Tony Cuesta, Freedom Fighter: The War with Fidel Castro to Take Back Cuba

By Budd Albright

Close friends: Tony Cuesta and Fidel Castro attended the University of Havana together in the mid 1950s. The two were involved in sports, hung out at trendy bars and cafés, and, of course, chased girls together. But eventually, these two close friends would be torn apart by world events and political situations they had no control over.

Cuesta went to the hills with Fidel, Raúl Castro, and the trigger-happy revolutionary-for-hire Che Guevara, to overthrow the dictator Fulgencio Batista. When the US refused to help finance the rebuilding of Cuba, Fidel accepted assistance from the Soviet Union.

The trade-out: submarine pens, refueling docks for ships and planes, and medium size and long-range missile launching pads just ninety miles from US soil. Cuesta and other top leaders around Fidel fled to Miami to escape the future of a USSR-run Cuba.

Tony Cuesta couldn’t bear to see how his friend had deceived the Cuban people. He and his band of daring young men made dozens of clandestine raids on the Cuban and Russian installations in Cuba (sometimes in broad daylight). Cuesta lost half of his left arm, his eyesight, his wife, and twelve years of his freedom attempting to take back his country. After years in a Cuban prison, he returned to Miami to reestablish his Commandos-L and to keep fighting. He was the only man to sink a Russian freighter in peacetime and live to tell the tale.

Today: Tony Cuesta remains a hero to the Cuban people. This book tells his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Permuted
• Release date: Aug 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888450918

Book preview

A KNOX PRESS BOOK

An Imprint of Permuted Press

ISBN: 979-8-88845-090-1

ISBN (eBook): 979-8-88845-091-8

Tony Cuesta, Freedom Fighter:

The War with Fidel Castro to Take Back Cuba

© 2023 by Budd Albright

All Rights Reserved

Cover art by Conroy Accord

All people, locations, events, and situations are portrayed to the best of the author’s memory. While all of the events described are true, some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

Permuted Press, LLC

New York • Nashville

permutedpress.com

Published in the United States of America

Contents

Preface

Prologue

Foreword

Part 1:

University Of Havana, 1951

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part 2:

Lake Arrowhead, California,

8 Years Later, October, 1986

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Acknowledgments

About The Author

Preface

My name is Budd Albright. I’ve spent most of my life in and around Hollywood, mostly as an actor/stuntman, singer, in television advertising, as a sports photojournalist, sportsman, and writer. But the story you are about to read is not about me—well, maybe a little. It’s about a Cuban freedom fighter named Tony Cuesta, who launched more than thirty daring commando-style raids in and around the Havana area out of Marathon Key and Key West, Florida, targeting Soviet and Cuban installations, and his old friend and schoolmate, fellow revolutionary, Fidel Castro, with his Soviet-backed government. I unexpectedly got to know Tony Cuesta and his remaining men, and they trusted me with his incredible story.

So, how does a Hollywood guy get to know and hang out with Fidel Castro’s most dangerous enemy? Purely by chance. A random meeting between friends of mine and a man who hijacked a domestic airliner at gunpoint from New York to Miami to Havana, Cuba to buy weapons for the Black Panthers led to my introduction to Tony Cuesta. The more I got to know Tony, his men, his cause, and his story, the more I wanted to make this into a movie. It had the makings of a huge blockbuster film, with action, adventure, political intrigue, tough men, beautiful women, romance, and the gorgeous backdrop of South Florida. For a variety of reasons, we couldn’t get a film off the ground—not for my lack of trying. But I still believe this story should be told to a wide audience, to show the world the lengths people will go to fight for freedom and fight for their homeland. That’s why I have written this book.

The first part of the book is based completely on Tony’s many hours of verbal accounts of what happened in Cuba before the revolution and through the beginning of the Castro regime. The dialogue is based on his memory of events and conversations. I use the real names for everyone in the book with the exception of Elizabeth Harrington, whose true identity Tony would not reveal—not even to me. The second part of the book is my first-person account of meeting Tony Cuesta his friends, his family, and his remaining men in Miami. These accounts are accurate to the best of my recollection.

I hope you enjoy Tony Cuesta, Freedom Fighter as much as I enjoyed getting to know Tony and enjoyed writing his courageous story. Viva de Cuba!

PROLOGUE

Two high-speed offshore power boats are running side by side as the sun sets to the west. The boats race towards Havana Harbor on a calm copper sea. Aboard each craft are five motionless men with automatic weapons at their side. The sun fades away behind them as the men and boats turn to black silhouettes. In the distance, the twinkling lights of Havana.

