Havana, Cuba (CNN)Charlie Hill sits in a dark bar on a blindingly sunny Havana d

ay.
"Hey man," he says with a smoker's rasp and a nod that indicates he knows you ha
ve been looking for him. But then a lot of people have been looking for Charlie
Hill for a long time.
For 43 years Cuba has provided refuge for Hill from facing charges that he kille
d a New Mexico police officer and hijacked an airliner to Havana.
Hill, now 65, decided to give CNN an interview after we'd spent two years trying
to reach him. He wants to discuss how for the first time he is considering leav
ing his safe haven and returning to the United States.
Before talking more, Hill finishes his plastic glass of beer and takes a final d
raw on his stub of a cigarette. We step out into the sunlight and go to a park w
here Hill starts to give his reasons why he may soon end his long run from the l
aw.
"I miss my country," he said, his voice cracking. "I miss my family. I would lik
e to go back and see where my grandparents were born, where I was born, where I
went to junior high. Eat some blackberry pie. Even go to McDonald's. That's only
natural."
Charlie Hill says he's fine with his fate, whatever that may be.
Charlie Hill says he's fine with his fate, whatever that may be.
Hill was a black power militant and said he is still a revolutionary. But he cra
ves the kind of French fries that only capitalism can make.
After five decades of Cold War-era mistrust, the United States and Cuba are work
ing to re-establish full diplomatic ties, but cases like Hill's present an obsta
cle to an improved relationship.
New Mexico, where Hill's case has been open for decades, followed up on the shif
t in policy from the Obama administration with Gov. Susana Martinez asking Washi
ngton to pursue Hill's extradition.
Critics of the new opening to Cuba say Havana's harboring of fugitives like Char
lie Hill is enough of a reason to maintain a hard line against the government of
Raul Castro and keep Cuba on the State Department list of countries that suppor
t terrorism.
State Dept. recommends removing Cuba from terrorism list
Hill, now 65, may extradite himself first, saying the warming of relations betwe
en the United States and Cuba could mean an end to what he calls his "exile" on
the communist-run, Caribbean island, even if his return brings jail time.
New Mexico Police Chief Pete Kassetas said he welcomed the news of Hill's possib
le surrender. "I understand that the social environment was very different in 19
71 than it is today. I encourage him to return to face the charges against him o
n the state level and on the federal level and end his self-imposed exile in Cub
a."
Charlie Hill's journey began on November 8, 1971, when he and two other men -- M
ichael Finney and Ralph Goodwin -- were pulled over on I-40 outside Albuquerque,
New Mexico, in the middle of a cross-country drive.
All three men were members of the Republic of New Afrika, a black power militant
group that sought to break off Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and Sou

th Carolina into a separate nation for African-Americans.

They were on the way from California to the South with a car loaded with weapons
to support the cause.
New Mexico State Police Officer Robert Rosenbloom pulled over their rented Ford
Galaxie sedan, on suspicion that the car was stolen, said Kassetas.
Officer Robert Rosenbloom was shot and killed.
Officer Robert Rosenbloom was shot and killed.
At 10:41 p.m., Rosenbloom called in the California license plate of the militant
s' car, according to the New Mexico Law Enforcement Memorial. Fourteen minutes l
ater the dispatcher radioed Rosenbloom back but was unable to reach him.
A police officer arriving at the scene found Rosenbloom's body lying face down o
n the road, Kassetas said.
There was a single bullet wound to his throat. Rosenbloom gripped his flashlight
with one hand and his gun with the other, according to the records of the New M
exico Law Enforcement Memorial.
The sedan was found the next day abandoned with three military rifles, a 12-gaug
e shotgun, "revolutionary literature," bomb-making materials and hundreds of rou
nds of ammunition
Hill copped to riding in the sedan that Rosenbloom pulled over but refused to sa
y who shot the policeman.
"I am not a cop killer. I am a freedom fighter," Hill said. "I am a Vietnam vet
and people never ask me if I killed Vietnamese because that was authorized by th
e American government. I dedicated myself to liberating my people."
For 19 days, Hill said, the men hid out in the New Mexico desert, working on an
escape plan as 250 law enforcement officers closed in.
"We had to go into exile so we hijacked a plane," Hill said.
The three men, Kassetas said, commandeered a tow truck at gunpoint, crashed thro
ugh a fence onto the runway of Albuquerque International Airport and ran up the
gangway to TWA Flight 106.
The hijackers ordered the plane to Cuba after hearing it did not have enough fue
l to get to Africa.
The hijackers ordered the plane to Cuba after hearing it did not have enough fue
l to get to Africa.
Elizabeth Walthall was a flight attendant aboard the Boeing 727 when the fugitiv
es stormed aboard.
"They were dirty and stunk from hiding out in the hills," she told CNN from her
home in North Carolina.
Walthall, now 72, said Charlie Hill put a blade to her throat.
"He told me to do what he said because 'this is no butter knife.' I told him, 'W
ell, I am no piece of bread.'"
Hill laughed, she said, and lowered the knife.
Hijacker Michael Finney glowered and pointed a pistol at the flight attendants,
Walthall said, a tremor of fear audible in her voice, as if the hijacking had ju

