She couldn’t use the phone. She couldn’t leave the apartment. She had little food in the cupboards and no money.
Olga had been under house arrest for a few days, but she hadn’t been allowed to retain a lawyer. For most of the day, she glared at the guards sitting across from her in the living room as she held Olguita in her arms. She couldn’t see her mother or father. She hadn’t seen her husband, nor would anyone tell her anything about the case against them. At night, she lay down and cried herself to sleep. Then the babies woke up, hungry and crying.
More than anything, it was the uncertainly of their future that most troubled her. She hadn’t been able to learn anything about Morgan’s whereabouts. At first, the guards said he was being held at Quinta Avenida, the G2 jail. Then it was La Cabaña. She looked for a way to send a message to neighbors on the balconies below, but the guards were watching her every move.
Finally, without warning, she walked directly in front of the men, reached for a telephone, and ripped it off the wall, pieces of plaster flying onto the floor. One of the guards came over to her, but she warned him to stay away. “I’m tired of this! I’m tired of all of you!” she screamed.
Either she was going to find a way to escape with her children, or the government would haul her to jail. If she stayed in her current situation, she wouldn’t make it.
The Second Front men gathered inside the small office in the Vedado neighborhood, encircling the desk. Menoyo sat at the center. No one had taken Morgan’s arrest harder than Menoyo. He had stayed up nights, trying to figure out a way to get him out of La Cabaña. Menoyo had never known anyone like the Americano. Of all the men in his unit, no one was more loyal or more willing to die for the others than Morgan. If Menoyo was in the same situation, Morgan would go to war for him.
Menoyo had two choices. He could rally the guajiros in the mountains who respected and supported Morgan and attack the prison. The men probably could overpower the first row of guards to get inside La Cabaña, but the government soldiers would no doubt blitz the fortress before the rebels could get out. It would be a suicide mission.
The second option was to work from the inside, which would be difficult, but not impossible. Not all the guards inside the prison were loyal to Castro. If the Second Front could reach key supporters in the anti-Castro movement, people with direct ties to the guards, they might find a way to help Morgan escape. Those supporters—members of the newly formed 30th of November Movement—were ready to help the Second Front. If Menoyo was going to get his friend out of jail, now was the time.
In the meantime, Menoyo had to make sure the Second Front continued to get weapons to the Escambray. They knew they were going to wage another military offensive—there was no other way to wrest control of the country. But they needed more firepower. They needed recruits. They needed Morgan.
Down the long brick corridor, Olga walked with the guards past the dank prison barracks. She had always been leery of La Cabaña: the brutal beatings of prisoners, the executions under Che Guevara, the rotting flesh along the wall. But when the guards came to her home with their orders, she didn’t have a choice. They were taking her to the prison for her arraignment.
Looming high on a hill on the eastern side of the harbor, La Cabaña was one of the most visible landmarks of Havana, a fortress built two hundred years earlier to keep out British invaders. Once a symbol of noble defiance, it was now a military prison known for the bullet-pocked walls outside where the inmates were executed.
As Olga was led into the tribunal chambers with the high ceilings and gallery, the guards and observers stood up. It was supposed to be a routine hearing where the judges read the charges and the prisoner made a plea. But as they read the counts against her—treason, bearing arms, conspiracy—Olga interrupted, each time blurting out “No.”
They would stop, wait, and then proceed, and each time, Olga would interrupt, “No, that did not happen.”
Irritated, the judges ordered her to sign the charges, but she refused. “You are going to do whatever you are going to do,” she said. “I’m not taking part.” One of the men became angry, telling Olga that she was only making it harder on herself. But she was defiant. “Whatever you have planned is already planned, and we can only wait for the results of all of this,” she said.
The guards then turned her around and walked her out of the hearing room. As they headed toward their car, Olga stopped dead in her tracks. “I want to see my husband,” she said. At first, the guards kept trying to move her along, but she refused to budge. She demanded to see the head of the prison.
The guards were going to have a scene on their hands. One of the men suggested that they take her to the superintendent’s office so Olga could hear the refusal for herself. As they neared the office, Olga looked over to the side where the visitors were gathering to meet with the inmates.
“Olga,” one of the visitors called out.
Olga recognized the visitor as a relative of Jesús Carreras and dashed toward the gate, the guards running after her. Before they could grab her, she found out that Morgan and others were being held in the chapel area adjacent to the main entrance. Her heart sank. That was the area for those in trouble and in some cases those who were waiting to be shot.
Without warning, Olga pushed away from the guards. Now there was utter chaos. Guards began running to the entrance, but before they could catch her, Olga had slipped into the superintendent’s office. The surprised jailer looked up to see a woman standing in front of his desk.
“Where is my husband—William Morgan?” Olga demanded.
The guards rushed into the room, but the superintendent ordered them to back off. Everything was under control. After listening to Olga, he agreed to let her see Morgan briefly, but she had to follow the rules.
As they walked outside, she peered through one of the gates and spotted her husband. She barely recognized him. His cheeks were sallow, and his eyes were sunken in. She had never seen him so thin.
“Oh my God,” she said. “What did they do to you?”
She ran over and embraced him. Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched onto his prison fatigues. Morgan held onto her. “I’m all right, Olga,” he said. “Don’t worry.” He kissed her and whispered in her ear. “I love you,” he said.
It was like a dream. Olga didn’t want to let go. For a moment, they stared at each other, not saying a word. Morgan had just endured days of interrogation with the secret police, but they had gotten nowhere. When they asked him why he was moving weapons to the hills, he responded every time: “To protect myself.”
