The office door opened, and a prim, middle-aged presidential assistant named Martínez brought in Hi in his freshly pressed three-piece suit. The president, lost in the music and memories, was not even aware of their entrance. Hi, hearing the song, thought Juan had some kind of nerve. Eva had sung it--the one song she knew in rote English--at Cuco's. It had become their song, hers and Hi's. Hi felt like taking the 78 and busting it over Juan's head.

Martínez politely said, "Mister President--"

"Leave me alone," Juan snapped without as much as a glance at Martínez.

"Mister Hickenlooper is here."

"I am not to be disturbed." Juan then realized what name he had heard. "Wait!" he said, turning his chair. "Did you say--"

"Hickenlooper."

"Why didn't you say so?" Juan quickly rose to turn off the music.

As Martínez left, closing the door, Juan, chin up, chest swollen, strode forward to greet Hi. "So! Mister--eh . . . "

"Hickenlooper," Hi prompted him.

"Yes." They shook hands, Juan using a viselike grip that would crush a child's bones. I hate guys who do that, Hi thought.

"My condolences," Hi said.

"One must take Eva's death like a man," Juan said firmly. He motioned Hi to a chair in front of the desk.

"That song you were playing," Hi said as he stepped to the chair, Juan heading back to his. "I've heard it many times."

They sat down. "It was our song," Juan said.

"Yeah? Ours too."

Juan was taken aback. "That song gets around."

"Seventy-eight revolutions per minute."

Juan regarded his guest for a moment. "You still love her," Juan said. Hi didn't know how to respond. "Let us speak frankly," Juan urged. "Man to man. We are machos."

"Yeah," Hi said, "I still love her."

"Who doesn't?" Juan declared. "Who could fall out of love with Evita? No one. Not even Juan Perón."

Hi smiled lamely. "You're a regular guy, Mister President."

Juan beamed appreciatively. Then abruptly he turned very grave. "Tell me, Mister--eh . . . " Hi just looked at him. "Hickenlooper," Juan got it right. "How much do you know?" Hi shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Speak freely, please," Juan said encouragingly. "Macho to macho."

Hi cleared his throat. "Well," he began, "I know that you made a pact with the devil." Juan was stunned. "Adolf Hitler." Juan's eyes lost their focus. "At least you intended to." Juan's mouth hung open, his lower lip trembled. "Until he stole your wife."

Juan burst into tears. "The body at the ministry isn't Eva's," Hi continued. Juan shook his head no, his body shaking with sobs. "Her last appearances, during her supposed illness," Hi said, "were performed by a double." Juan nodded yes as he wailed. "Did the double know," Hi asked accusingly, "that dying would be a part of the job?" Sobbing Juan shook his head no, the accusation not even registering. "Anything to save face, eh, Mister President? Even murder."

That got Juan's attention. Suddenly there were knocks at the door, which got Juan's attention too. Juan quickly rose, wiping his eyes, and turned to be facing the window as Martínez walked in with a document. "Mister President--"

"Yes," Juan said impatiently, not turning around.

"Excuse me for interrupting your thoughts," said Martínez, stepping to the front of the desk. "I must have your signature before this document can be delivered."

Juan turned, grabbed a pen, as Martínez placed the document on the desk. Leaning over it, Juan scribbled his signature, without looking up at Martínez. "Can't you think of these things at the appropriate time?" Juan complained. He tossed the pen on the desk as he turned again to the window. "I am sorry, sir," said Martínez as he picked up the document. "Please forgive the intrusion."

Martínez quickly left, closing the door.

Juan was convulsed by a sob. Turning from the window, he grabbed the back of the desk chair with one hand for support. The chair swiveled and Juan fell to the floor. He got up, Hi watching with calm fascination. "It is true what you say," Juan sniveled. He began moving around the desk toward Hi. "What a fool I was, to consider getting mixed up with Hitler." Tears rolled down the president's cheeks. "What a fool, worst of all, to involve Evita . . . "

Juan fell to his knees before Hi.

" . . . To let her be taken to his lair." Juan crawled closer to his fascinated guest. "I should never have let her go," he whined. He clutched Hi's knee, pressed his cheek to it, wetting Hi's pants leg with tears. "He stole my Evita. You must help me get her back. You love her as I do."

Juan groveled more, began clinging to Hi's lower leg. "You know what's like to lose her," he blubbered, Hi barely able to understand him. "Please. Please, Mister Hucklelucker."

Juan was lying on the floor now, wailing, hugging Hi's ankle, wetting the shoe on Hi's clubfoot.

There were knocks, the door opened, Juan quickly crawling away from Hi. Martínez entered, document in hand, to find Juan on all fours.

"Mister President, what is wrong?" asked the startled aide.