The man driving the boat is Antonio Cuesta, a tall, good looking Olympic swimmer, former school mate and friend of Fidel Castro. Cuesta raises his arm as they enter the harbor. The men aim their guns. Second in command Ramon Font sits on a rubber tire bolted to the forward deck and cocks the .50-caliber machine gun.

Cuesta drops his arm and they peel off as they enter the harbor at high speed. They race to the end, then circle back along the shoreline, exposing military installations to their right. Ramon swings his .50-caliber around and opens up on a row of parked military trucks, jeeps, and fuel trucks. Explosions echo across the bay as one by one they go up in balls of fire.

FOREWORD

OCTOBER, 1986

It was simply another autumn day in the fall of 1986. I had just moved into my new home at Lake Arrowhead, California. My friend Jay Brady, who helped me move down from Lake Tahoe, decided to go for a drive with my new next-door neighbor, Beverly. They stopped at a roadside diner for a bite, a little outside of Palm Springs. They had just ordered when four well-dressed Black men came in with briefcases and sat at the next booth.

Jay and Beverly couldn’t help but overhear parts of their conversation: CIA, FBI, US Customs, La Cabaña prison, hijack of National Airlines Flight 97 from New York to Havana, Cuba, and Commandos-L.

Jay, fearing he was hearing confidential information that scared the hell out of him, spoke up. We’re going to move to a different table, not because you’re men of color, but what we were hearing was concerning, he said.

The men roared with laughter and said they were talking about a book that was just released. Jay and Beverly were introduced to the author, Anthony Bryant. The book: Hijack.

Bryant, a former Black Panther leader, was the first US Citizen to hijack a US airliner over US airspace when he diverted National Airlines Flight 97 to Havana, Cuba in March of 1969. He spent thirteen years in different prisons—hellholes outside of Havana.

Jay mentioned he had a friend who was in the film business and would find his book most interesting. Jay gave him my home phone number.

This would change my life forever.

Later that evening, I returned to the lake to discover on my answering machine a strange message. I thought it was one of my actor friends playing a joke on me. Somehow, the tone and the choice of words told me this could be the real deal.

"Mr. Albright! My name is Anthony Bryant. I have a story to tell, a book that I wrote, Hijack. I would like to meet with you and tell you my story."

He left a number. I played it over and over again.

How could I not call? I thought. OK, I’ll have him come here, on my ground. I made the call thinking, What in the hell was I getting myself into?

A low soft voice said, Hello! He was pleasant, calm, cool. He would come to Lake Arrowhead the following Saturday. We agreed to meet at 10 a.m.

Saturday morning, a smiling Tony Bryant knocked on my door. A charming woman was with him, both carrying briefcases. My mother was there and had just taken a lemon cake out of the oven.

Come on, let’s get some air, I said.

Tony Bryant and I went for a walk. There was a crispness in the air as we walked along the water’s edge sipping our coffee. He told me his incredible story—a leader as a Black Panther, his hijack of a US airliner, his trial in Havana, his years in a Cuban prison.

However, he said the real story is in Miami with the man that turned his life around and saved him. A tall, handsome Cuban commander who went to school with Fidel Castro, and who had gone to the hills with Fidel, his brother Raúl, and Che Guevara. His name: Antonio Cuesta de Valle.

Tony Cuesta had made thirty-three daring clandestine raids on Cuba. He would lose half of his left arm, his eyesight, his wife, and twelve years of his freedom trying to take back his country. Little did I know at the time that I would spend seven years chasing Cubans, money, and ghosts.

Tony Bryant wrote down on a matchbook cover Tony Cuesta’s phone number in Miami.

Don’t lose this. This is his story—and mine.

PART ONE

UNIVERSITY OF HAVANA, 1951

Chapter 1

A tropical spring rain pelts downtown Havana. It clears to find ice blue skies and white puffy clouds drifting overhead. It is hot, humid, and the steam from the concrete steps rises from the walkways leading to the University of Havana.

A young, frustrated Fidel Castro is attempting to get an outdated, corroded drinking fountain to work. It produces a trickle of rusty water. Following up the steps behind him, carrying his swim bag, is tall and handsome Antonio Cuesta. He stops, amused by Fidel raving over the disabled drinking fountain.

What the hell did you expect—iced rum and Coke?

Fidel is startled. We have American gangsters here from the US building hotels and casinos, and Batista can’t fix the goddamn drinking fountains. This is bullshit!

Fidel composes himself, holding out his hand. Sorry, I’m Fidel Castro.

Tony accepts the handshake. I know. I’ve seen you pitch on our ball team—you’re good.