Later, after sending him back to his cell, one of the jailers served him contaminated food. For three days, he reeled in pain but managed to hold on. The prison itself had also made him sick. The combination of the rainwater seeping through the thick, porous concrete and the ocean wind turned the place cold at night.
Morgan could tell Olga was upset, but the time was running out on her visit. “Listen to me,” he whispered in her ear. “I can’t say a lot now, but we are working on something—an escape. I will get word to you when we get close, and we will be together again. I promise you.” He kissed her. “I will always be thinking about you. You are all I ever think about and will ever think about.”
The prisoners huddled in a circle on the stone floor, gathering close so that no one could invade their space. One of the men took out a chess board and plastic pieces and carefully began setting it up in the center. The fortress had become so crowded, there were few places the men could go. Each galería was crammed with two hundred prisoners—twice the intended capacity—most of them sleeping on the cold, damp floor.
Morgan leaned in close enough for Pedro Ossorio and Edmundo Amado to hear him above the din of the other inmates. News was starting to trickle in from the outside: Their supporters were making contact with guards on the inside, including a supervisor. Someone with authority could make sure the right exit was cleared and the right guards were on duty.
Whatever plan was in place, they needed to bide their time and keep quiet. “These people in here are all traitors,” he said. Morgan was getting his information from visitors bringing messages to the other inmates, who passed them to him. It was risky, but it was the only way the two sides could stay in contact. If they needed to get word to Morgan on a day’s notice, they could do so.
He dropped to the dirt in a corner of the prison yard, throwing himself down for a set of push-ups. As the men gathered around to watch, he slowly pushed himself down and back up. After one set, he did another. Then another.
Morgan had started the day by jogging around the enclosure, picking up speed until he was running. After taking a break in the galería, he went back to the prison yard and started the afternoon by doing jumping jacks, barking orders at himself. After one set, he did another. Then another. He had been recovering from his bout with bleeding intestines. No one expected him to jump into a training regimen.
At first, everyone just stared, including the guards. Then he sprinted, oblivious to everyone around him.
“Comandante Morgan es muy loco,” one guard said.
It wasn’t just the physical exercise. Morgan had started to pray, sometimes whispering just a few quick words in the morning. But in the afternoon, he spent more time at his bunk. For Morgan, it was all he could do to control his own fate. He didn’t have any control on the outside. The men working to help him and his men lay beyond his reach. He didn’t even know them. But if he could push himself beyond his endurance level, he would be prepared for anything they could throw at him.
Families were gathering along 16th Street, setting up chairs and stringing decorations around the streetlights. Along La Rampa, musicians were setting up on the sidewalks.
Olga watched from her balcony as the New Year’s Eve celebration was about to unfold on the streets of Vedado. Her visit to La Cabaña had been a disaster. She would no longer be returning to the facility to see her husband. Any more outbursts and she could be sent to the women’s prison.
She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders as a cold breeze blew off the Malecón. Two years ago, she was on her way to Cienfuegos to meet Morgan in what was one of the happiest moments of her life. All the promises they had made to each other were about to unfold.
Last year at this time, she took a long drive with Morgan along the ocean, staring up at the stars as they determined to make their life in Cuba. Unless she did something drastic, they would never see another New Year’s Eve together. It was that clear. She needed to save her husband.
She thought about her own plan, conceived several days earlier. She wasn’t sure it would work, but now she didn’t have a choice. She had to make her move. Tonight was as good a night as any to pull it off. The guards would be relaxed, maybe even in a festive mood. They wouldn’t see it coming.
She went into Loretta’s room and pulled the blanket up. If she was ever going to have a chance, it was now. Olga walked downstairs to see which shift of guards was in place. She was immediately heartened by the men she saw in the living room. These were the guards she despised the most. If they were held responsible for her escape, then so be it. They deserved to be severely disciplined. Olga came into the room and told them that since it was New Year’s Eve, she was going to make hot chocolate. Would they like a cup?
It was cold outside and the men looked like they could use some. They all nodded.
Olga went into the kitchen—but instead of grabbing the chocolate, she grabbed a bottle of Equanil, a powerful sedative and muscle relaxer. She then bounded up the stairs and into her room, and then slipped into the bathroom. Removing the pills, she began crushing them with a spoon. After gathering up the powder, she went back downstairs and tossed it into a pot with chunks of chocolate and milk. Stirring the ingredients so that everything dissolved, she poured the hot liquid into three cups. Then, as a precaution, she sprinkled in sugar to mask any bitter taste.
After handing the cups to the guards and setting down a tray of biscuits next to the sofa, she walked upstairs to be with her daughters and wait for the drugs to kick in. Her heart was racing as she closed the door to her room. The guards were either going to discover her ruse or fall asleep. In one move, she had risked everything. If she was caught, she’d be thrown in prison and her daughters taken from her.
She looked at the clock. It was 5:00 a.m. Everything was quiet downstairs as she opened her door. She crept down the stairs and peeked around the corner. One guard was sprawled on the sofa near the main entrance; the others slumped in armchairs. All were fast asleep.
She turned around and bounded up the stairs. First, she went into Loretta’s room and woke her up. “Let’s go see Daddy, my little one,” she whispered. Then she went over to the crib and picked up Olguita. With the baby in her arms, Olga walked with Loretta out the kitchen door. In the darkness, Olga shuffled two blocks down the street with her daughters until she saw a passing car. Running to the side of the road, she flagged down the driver.
“Please, can you help us?”
The man hesitated but then saw the baby in Olga’s arms. Flinging open the door, he let them in. As they sped through the streets of Vedado, Olga knew she didn’t have much time. In just hours, Castro’s entire police force would be looking for her.