Freedom Fighters

55. Briefing

July 1960
Guatemala

As soon as the private plane touched down on Retalhuleu airport, Dario was ushered by his CIA escort into a car. From what he could see, the airport was a very small one, capable of servicing only a few planes at a given time. The car drove out of the runway to a side gate where they were cleared without a word from the guards.

In the back seat, Dario sat beside his escort, a CIA operative by the name of Edward, who was not one for much conversation. A local driver had been tasked to drive them to the base, which presumably was located in a remote location in this already remote province in Guatemala.

"No checks at all? They just let us into their country?" Dario asked casually in his accented English. His escort did not understand Spanish at all.

Edward crossed his arms, maintaining a perennial pout on his pale face. "We have a special agreement with the Guatemalans."

His disinterested tone implied nothing more needed to be said.

Dario scrutinised the operative. Pale complexion with freckles, blonde hair. Mid-thirties. Carries himself with a air of pompous superiority. The man probably saw him as a young kid.

Well, he could not be faulted for that. Dario looked at his reflection at the front mirror. Clean shaven, soft cheeks, pretty chocolate brown eyes and wavy combed back hair. He did not look at all like someone who had gone through as much as he had.

"Hey, Edward."

Edward grunted, evidently annoyed. "What is it?"

"Is it going to be a long drive?"

"About three hours," he replied.

"Do you have anything for me to read? Unless you want to converse with me, which I can tell you don't."

Edward shot him a dirty look, equally confused and offended. He reached into his travel bag and pulled out a newspaper.

"Yesterday's news."

"Thanks," Dario said as he received the paper. As he placed it on his lap, he looked at the listless Edward again. Usually, he would leave the man and his bad manners alone, but today, he was feeling a little bold.

"So Edward. I get that you don't like us too much."

Icy blue eyes glared back at him. "Us?"

"Us. Cubans," Dario stated plainly.

"Why do you say that?" Edward answered, his tone bordering on derisive.

Dario shrugged. "Well, the way you carry out your task of escorting me with a dismissive arrogance and annoyance."

Edward's face twisted into a disdainful sneer. "You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"You guys are all refugees, alright? People who failed in their own countries and come to America begging for charity. I wonder why the hell we allow people like you to come in and leech off our land. It's frankly disgusting. The only reason the CIA is helping you guys is because we want to find a way to send you back home."

Dario took the words in, feeling a surge of anger rise within him. Then, he reminded himself to be civil. He could show more class than that. Getting into a bitter argument with this scumbag was not going to help matters.

He stared at Edward, internalising the rage within him, maintaining as cool as an expression as possible. Edward lifted his nose up, as if daring him to refute. 

The image of Edward crossing his arms, and sneering at him, somehow suddenly made Dario laugh. The absurdity of it all got to him. Instead of seeing Edward as a malicious and arrogant bastard, he saw him as a hopelessly misguided soul.