We’d love to say that Enrique “Ric” Prado is a man who needs no introduction. But that’s not true. To the contrary, Ric has dedicated his life to secrecy and security. A life-long veteran of America’s clandestine fight to suppress oppression, Ric has never actively sought fame or glory. The fruits of his labor remain, by and large, entombed in a casket of red tape and rubber stamps marked “Classified” or “Top Secret.”
The scourge of Communism — real Communism, not the white-washed ideal praised in coffee shops and collegiate lecture halls — stained his life at a young age and set him on a five-decade mission that carried him literally around the world. From the streets of Miami during the dawn of the Cocaine Cowboys, to the jungles of Latin America, to the skies over Baghdad, Ric has cashed in his shot at the American dream to defend all of ours. We recently sat down with him, following the release of his book Black Ops: The Life of a CIA Shadow Warrior, to discuss his life in the sequestered and oft-misunderstood world of covert operations.
RECOIL: Tell us why and how you and your family emigrated to the U.S. from Cuba
By the age of 7 or 8, during the culmination of the Castro Revolution, I saw the consequences of a firefight two feet in front of me. Shortly after Castro gaining power on January 9, 1959, I witnessed the atrocities being committed in the name of the Revolution: three men hanging from trees with signs around their necks which read “Counter-Revolutionaries.” All businesses, including my dad’s modest coffee roasting company, were confiscated by Castro. My dad saw the writing on the wall and decided to flee the island for freedom (which only the U.S. provides). Because of corrupt, political machinations, my parents were not granted the mandatory exit permit (U.S. visas were not the problem). So, my dad found the “Peter Pan” program, which was facilitating the departure of kids under the age of 15 via the Catholic church. As an only child, I flew solo to the U.S. at the age of 10. I immediately was sent to a Catholic orphanage in Pueblo, Colorado. My parents were able to flee the communist yoke eight months later. I truly believe that these three experiences — war, solo departure, orphanage —
