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.
The men had gathered and were waiting. Augusto Ferrando introduced himself. The Dominican Republic’s consul in Miami, Ferrando was Trujillo’s bagman. If El Jefe needed a favor from someone in Miami, Ferrando whipped out the paper bag stuffed with cash.
Next to Ferrando stood Manuel Benítez, once one of the most corrupt cops in Cuba. Benítez made a splash during World War II when he joined the FBI investigation of a Nazi spy hiding in Havana. Both he and J. Edgar Hoover took credit for the arrest of Heinz Lüning, a low-level, eccentric operative. But the real credit belonged to British postal inspectors who turned up the leads that led to the mole’s arrest.
Under Batista, Benítez had commanded the national police force and an intelligence network that infiltrated every level of Cuban society. During his tenure, Benítez was brutal, putting his most savage cops on the revolutionaries plotting Batista’s overthrow. By all counts, he was responsible for more dead bodies turning up on remote, dirt roads than any single person. While he was kicking ass on the student rebels, he was amassing a small fortune from the casino owners.
Benítez had been itching for days to finalize a plan to take care of Castro for good. No one knew the underhanded methods of getting things done in Havana better than he did. In a snake pit, he was a rattler. He would advise Morgan, and after Castro’s death, he would help lead an insurrection.
Morgan learned in just the first few minutes of the meeting that this wasn’t about just Castro. Benítez and Batista wanted the whole damn country back. They would send as many as three thousand mercenaries to the island if necessary. They even had one of Batista’s former generals ready to lead the charge: José Pedraza Cabrera.
Morgan seized the moment. First, his job was to flush them out, every one of them. So far, it was working. If they wanted to launch an invasion, he was game. In fact, he and Menoyo could rustle up more than a thousand men themselves. If an invasion was to succeed, there would have to be a simultaneous internal revolt.
Castro controlled every branch of the military except the navy and a good part of the air force. Morgan could recruit some of those men, too. “We could win the country tomorrow,” he boasted.
That’s all that the men in the suite wanted to hear. Bartone jumped in, saying he could supply the guns, the ammo, and the C-47 transport planes. He already had a Globemaster parked in a hangar in Miami.
The plan was in motion. They would meet again. From now on, they would communicate by shortwave radio only—no telephones. They would make sure Morgan got his transmitter, and they would adopt fake names to disguise each man’s identity. They also insisted that some of their own men camp with Morgan, just a few. That way, they’d have a front-row seat. Benítez already had people in Havana, so he’d send them.
Bartone agreed that he’d start funneling some of the money to Morgan so that he’d have some start-up cash. In fact, Bartone was already prepared. He reached over and handed Morgan two envelopes. Inside were two cashier’s checks, each for five thousand dollars, from the Pan American Bank of Miami, both dated April 27. Morgan needed to set up two bank accounts under aliases and deposit the checks. Bartone would be in touch. Whatever Morgan needed, he had only to ask.
The men cleared out of the suite.
By the time Morgan boarded the plane for Cuba, he realized that the plans had changed dramatically. His life was about to be turned upside down. He wasn’t just beholden to Castro and Trujillo. Now he was about to cross a sacred line, one he had never crossed before. He had prided himself on his loyalty to the streets, the mob. When he had nothing, they were there for him. Though he had embarked on a new direction in his life, he didn’t want to do anything to betray them.
Now he had no choice.
Castro was pacing. There was nothing he could do until Morgan arrived. The secret police were waiting. Castro’s bodyguards were on alert.
When Morgan and Olga came to the door, Celia Sánchez greeted them and ushered them upstairs. Castro was walking back and forth in his bedroom, smoking a cigar. Newspapers and magazines lay strewn about the floor and tables. It looked like Fidel—in his signature olive-green fatigues but with his boots untied—hadn’t slept in days.
“Tell me what you have,” he said, leaning against the headboard.
Morgan recounted everyone: Benítez, Ferrando, Bartone. This wasn’t just about an assassination; this was about overthrowing the entire government. They were planning an invasion and simultaneous insurrection.
Castro didn’t say a word. He had been talking about the plot with his aides ever since Morgan brought it to his attention, and was intent on learning everything.
Morgan said it might take weeks before it all came together, but they were determined to make it happen. They had the men, they had the money, and they had people planted all over Cuba, ready to help. It was just as Fidel had suspected. It was also just what he needed to flatten his enemies.
Morgan indicated that all further communication with the Trujillo conspirators would take place over shortwave radio. He was going to host some of the plotters as well, including former soldiers from the regime loyal to Batista.
Castro needed to think. This was indeed much bigger and with more moving parts.
The first thing Morgan needed to do was move into a bigger place, Castro said. With more people being drawn into the plot, he needed more space. Fidel would also add a few more of his men to Morgan’s entourage. No one had to know they were loyal to the government.
The secret police would monitor all people coming and going to build files on them for later arrests. Menoyo would help maintain the cover. The Second Front would stay and present themselves as willing to help the plotters. With Castro’s help, they would snare as many of the plotters as possible and smash the coup. But that was easy for Castro to say. His life wasn’t immediately on the line.
Morgan’s was.