st happened.
"Finney said he would shoot us and that he had already killed a man," Walthall s
aid.
The hijackers ordered the crew to fly to Africa. Informed the plane couldn't fly
that far, they changed their destination.
Take us to Cuba, they told the pilot.
The trio knew Cuba would most likely let them stay.
After seizing power in 1959, Fidel Castro blasted Washington for failing to send
back the Batista regime officials who streamed to Miami to escape Castro's revo
lutionary tribunals, effectively ending the extradition agreement between the tw
o countries.
A rash of airplane hijackings to the island soon followed.
Cuba became popular with leftist revolutionaries as well as common criminals see
king a country beyond the reach of U.S. law enforcement.
"If anything went down, you went to Cuba," Hill said.
En route to Havana, flight attendant Walthall said she served the men bottles of
Michelob beer. When they finished, she saved the bottles in airsickness bags so
U.S. law enforcement later would have their fingerprints.
From left, Michael Finney, Ralph Goodwin and Charlie Hill
From left, Michael Finney, Ralph Goodwin and Charlie Hill
After landing, Walthall said she last saw Charlie Hill and the other hijackers a
s Cuban soldiers escorted them off the plane.
Years later, the flight attendant said she experienced flashbacks of the hijacki
ng and sometimes prayed for Hill.
"I think he is a lost soul," she said.
Revolutionary Cuba soon disappointed Hill. Cuban officials denied his request fo
r military training to fight with revolutionary groups in Africa.
Instead he was put to work cutting sugar cane, doing construction and administra
ting a clothing store.
Everyday life in Cuba
Photos: Everyday life in Cuba 13 photos
EXPAND GALLERY
One of the many menial jobs he worked, he said, put him under the supervision of
Ramn Castro, Fidel Castro's older brother.
"He has a big beard and looks just like Fidel," Hill remembered. "He was good to
us, made sure we were always well fed."
In 1996, then-New Mexico Rep. Bill Richardson traveled to Cuba to discuss Hill's
extradition with Fidel Castro.
"I talked to Fidel and he said, 'No way, under no circumstances would he turn th
em over, that they were legitimate fugitives," Richardson told CNN. "I got a ver
y strong signal not only would I not be allowed to bring back Charlie Hill but I
wouldn't even be allowed to talk to him."

Hill is now the last living member of the trio of hijackers. U.S. officials said
that Ralph Goodwin drowned in 1973 and Michael Finney succumbed to throat cance
r in 2005.
Married and divorced twice in Cuba, Hill has two children on the island and he w
orries about leaving them if he were to return to the United States.
But Hill said he wants to visit his daughter, who was 6 years old when he left,
and who he hasn't seen since. He dreams of meeting the five grandchildren he has
in United States. He's gone as far as hiring a New Mexico attorney, in case he
decides to negotiate a surrender.
His Cuban government pension is a meager $10 a month, he said. Not nearly enough
to support him or even buy toys for his 8-year-old Cuban son.
Hill said he became a babalao, or Santeria priest, but still hasn't found peace.
He admitted he smokes too many unfiltered Cuban cigarettes and drinks too much
cheap rum.
And there's always the possibility that the Cuban government has held onto Hill
and other U.S. fugitives, simply waiting for the right moment to trade them to t
he United States.
He said he is fine with that fate.
"They took me in," he said. "If the Cuban government feels me going is for the b
enefit of 12 million people, that's my sacrifice. I don't worry about that."
As the interview ends, Hill lights another cigarette. A group of Americans touri
ng Havana in a 1950's classic car pull up to the park. They have no idea they ar
e feet away from a wanted fugitive, but as Hill would say, that's Cuba.
Hill isn't interested in staying in touch. He doesn't have a cell phone. Too poo
r, he says. He won't say exactly where he lives in Havana. He has to be cautious
.
And as he walks off, once again, he is gone.
A side of Cuba not often seen