Freedom Fighters

59. Traitor

Time seemed to stagnate within the confines of the truck. The air, shared by a mass of men, grew stale in a hurry, infected by a miasma of sweat, dirt and blood.

In a dark pool of his own thoughts, Dario sometimes wondered if he made the right choice. Was he only prolonging his suffering before a certain death? But the slim hope of seeing Juanita again put a definite stamp to those thoughts. No matter what, he must try to live.

The air soon grew unbearably stuffy, and everybody started gasping. Using whatever sharp objects left on them, they poked small holes in the sides of the truck and used those to breathe.

After what seemed like hours, the truck stopped. Dario heard doors open and people shouting. Daylight pierced into the once dark space, and rifle bearing soldiers faced them.

Waving the barrel of his rifle around, one of them yelled, "Get out! Move it!"

The prisoners, two by two, exited the truck. As Dario's feet touched hard ground, he took the opportunity to survey his surroundings. The crude stone walls around him looked familiar. He turned around to see a tall wrought iron gate. The whole setting seemed like it was out of a 18th Century Fort. He knew this place. They were in Havana, at the La Cabaña fortress prison, where Che Guevara previously oversaw revolutionary tribunals and executed hundreds of war criminals.

Flanked by guards, the exiles were ushered into an empty room where they were systematically handcuffed and forced to kneel. They waited there. No explanation was given nor demanded.

Down the musty hallway, a guard started shouting. One by one, the exiles were dragged into one of the rooms down the hallway.

When it was Dario's turn, he was shoved into a dank room where a middle-aged man in military fatigues with rheumy eyes sat hunched over a worn table.

"Name?"

"Dario Ruiz."

The man's eyes showed a hint of recognition. He squinted and gave Dario a once over.

"You. Dario Ruiz. You were the General in Havana."

"Yes," Dario replied dryly.

The man lowered his head and scrawled with a pencil on the thick notebook on his table. Nodding to the guard at the door, he said, "Take this one to the special block."

The guard acknowledged the order and grabbed Dario underneath the armpit. He led him out of the room, down the hallway, and out into an open courtyard. As Dario followed the guard, he noted the uncut grass on the courtyard, and displaced stone tiles. The place had seen better days.

The aforementioned "special block" was another stone building at the back of the fortress compound. They walked along a stone railing, which overlooked the port of Havana. Dario spared a look at the sea splayed out on his left below him, and the ships that populated the port.

The guard led him into the "special block", passing through a guarded wooden door. As the door closed behind them, most of the sunlight disappeared. Save for a few openings, sunlight did not pass into the area within.

Lamps lit every corner of the dark hallways. After winding through several of them, they finally reached the prison cells. Already, Dario could smell the stench of decay and musty sweat.

Gaunt eyes stared out of the lost souls that inhabited the cells. They looked at him, faces devoid of any emotion, save for an abject hopelessness.

The guard found an uninhabited cell. He unlocked the handcuffs around Dario's hands and pushed him into the cell. He then closed the rusty iron gate, and locked it. Dario took a quick look around the bare cell. The only thing of note was a stone bench, where he would presumably sleep. An empty bucket lay at the side.