The break was executed with all the attention to detail and derring-do of a commando raid. Early one evening last week, two well-dressed young men called at the home of Billy Rial Castillo, 30, a Mormon missionary who lives across the street from Montevideo's Punta Carreta federal prison. "We are Tupamaros," said the men as they pulled out pistols and identified themselves as members of the urban guerrilla group that has served as a model for terrorists in many of the world's major cities. "We need this house for an operation." The operation was a massive jail break by 106 Tupamaros—self-styled Robin Hood revolutionaries who take their name from Túpac Amaru, an 18th century Inca chief who led a revolt against Spain.
The two intruders applied a medical stethoscope to the living-room floor; when they detected sounds below, they broke a hole in it. Next door, meanwhile, a Volkswagen van drew up and unloaded half a dozen more Tupamaros, who quickly commandeered the house and lugged in a dozen or so suitcases filled with clothing, arms, false papers and money.
All Quiet. Equally thorough preparations were being made inside the prison by other Tupamaros, who were confined in cells on the third floor. These cells had already been clandestinely connected by chipping away the mortar so that bricks could be removed and replaced with ease. Holes had also been drilled in the end cells on each floor, allowing the Tupamaros to move from their third-floor cells to the second and first floors on makeshift ladders of blankets and wood. By the time the break took place, a tunnel had already been dug leading from a ground-floor cell and under the prison wall to the Rial house. Prison officials, who later discovered picks, shovels and heavy-duty drills, said that some of the dirt had been stored in pillowcases and mattresses. But most of the estimated ten tons of earth brought out from the 130-ft. tunnel (about 2 ft. high by 2 ft. wide) had been shoveled into an intersecting tunnel that was used for a 1931 prison break and never filled in. The guerrillas had even managed to rig a plastic and cardboard bellows to provide air to the diggers.
The first of the 111 escapees—the 106 guerrillas plus five other prisoners with no link to the Tupamaros—surfaced through the Rial living-room floor at 3 a.m. next day. They quickly changed into new clothes. Small signs directed them to the house next door, where they picked up arms and identification papers. An hour later, trucks whisked them away into the morning darkness. When Rial phoned the police to report the break, they said that "all is quiet" at the prison. When he phoned back, they grudgingly checked the cells and again insisted that all was normal. Not until a half-hour after Rial's first call did the guards finally discover that a truly monumental escape had taken place. Next day the prison director resigned.