Camp MantanzasC
arlos Ruiz-Romero woke up naked, sprawled on a sweat-soaked mattress. He had a pounding headache and a very full bladder. Swinging his bare legs over the side of what appeared to be a standard military folding cot, he looked around the narrow cubicle. There were no windows in any of the walls painted a putrid shade of pale green, but there was a stainless steel commode in the far corner. He staggered over to it, relieved himself, and eyed a door at one end of the cubicle. There was no knob or handle on the inside. Two plastic bottles of water were on the floor near the cot, so he sat back down, opened one, and drained it.
As his head began to clear, Carlos assessed his situation. Likely he was in hands of either local thugs or Cuban Security Services. Given the look of hi
