He and the other Second Front leaders had decided to take advantage of Bartone’s offer. Some of the men had reservations about leaving, but events in Cuba were unfolding so quickly that even Menoyo realized it was the wisest action to take.
Castro was wresting away more control of the country every day. After promising a democratic government, he had suspended elections for the next two years and then named himself prime minister on February 15. The only way to counter his momentum was for the Second Front to carry its own message of elections and open doors to the new government.
Morgan, Menoyo, and two dozen other Second Front men would travel to several cities, starting in Miami, with advance men handling the publicity. Mayor Robert King High of Miami already had extended an invitation to meet with them.
During the trip, the Second Front leaders wouldn’t say anything negative about the current government. They would talk only about their unit and the democratic values for which they fought. Castro no doubt had people on the ground, watching and listening.
But still, Olga worried. Despite Morgan’s assurances, Castro and the others would see their actions as treasonous. The Castros and Che would suspect any efforts to curry favor with the US government, which they blindly blamed for everything that had gone wrong with Cuba. What if Fidel decided to arrest them?
Morgan again assured Olga that no one was going to cross the line. But Olga wasn’t budging.
“I know my people,” she told him. “You don’t.”
The man in the lobby of the Capri said it was urgent. Call Morgan. He wanted just a few minutes with the Americano. It would be worth Morgan’s time. Morgan didn’t want to go anywhere, but the call sounded urgent. With his men in tow, he hopped into the Jeep and sped to the Capri. When he walked into the lobby, the hunched figure at the desk was waiting.
As the two men walked toward the lounge, Morgan noticed that the visitor looked more like a US law enforcement agent than a tourist. Frank Nelson had been around Havana for a long time. He was a fixer and an ex-con who fashioned himself as a modern-day spook. One day he said he was working for the CIA, and another, serving as a foreign emissary. Havana was a breeding ground for people reinventing themselves, people driven out of other places. Nelson was no different. Whatever his status, he had done his homework on Morgan and the Second Front.
In the lounge, Nelson told Morgan that his unit was in trouble. Che and Raúl were looking for any evidence they could find to start cracking down on the members. So were other government loyalists. The fact that the Second Front had been barred from top positions in government was telling enough, he said. For someone not in contact with the Second Front, Nelson knew a lot.
But Morgan was still perplexed over why he had called him.
Nelson had just returned from the Dominican Republic and had rushed to Havana to deliver the message. He wanted to offer Morgan a deal—an offer that would never be made again. The man making it was one of the most powerful in the hemisphere.
“He has the money,” said Nelson.
Castro, he said, wasn’t doing justice to the new Cuba. He was arrogant and he was dangerous, Nelson said. The man behind the offer had a simple request: He wanted Castro dead. He didn’t say how to kill him, he just wanted Castro eliminated. The man was offering one million dollars for the revolutionary leader’s head. Morgan later told members of the Second Front that he was taken aback. Rarely surprised by anything, Morgan was stunned by the offer. He wanted to know who the man was behind the money.
Rafael Trujillo, the legendary dictator who had ruled the Dominican Republic for more than thirty years, was one of the longest-serving rulers in the Caribbean. No one despised Castro more than the man known as El Jefe, a ruthless tyrant who surpassed Batista in his ability to torture and kill his opposition to keep his power. Castro had singled out Trujillo as a brute who relished the support of the United States while he was looting his country’s treasury. More than anything, he needed to be overthrown, Castro said.
Trujillo was well aware of Castro’s stinging criticism and supplied Batista with arms and ammo to make sure the barbudo never took power. But he had misjudged the rebels. When Batista finally fled Havana, it was Trujillo who reluctantly let the Cuban president’s plane land in the Dominican Republic after the United States turned him down.
Over the years, Rafael Trujillo Molino had left a long and bloody trail in his country. Born in 1891 in the village of San Cristobal, he ran in gangs as a youth, stealing and extorting money and goods and at one time running cockfights. After a military career, he won the presidency during a bloody campaign in which much of his opposition turned up dead. In time, he ordered the shooting of farmers who demanded higher wages, labeling them as Communists. He once sent his men to massacre thousands of Haitians living in the Dominican Republic during a border dispute in 1937. Only Trujillo could make someone like Batista appear benign.
But among the conservative element in the United States, Trujillo could do no wrong. A virulent anti-Communist, he was America’s antidote to Communism in the islands.
Still startled, Morgan told Nelson that he would think about it. They would talk again, and Morgan would give him an answer. In the mountains, Morgan knew the identity of his enemy. Now he realized for the first time that he was venturing into a world where the lines had blurred and the dangers were growing.
The plan was set. The tour was booked. The venues were ready to receive the Second Front in nine US cities, including Toledo, Morgan’s hometown.
Then they got word. The Castro government was shutting down the tour.
Furious over the Second Front’s moves to promote the unit in the United States, Raúl Castro moved quickly to halt the unit from leaving. They weren’t going to allow the Second Front to have its own voice. As far as Che and Raúl were concerned, only one voice could speak for the Cuban revolution: the 26th of July.
