Rings circled his eyes, and his face was flushed from the sun and sweat. Morgan was exhausted. Olga tried to get him to rest, but he had made the safety of Cienfuegos a personal mission. Traffic was moving down Paseo del Prado, due in part to the patrols he had established. Most of the troublemakers had been locked up.
After pulling into the naval station for another briefing, he received an urgent call. It was a messenger: Be on your guard; you are about to get a visitor. Fidel Castro.
After leaving Santiago de Cuba for Havana, 470 miles away, Castro decided to divert his route. He was coming to Cienfuegos. Morgan had heard rumblings that Castro was crossing the country in a caravan on his way to the capital, but he hadn’t given it much thought. Some of the Second Front rebels grumbled about the 26th of July leader’s decision to change course. After all, Cienfuegos was the only major city that fell under the control of the Second Front.
Morgan shrugged. His men needed to get ready. Their problems had been with Che, not Fidel. “We will show him respect,” Morgan said.
The revolution had far bigger problems looming. The rebel groups were struggling to see who gets power. In Havana, the Directorio members were refusing to leave the presidential palace.
Castro’s group had demanded that they vacate the building so his group could move in. From what the Directorio could tell, Castro’s people were all but taking over. They had moved into all of the major garrisons and occupied nearly all of the police precincts. During his caravan ride, Castro barked over the radio that the country needed a new provisional president. Then he proceeded to name fifty-nine-year-old provincial judge Manuel Urrutia Lleó to the post, along with a cabinet.
He had iced out the Directorio. After listening to the radio broadcasts, Rolando Cubela had enough. He dashed off a note to the 26th of July Movement, demanding that the Directorio have a seat in the new government and that the “members and the blood shed by them be fully recognized.” Otherwise, he wasn’t budging.
News of a showdown rippled across the country.
Dressed in olive fatigues and a sidearm in his waistband, Castro jumped into the crowd waiting for him. “Bienvenido a Cienfuegos! ” people yelled as they ran around him. Wearing his rebel cap and sporting a dark, full beard, he wasted no time moving along the line of people, shaking hands. Ever since Batista left, Castro was emerging as the next leader of Cuba, drawing television cameras in nearly every province where he stopped. Many of his speeches in the small towns were being broadcast into the capital.
Unlike the other towns that Castro had visited, Cienfuegos was a bastion of the Second Front. More people in the Escambray unit came from this city than any other. Scores of rebels bearing the Second Front insignia came out for Castro’s entrance, leaving no doubt of the unit’s strength in numbers.
As he stepped into the welcoming throng on Jagua Bay, Castro wasn’t the only person commanding the attention of the crowd. Even as Morgan stood by, watching, people rushed up to him, pulling on his uniform and hugging him. Everywhere he went, he drew his own crowd.
For a brief, awkward moment, two of the most popular leaders of the Cuban revolution were in the same place, the crowd parting as the two rebel leaders came together. Olga watched carefully as her husband stood toe to toe with Castro. Both men reached out their hands to shake. The one thing they shared at the moment was that neither man had slept in days, both pushing on adrenaline. Castro nodded and then slipped back into the crowd. He had just a few hours to make a stand before moving on to Havana for another grand entrance.
Castro and his entourage made their way to Restaurante Covadonga for a celebratory dinner. As everyone squeezed inside, waiters rushed around the tables, handing out plates steaming with fresh paella. Castro barely picked at his food as he worked the crowd, stopping at tables to talk.
Dozens of Second Front members slipped inside as well, but after several minutes, Olga noticed something. All of the Second Front rebels were on one side of the room, the 26th of July rebels and Castro on the other. There was some small talk, but Castro was steering clear of the barbudos from the Escambray. After several more minutes of watching the body language in the room, Olga went over to Morgan.
“I’m not feeling well,” she said. “I’m going to leave.”
Morgan looked at her, puzzled.
“No,” she snapped. “It’s time to go.”
She slipped out the door.