Thanks, I’ve seen you swim.

The two tall good-looking men size each other up and down.

What do you do when you’re not swimming?

Tony is distracted by two young, attractive girls that pass up the steps.

What do you think I’m doing? They both crack up.

Listen, let’s have drinks later. I go to this little spot not far from here and the beer is very cold. We’ll sit outside and watch the anchovies walk by.

Anchovies? Tony roars. I like that, Fidel, sounds good to me. Five o’clock? You’re on.

Later that day, a light breeze drifts in off the water. That helps ease the heat along with the cold beers. Tony and Fidel sit outside at the busy café and bar, loaded with students who have the same idea. Fidel is holding court with Tony just listening.

Fidel has the attention of several tables of young people.

We must put an end to this cloud hanging over our people. You can’t go here! You can’t go there! Batista and his friends are getting rich from American tourists—and this cracking down by his special SIM Police units with a 10 p.m. curfew! What do you think, Tony?

Tony takes a long sip of his beer. My friend, I have no interest in Cuba’s politics—none.

That would all change in the months to come.

Fidel stands on the mound ready to pitch to a fellow team member on the University of Havana baseball team. He throws a fastball.

Strike three! You’re out! the umpire yells.

Fidel adjusts his ball cap. Standing behind the wire fence watching is Tony Cuesta, who applauds and gives Fidel a thumbs-up. Fidel smiles and nods his head. Tony yells out, Hey, Fidel! The beers are on me.

You’re on, Cuesta.

Inside the swim center, the swimmers are taking laps. A whistle blows and the team moves to the end of the pool and climbs out. Sitting halfway up in the stands is Fidel.

The coach barks through a bullhorn, Alright, listen up! Our butterfly stroke men to the line—and you will be on the clock.

Eight lean butterfly stroke swimmers move to the starting platforms. Tony shakes his arms and gets into position. A buzzer sounds and they all dive in at the same time, plowing through the water to the other end.

When all the other swimmers hit the wall and turn, Tony and El Gordo Hall, Tony’s only real competition, pull away halfway back to the other end and lead for the next three laps. Tony beats Hall by just a length.

Good work, Cuesta. Keep that up and you’ll make the Olympic team for sure, says the coach.

Tony spots Fidel, who is standing and applauding.

Tony points, Beer’s on you! A smiling Fidel nods his head. The coach hears that.

Cuesta! Go easy on the beers and get your rest.

Tony spots some young girls in the stands and waves as they squeal with delight.

And that goes for the girls as well. The coach glances up at the women in the stands. Listen, if I didn’t have to stay late and do paperwork, I’d join you. They all have a big laugh.

CAFÉ AND BAR OFF THE FASHIONABLE MALECÓN STRIP

The café is packed with young people as loud salsa music blasts from the stage. Tony looks bored but chats with several girls and guys who have stopped by the table. Tony spots a girl he has been seeing off and on.

Fidel! I see someone I know. I’ll check with you later.

Good luck, Tony. Have fun.

Fidel goes back to holding court. Tony walks over to a group of girls; one of them is quiet, sipping a glass of wine.

Lourdes?

She looks up and sees Tony standing beside her. Tony has not gone unnoticed by the other girls at the table.

He leans over. Hey! Let’s get out of here and go see a movie. I swam my ass off today, and this is madness in here.

Lourdes smiles and whispers something to one of the girls. The others all watch with envy as Tony and Lourdes make their way out of the noise and smoke.

Tony and Lourdes walk home along the famed Malecón Strip on the waterfront under a full moon after seeing the film, Key Largo. They stroll by a casino across the broad avenue. Long black and white limos and taxis pull up with attendants scrambling to cater to the wealthy US tourists and high rollers in from Latin American countries.

Men in dark suits with beautiful women in long designer dresses adorned with sparkling jewelry catch Lourdes’ eye. The soft sensual sounds of Latin music filter across the street. She tugs at Tony’s arm, and they stop.

Oh, Tony, look at that. Do you think we could ever go there some night? I want to dance there and have dinner.

Tony sees what Lourdes sees and hears. I don’t know. It would be nice, but… Come on, we have to go. It’s getting late. That damned Batista has placed that 10 p.m. curfew on all residents, regardless of social status—it’s all bullshit.

Out of nowhere, the screech of tires sounds, and two of Batista’s military jeeps carrying the feared SIM Police jump out and surround Tony and Lourdes, directing flashlights at their eyes.

The officer in charge barks, Are you not aware of our strict 10 p.m. curfew? Why are you out? What are you doing here?