Menoyo had feared a shutdown. Ever since the heated exchange with Raúl, he knew the Second Front was going to be a target. But the government had no right meddling in their business. The Second Front had no plans to criticize Castro or his underlings during the tour. Menoyo now had to tell his men and make sure the promoters, including Bartone, knew about the power play.
Morgan’s mother had read about the event to be held at the Sports Arena. Since then, Loretta Morgan had been waiting anxiously to see her son, even telling her neighbors. It has been a year since she had seen him. She had so much to tell him.
But on the afternoon of March 4, she picked up a copy of the Toledo Blade that carried the headline: “Cuba Cancels US Tour by Morgan.”
The article gave no reason for the Cuban government’s actions. Putting the paper down, Loretta was crushed. Her son wasn’t coming home.
31
As darkness set over Havana, the Second Front leaders came to Menoyo’s home in the Vedado neighborhood. This was unlike other gatherings.
The unit leaders had reached their limits. They had been stung by Raúl Castro and the others when the tour was cancelled. They needed to do something. One plan was to go back to the mountains. They had the support of the farmers. They had the support of the people in Trinidad and Cienfuegos. Many of them owed their freedom to the rebels and would rise up with them, said Menoyo.
One of the men in the room was a surprise: Pedro Díaz Lanz. His grandfather battled the Spanish in the war for independence in the 1890s, and his father had served as a top officer in the Cuban army until 1930. Díaz, a strapping man with a taut build and penetrating eyes, worked for the new government but had grown disillusioned.
As chief of the fledgling air force, Lanz had believed deeply in the cause, risking his life by flying weapons to Castro in the Sierra Maestra during the height of the fighting. But he was clearly at odds with the new leaders. He didn’t like watching Che get chummy with the Communists, and he still resented Castro for not allowing elections to move
forward. Díaz came to the meeting at the urging of Second Front supporter Rafael Huguet del Valle to meet the men who were openly defying the new government.
“Ñangaras,” said Lanz, using the Cuban slang for Communists.
Morgan had other issues. As the men in the room began talking with Lanz, Morgan pulled Menoyo to the side. “I need to talk to you,” he said.
It was rare that Morgan would look so serious. He disclosed his meeting with Nelson as well as the offer from Trujillo. “He said he would pay a million dollars for me to kill Castro.”
As Morgan went on to describe the meeting, Lanz’s ears perked up. He heard every word that Morgan said. Immediately, the airman walked over to the men. “This is serious,” he said. “If this is coming from Trujillo, this is serious.”
Morgan looked at Lanz and then at Menoyo. At this point, he wondered whether he should have said anything. But Lanz put him at ease. He would support the Second Front on whatever action it took, but it was probably better to be transparent. “My personal opinion is that you should tell Fidel. If they find out otherwise, they will break your back.”
Morgan had been thinking about what he should do. He had serious reservations about Che and Raúl, but he had been trying to keep an open mind about Fidel. If there was any hope for the revolution to succeed, it rested with Fidel.
Ultimately the decision was up to Morgan. He wasn’t going to murder Castro. That was never an option. But neither was telling Castro. Now he was having second thoughts. Maybe revealing the plot would help the Second Front.
Going to Castro was a risk. No one knew how he would react. But if meeting with Fidel would buy protection for the Second Front, Morgan had no choice.
Light cascaded down on the palm trees growing inside the atrium of the sweeping lobby. Castro’s men were everywhere: at the elevators, the front desk, the front doors. By the time Morgan walked into the middle of the Hilton lobby with Menoyo and Artola, all eyes had fixed on them. In their fatigues, the three Second Front leaders approached the front desk and asked for Castro. People didn’t just come in and ask to see Fidel. But they weren’t people—they were the Second Front.
For days, the Segundo Frente had hovered in the government’s crosshairs. They had refused to give up their weapons and uniforms. They openly challenged the government by planning a tour of the United States. Ever since Castro had arrived in Havana in January, the Second Front had been the one group that the government couldn’t control.
Castro still didn’t know what to make of Morgan. He could have gone back to America by now to capitalize on his newfound fame. But here he was . . . still.
Morgan and Menoyo knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but Morgan made the first move. In broken Spanish, he said that he and the others were coming of their own accord because Fidel himself was in danger. He laid it all out: A bagman from the mob had visited Morgan—but not about a casino deal. The man had a proposition: For one million dollars, he wanted Castro dead, and Trujillo had ordered the hit.
Castro looked up quizzically from his chair. Morgan filled in the details, but Castro’s mind was already spinning. He wanted to know more. Who else was part of this plot?
Morgan shook his head. He didn’t know.
Castro rose, excited, waving his cigar in the air. If the offer was bona fide, then it wasn’t coming from Trujillo alone. Others insiders were involved. Castro’s brilliance was showing itself. No other man could compete. This is why he was on the twenty-third floor of the Havana Hilton above everyone else in the country.
“I want you to play along,” he told Morgan. “I want you to act like you are going to take the offer.”
Ever the supreme strategist, he wanted not only Trujillo but also all the rest. Don’t just stop with one plotter. Reel them all in. To do this, Morgan would play double agent, Castro and his men working closely with him at every step. It was the perfect opportunity for Castro to root out his enemies and solidify power. It gave Morgan an opportunity to exert the kind of influence over Fidel that only Che and Raúl enjoyed at the time.