"What does it look like, you fool?" Juan said with disdain. "I've lost something on the floor."

"May I help you find it, sir?" Martínez asked, wondering why Hi just sat in his chair with detachment.

"You don't even know what to look for," Juan said, as he went crawling behind his desk. "What do you want now?"

"I forgot, sir," the flustered aide said as he took the document to the desk, "that you must sign in two places."

Juan, trying to rise behind the desk, banged his head under the edge of the knee well. He got up holding his head.

"Mister President, I will summon the doctor," Martínez said urgently.

"It's all right," Juan said through clenched teeth.

"But, sir, you are crying in pain."

"It's all right!" Juan bellowed. Grabbing the pen, he again scribbled his signature. "Is there a third place I should sign, you lunatic?"

"No, sir," Martínez said. "I am sorry."

The aide quickly left. Juan took a moment to compose himself. Hi patiently sat, contemplating his wet knee.

"So," Juan said, wiping both eyes with a handkerchief. "You have been contacted by MI6."

"How do you know it's not CIA?" Hi asked with irritation.

"Whatever," Juan said, sitting down again at his desk. "It can only mean one thing."

"I hope you're not quoting Soto."

"They want your assistance in locating Hitler and his vampire colony. I assume they intend to destroy him."

"That's about the size of it."

Juan rather reluctantly opened a drawer of the desk. "Destroying a bunch of vampires will be no easy task."

"Especially Nazi ones," Hi said. "They're the worst."

Juan took a manila envelope from the drawer. "I wish to help. But there is the question, of course, of Evita. She must somehow be saved. We must help her."

"I'm with you on that, Mister President. But how?"

From the envelope, Juan took a page that looked like it was torn from a book. On the page was some kind of picture, which Hi couldn't see from where he sat. "There is a hematologist, a blood doctor, who has been engaged in research, using vampire bats," Juan said, gazing at the picture. "Not only to find a possible cure, but to discover how a host of vampires might best be destroyed." Juan handed the page to Hi. "He is on the verge, he believes, of success."

It was a picture of a Dracaena, the same leafy, red-flowered species of plant that was in Countess Borca's castle. Juan rose from his chair and began moving slowly around the desk toward Hi, who was studying the picture. "The Dracaena palm," Juan said. "The doctor tells me the name is from Greek, meaning dragon, or devil."

Hi turned the page over to look at the back. "What did you do, tear this out of a library book?"

"According to legend, the doctor says, the Dracaena was named in honor of vampires, some of whom keep it in their homes, as a decorative plant."

Hi rose from his chair, the page in hand, as Juan walked up to him, moving fairly close.

"The doctor has found out something extraordinary about this plant," Juan said.

"What is that?" Hi asked.

For a moment Juan didn't answer. Hi was wary of him as Juan gazed closely at Hi's eyes, his ears, the tip of his nose. "I will let him tell you," Juan said. "You must go to him."

Juan put a beseeching hand on Hi's shoulder, grasping it firmly, and got even closer. "Just be certain, Mister Hickelhopper, whatever the final plan of action, that Evita is not harmed."

Hi took a step backward and toward the door, to try to get out from under Juan's hand. "It's like you said, Mister President," Hi said agreeably. "I love her too."

Instead of letting go as Hi walked toward the door, Juan put an arm around Hi's shoulders and walked with him. "I've got her welfare in mind," Hi said.

"Yes, we both love her so," Juan said, his voice thick with emotion. "How can we help it?" Juan started crying again.

"I'll go see this blood doctor now."

"Yes," Juan said gratefully. "Please bring her back. Kill Hitler, kill them all, but save the woman we love."

"She knows she made a mistake," Hi said as he stopped at the closed door, Juan clinging to him.

"Bring back our Evita," Juan whined.

"She sees no way out. Goodbye, Mister President."

Hi tried to open the door, but Juan grabbed him by the lapels. "Why do you still love her?" Juan demanded to know. "She's mine!"

Hi, trying to break Juan's grasp with one hand, managed to open the door with the other. "Gotta go," he said.

Juan grabbed Hi by the necktie. "Bring back Evita to me!"

Hi fought to free himself from the grasp of the now hysterical Juan. "I'd almost rather leave her with Hitler," Hi said, "you sniveling two-bit colonel."

Hi managed to squeeze through the door and close it. Juan leaned against the door and sobbed.

Outside, Hi leaned against the door too, taking a moment to recover. The Dracaena page, now crinkled, was still in his hand. Martínez approached him with concern.

"Is he all right?" Martínez asked.

"You kidding?"

"You should see him on a bad day."

"Here, he can have his picture back," Hi said, handing Martínez the page. "I need to see a doctor about that plant. You got the address?"