Freedom Fighters

60. Peace (Epilogue)

Just as the President was speaking, another man, bespectacled with wizened features and receding gray hair appeared beside him. 

He extended his hand, with a thin smile. "Richard Bissell, CIA." 

Dario shifted his cold gaze from Kennedy to Bissell. He shook the outstretched hand after Oliverio, all the while maintaining the tension in his jaw. 

"I just would like to give my heartfelt gratitude to the both of you for all that you both have done," Bissell said. "Moving forward, I would love to offer you both fast-tracked employment with the CIA, as I believe that you offer us valuable skills and insight on Castro's regime. I will be honest. The Bay of Pigs operation did not work out the way we planned it out to. On behalf of the CIA, I accept responsibility for the failure. Thus, there is plenty we have to do to make things right. I promise-"

"I don't care about your promises," Dario lashed out suddenly. 

Kennedy and Bissell stiffened up instantly while Oliverio's eyes widened.

"I'm tired of this world. The world of politicians. Of lies and deceit. Of violence and destruction. I have seen enough for a lifetime."

Bissell recovered from his shock to formulate a civil response. "Well, if you do not wish to accept the offer, I respect your decision, and shall not press further."

Dario's forehead heated up, stemming from the simmering ball of emotions within him. His eyebrows hung low, and his eyes hardened. "I fought at Bay of Pigs not for the United States, but for myself, my dead brother, and my love for my country. I remember the distinct moment, as wave after wave of Castro's soldiers piled up their assaults, I prayed for deliverance, for a way out. I requested for aid, but it was denied, on orders you had given, Mr. President Kennedy."

Kennedy puffed up his chest. With an involuntary shake of his head, he explained, "There were a variety of complex reasons that went into the making that hard decision, Dario. Trust me when I say that I made that decision with a heavy heart."

"To hell with your complex reasons," Dario snarled. "You can say that to the good men who died on those beaches, and to the many others rotting in Cuba's prisons. Politicians like you and Castro are all the same, spouting honeyed words and promises, doing anything and everything for the sake of power."

With that tirade, Dario swung away, storming out of the Oval Office. Oliverio followed his friend, leaving Kennedy and Bissell stranded in a sea of shock. 

Dario stopped in his tracks once he was out of the office. Leaning against the wall, he slumped his shoulders, facing his beloved friend. 

"Why did you that?" Oliverio asked. 

Dario clapped his hand onto his pounding head, and inhaled sharply. He replied, in a ragged voice. "Why? I am weary of it all, Oliverio. Every time someone close to me dies, I feel like a part of my soul is being ripped away. And now I have nothing left to give. My parents, the Almeidas, Huber, Camilo and Rodrigo. All the comrades who gave their lives for the revolution. To what end? All the good men who died in the Bay of Pigs. For what? I am tired of it all, Oliverio. So very tired."

It pained Oliverio to see his friend in such agony. Dario looked tired, his sunken cheeks and lean frame awkward in his plain grey suit. Yet, strangely enough, he exuded a weary elegance, like a man aged far beyond his meager years. 

They both shared a look of understanding, before locking in an embrace. It occurred to them both that they were merely young men caught up in the grand scheming of political machinery. Oliverio barely twenty-one, and Dario approaching twenty-eight. The past years and battles had taken a toll on them all.