: they had agreed. It would be a sweet revenge on all the prisons in the world. This was a job very near to my heart.

A dispatch rider brought the final orders: arrest no enemies; let them escape. Carlotta, the civilian airport right in the middle of the city, had already been cleared so that the chief members of the present government and their officials could get away in light planes without a hitch.

It was then that I learned where the first bomb was to be let off. Well, well, well: this Deloffre certainly went about things in style. It was to go off right in front of the presidential palace, Miraflores. The others were to explode one in the east and the other in the west of Caracas, to make it look like things were breaking out everywhere. I smiled to myself at the idea of the alarm and despondency we were going to cause in the palace.

This big wooden gate was not the official entrance to the palace. It was the back of the building; the military trucks used it, and big shots and the president would sometimes come and go this way when they wanted to avoid being noticed.

Our watches were all set to the same time. We were to be at the gate at three minutes to two. Someone inside was going to open it a crack for just two seconds, long enough for the driver to make the noise of a toad with a little child's toy that imitated it very well. That was how they would know we were there. What was the point? Nobody told me. Were President Gallegos's guards in the plot and would they take him prisoner? Or would they be put out of action right away by other conspirators already inside? I knew nothing about that.

One thing was certain: at two o'clock precisely I had to light the fuse leading to the detonator on the gas bottle I had between my knees and then toss it out of the door, giving it a good shove so it would roll toward the palace gate. The fuse lasted exactly one minute thirty seconds. So I was to light it with my cigar, and the moment it started to fizz, shift my right leg and open the door, counting thirty seconds as I did so. At the thirtieth, start it rolling. We had worked out that the wind would make it burn faster as it rolled along, and that there would be only forty seconds before the explosion.

Although the bottle had no bits of iron in it, its own splinters would be extremely dangerous, so we would have to shoot straight off in the car to take shelter. That would be VIctor the chauffeur's job.

I'd persuaded Deloffre that if there were any soldiers or cops nearby, he, in his colonel's uniform, would order them to run to the corner of the street. He promised me he'd do just that.

We reached this famous gate at three minutes to two without any difficulty. We drew up along the opposite pavement. No sentry, no cop. Fine. Two minutes to two.. – one minute to two… two o'clock.

The gate did not open.

I was all tensed up. I said to Deloifre, " Pierre, it's two o'clock."

"I know. I've got a watch, too."

"This stinks."

"I don't understand what's going on. Let's wait another five minutes."

"Okay."

Two minutes past two… the gate shot open; soldiers came running out and took up their positions, weapons at the ready. It was as clear as gin: we had been betrayed.

"Get going, Pierre. We've been betrayed!"

It took more than that to knock Pierre off his perch; he seemed not to have grasped the situation at all. "Don't talk bullshit. They're on our side."

I brought out a forty-five and rammed it against the back of Victor's neck. "Get going, or I kill you!"

I was certain of feeling the car leap forward as Victor stamped on the accelerator with all his force, but all I heard was this unbelievable remark: "_Hombre_, it's not you who gives orders here: it's the boss. What does the boss say?"

Hell: I'd seen some guys with guts, but never one like this halfcaste Indian. Never!

There was nothing I could do because there were soldiers three yards away. They'd seen the colonel's stars on Deloifre's epaulet up against the window, so they came no closer.

" Pierre, if you don't tell Victor to get going, it's not him I'll put the chill on but you."

"Little old Papi, I keep telling you they're on our side. Let's Wait a little longer," said Pierre, turning his head toward me. As he did so I saw his nostrils were shining with white powder stuck to them. I got it: the guy was stuffed full with cocaine. An appalling fear came over me, and I was putting my gun to his neck when he said with the utmost calm, "It's six minutes past two, Papi. We'll wait two more. We've certainly been betrayed."

Those hundred and twenty seconds lasted forever. I had my eye on the soldiers; the nearest were watching us, but for the moment they were making no move. At last Deloifre said, "_Vamos_, Victor: let's go. Gently, naturally, not too fast."

And by a positive miracle we came out of that mantrap alive. Phew! Some years later there was a film called _The Longest Day_. Well, you could have made one called _The Longest Eight Minutes_ out of that party of ours.

Deloifre told the driver to make for the bridge that runs from El Paralso to the Avenida San Martin. He wanted to let his bomb off under it. On the way we met two trucks filled with conspirators who didn't know what to do now, having heard no explosion at two o'clock. We told them we had been betrayed; but saying this made Deloifre change his mind and he ordered the chauffeur to drive back to his place, fast. A mistake the size of a house, because, since we had been betrayed, the pigs might very well be there already. Still, we went: and as I was helping Victor put my bomb into the trunk I noticed that it had three letters painted on it: P.R.D. I couldn't help roaring with laughter when PierreRené Deloifre told me the reason for them; we were taking off our uniforms at the time. "Papi, never forget that whenever the business is dangerous you must always do things in style. Those initials were my calling card for the enemies of my friend."

Victor went and left the car in a parking place, forgetting of course, to leave the keys as well. The three bombs were not found until three months later.