What’s the meaning of this? demands Tony. Get those damned lights out of our eyes. We’re walking home from a movie. We’ve done nothing wrong.

One of the younger officers, looking Lourdes up and down, says, Well! Well! What do we have here? Aren’t you out of your neighborhood?

The officer puts his hand on Lourdes’ backside. Tony lunges at the officer, knocking him down. Lourdes screams as a .45-caliber handgun is pressed against Tony’s head and he is restrained by other officers.

Take them in—now!

One of the other young officers steps up. Sir, wait! I know this man, he says. I’ve seen his picture in the newspaper—sports section. This is Antonio Cuesta, the champion swimming star from our university.

Let me see some identification.

Tony pulls out his wallet and thrusts it into the hand of the glaring officer.

I see, the officer says with a smile. Mr. Cuesta, this is a warning. I don’t want to see you around here again. Good evening. The officers march back to their jeeps.

This is unacceptable! I’m going to talk to Fidel in the morning.

Tony, listen to me. You can’t do anything about this. Just let it go. You can’t be a prisoner of things you can’t change, Lourdes says.

We’ll see about that.

Next morning, Tony, incensed, goes looking for Fidel. He spots him in the hallway leaving the library.

Fidel! Fidel! Got a moment?

Sure, what’s up, Tony? You look upset!

You bet your ass I am! Listen, I had an encounter last night on the Malecón walking Lourdes home. Stopped by that fucking SIM of Batista. Enough is enough. I might just stop by that next political meeting you have.

Good, Tony. Glad you see the light. Come, my friend, walk with me.

Two days pass.

In the shadows, a tall figure climbs the steps to the doorway at the back of the building and knocks three times. The door opens slightly.

Yes—I’m Tony Cuesta. Fidel asked me to come by tonight.

Tony steps in and stands in the shadows at the rear of the cramped meeting room. Smoke fills the room as Fidel is speaking.

The young man who opened the door whispers to Fidel, whose face lights up.

Tony Cuesta, everybody!

Tony is introduced around, to the delight of the students. Fidel explains what happened to the popular Olympic swimmer and his friend, Lourdes, when the SIM Police officers confronted them.

Fidel takes off. This, my friends, is why something must be done to get rid of this current dictator, Batista, and his corrupt government. The American underworld has come to Havana with new hotels and casinos. Batista and his group of thieves are making millions, and our people struggle to work for peanuts.

The incident and this meeting heighten Tony and Fidel’s relationship to a new level of bonding which will forever influence their lives, Cuba, the US, Soviet Union, and the world.

As the crowd files out, two or three at a time not to create suspicion, Fidel asks Tony and a couple of others to hang around.

Thanks for staying. We’ll have drinks later.

Fidel pulls a large map out from a broom closet.

Tony, give me a hand here. They unroll the map pointing to key installations and spots where they might disrupt Batista’s SIM Police.

Tony snaps, Where the hell did you get this?

Don’t ask. A friend of a friend.

Don’t tell me—a lady?

Fidel grins. Maybe.

Tony joins the movement.

CENTRO VASCO BAR AND GRILL; LITTLE HAVANA, MIAMI

Fidel and Tony decide Centro Vasco, the famed Basque Cuban Restaurant and Bar, will be their mutual meeting place in both Miami and Havana. Fidel wants Tony to join the new revolutionary movement in Cuba with him and Che Guevara, known as the 26th of July Movement.

When people like Ernest Hemingway, Errol Flynn, and even Washington, D.C. officials, back Fidel, Tony leaves his position at International Telephone & Telegraph, and joins him in the Sierra Maestra Hills.

Chapter 2

FIDEL CASTRO, MEXICO CITY, AND ERNESTO CHE GUEVARA

It’s November 1955 in Mexico City. A hot and exhausted Fidel Castro is at wit’s end. He and his brother Raúl have been trying to make contact with higher-ups and black-market unsavory types. He is at the end of his rope.

Fidel does not know anybody; he is fed-up with dead-end alleys and false promises. He finds himself walking Paseo de la Reforma, Mexico City’s equivalent to Wilshire Boulevard or Fifth Avenue. He comes to a lush park in the middle of this steamy, noisy city. He sees fountains that rise five stories in the air and locates a driveway that winds its way up to one of the most elegant restaurants in the world, El Lago.

Ahead of him, he spots an outdoor café with tables and colorful umbrellas. It is midafternoon and just a few people sit around sipping cold drinks. He finds a table near the walkway and drops into a chair.

A waiter hustles over. Can we help you—a menu, Señor?

No, just a large cold beer is fine.

Over his shoulder he hears the light laughter of young women. At