Morgan had just wedged himself between Fidel Castro and Rafael Trujillo, two of the Caribbean’s most dangerous men.
Olga ran to her room and threw herself on the bed. The men had been talking long enough for her to pick up everything. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why are you doing this?” she yelled.
It was one thing for her husband to fight in the revolution against a dictator. But this was suicide. This was Rafael Trujillo, el Monstruo del Caribe. No one had been as ruthless and unforgiving to his people. After all the battles Morgan had survived in the mountains, he was going to thrust himself into a plot that could end up devouring him.
All Olga wanted was to settle into her new home and have a baby. She was already surrounded by men sleeping on her floor and kitchen, everyone sharing the same bathroom. Now she had to worry about Morgan going into battle again.
Morgan walked into the bedroom and closed the door. He assured her that everything would be all right. No one would hurt him. “I have to do this, Olga,” he said. The steps he was taking were to help everyone. He wasn’t looking forward to it. He didn’t ask for it. But he had a chance to make things safe for their family and the Second Front. Che and Raúl hated them. If it was up to them, they’d all be walking to the wall.
Olga understood what Morgan was saying, but she didn’t like it. What if Trujillo found out? “I don’t want to suffer anymore,” she said. She just wanted to leave. It would be better to live in the United States, where at least it was safer. “I want to get away from the politics. I want to get away from these people.”
Morgan told her that they would leave but not now. Too much was at stake. Too many people were depending on him. The young men who fought with him in the mountains were vulnerable, too. “These are my boys,” he said. “I can’t just leave them.”
Castro wasn’t going to let this overture from Morgan pass unheeded. He met with his secret police and staff, instructing them to keep a constant dialogue with Morgan. But Castro didn’t want the operation run by the Second Front. Like all major undertakings in the new government, Fidel insisted on total control.
Morgan’s rebel entourage was staying with him; surely he wouldn’t mind a few more men. Castro pushed for a couple of his own men to bunk at Morgan’s.
Pedro Ossorio Franco had been an agent only for a couple of months, but he was tough and trusted. For more than a year, he bellied up in the mountains with the Directorio, fighting in some of the fiercest battles in Pinar del Río Province. After the revolution, he joined hundreds of rebels who took up military positions to ensure the army remained loyal to Castro. The lanky, twenty-one-year-old Mexican was summoned to the headquarters of the Technical Investigations Department, which carried out undercover police work. He was to stay at Morgan’s and keep his mouth shut. Just observe. Every few days, phone his commanders.
He also had another duty—delicate, dangerous, and never to be divulged, even to other members of his military unit. He was to spy on Morgan. If he saw any signs of betrayal, he was to report it immediately to the secret police. Under extreme circumstances, he could use his weapon.
Ossorio didn’t know what to expect when he arrived at Morgan’s apartment. He had heard a lot about the Americano and his exploits in the central mountains. But he didn’t know how Morgan would react to his presence.
“You are welcome here,” Morgan told him. “Everything here is yours. Everything I have is yours.”
Ossorio didn’t say anything. But he was surprised by Morgan’s overture. He hadn’t expected the American to welcome him like a friend. But Morgan clearly put him at ease. Ossorio noticed that all of the other Second Front rebels gathered around Morgan to protect him. Armed with machine guns and sidearms, the message from the rebels was clear: Mess with our comandante, and you will be staring down a dozen gun barrels.
> For Morgan’s part, he wasn’t concerned about Ossorio. He was facing far bigger challenges. Trujillo’s people were calling and asking him to meet them in Miami as soon as possible. The plans were changing already. What had begun as an assassination was morphing into something bigger and more nefarious. He had gone into battle dozens of times, but now forces on both sides of the Greater Antilles were closing in.
32
Morgan stepped off the elevator on the eleventh floor of the DuPont Plaza Hotel and strode down the long hallway. He always thought his first trip back to the United States in more than a year would be with Olga to see his children. But not this time. This was a quick, secret trip to Miami. He was expected to meet with Trujillo’s consul, a man with a gravelly voice who had called him to set up the meeting. But when he opened the door, he was greeted by somebody else.
There was no mistaking the broad shoulders and dark, slicked-back hair. It had been weeks since he had seen Dominick Bartone. Morgan thought he was being summoned to Miami to meet the operatives who Trujillo was sending from the Dominican Republic to get the plot under way.
But as he shook hands with Bartone, Morgan had already figured out what was happening. He should have known the mob would have a seat at the table. The casino owners had as much to lose as anyone in Havana. Lansky, Trafficante, and others had poured tens of millions into the ritzy gaming hotels, including the historic Nacional. They weren’t going to give up their empires without a fight.
Mob involvement introduced yet another dangerous twist. Now, in addition to plotting secretly against Trujillo, Morgan had to deal with Bartone and the crime families. The best he could do was play the street soldier and keep Bartone at ease.
The mobster hadn’t spared any expense. Windows ran ceiling to floor, offering a spectacular view of Biscayne Bay. The room, 1133R, was as swanky as any suite in the hotel.
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