Published Tuesday, December 12, 2000, in the
Miami Herald
Testimony offers peek into spy biz
Defendants accused of Cuban espionage
By Gail Epstein Nieves. gepstein@herald.com
Jurors got a primer in Spying 101 Monday as prosecutors called their first
witnesses in the federal trial of five men accused of spying for the Cuban
government.
Not exactly the stuff of James Bond but illuminating nonetheless, the
testimony established that code names and secret passwords really are tools of
the trade -- not just for the Cubans on trial, but also for the FBI.
The accused, for instance, allegedly concealed thousands of pages of
intelligence reports on encrypted computers disks. At first glance the disks
looked empty.
But FBI Agent Vicente Rosado testified that he ferreted more than 3,000
pages from the disks by discovering the encryption program's hidden passwords:
Afinacion. Cientifico. Fuerte. Mambi.
Translations: Tuning. Scientist. Strong. Cuban rebels in the
Spanish-American War.
Rosado did not say why he thought those passwords were used. Jurors are
scheduled to start reading some of those reports today.
The FBI, also concerned about secrecy, assigned code names to the
defendants. Agents called suspected spymaster Gerardo Hernandez "Royal
Sovereign.'' Other men were called "Candyman'' and "Rough Treatment.''
Again, no explanation was provided for the nicknames' meanings.
If secrecy was the goal of the accused spies, however, it was defeated long
before the FBI went public on Sept. 12, 1998, agents sweeping through seven
homes from Hollywood to Key West and arresting 10 Cubans targeted in a major
counterespionage investigation.
Prosecutors allege that 14 ring members monitored U.S. military
installations and Cuban exile groups in a bid to feed secrets to Fidel Castro.
Hernandez, the lead defendant, also is accused of conspiring to commit murder in
the shootdown of four Brothers to Rescue fliers.
The defense acknowledges that the men were working for the Cuban government,
but denies that the men obtained classified information or intended to harm U.S.
interests.
The FBI's Rosado said he is a computer specialist working with the agency's
Foreign Counter-Intelligence squad on Cuba. Under direct examination by
Assistant U.S. Attorney Caroline Heck Miller, Rosado said that for at least two
years he made clandestine searches at homes of the people linked to the
so-called La Red Avispa, or Wasp Network.
'NO TRACE'
Rosado said his duties were "to make sure no trace was left'' of his
presence as he slipped inside four apartments, in Miami-Dade and Broward, on 10
occasions between Aug. 5, 1996, and April 26, 1998. He used a machine to copy
the contents of some 814 computer disks found inside.
Sometimes, Rosado said, he wouldn't copy a disk if it looked like he
couldn't easily return it to its original spot. He gave no explanation of how he
entered the apartments, or what precautions he might have taken to avoid being
discovered.
He had federal court orders allowing the searches, he said.
Five of the searches were in Hernandez's North Miami Beach apartment. Rosado
said he copied 507 disks there. One contained a report about Brothers to the
Rescue and flotilla activities by the Democracy Movement, the agent said, not
elaborating.
Rosado said he used a rented apartment across the street as "a base of
operations'' to watch the "comings and goings'' of Hernandez and his
associates. Agents found $7,450 in cash in a shoe box in Hernandez's apartment
when they made the arrests.
Hernandez is accused of passing to Cuban authorities the flight plan of
Brothers to the Rescue, two of whose Cessnas were shot down by a Cuban MiG
fighter on Feb. 24, 1996.
MORE TESTIMONY
Jurors also heard testimony about false identities assumed by three
defendants. Relatives of three babies who died in California in 1966, 1967 and
1969 identified the deceased as Luis Medina III, Ruben Campa and Manuel
Viramontez.
Both sides agree that those names, among others, were used by the
defendants. Also on trial are Rene Gonzalez and Antonio Guerrero.
Five of the 14 people indicted in the case already pleaded guilty. The other
four are believed to have fled to Cuba.
Phillip Horowitz, defense attorney for pilot Gonzalez, 44, told jurors that
his Chicago-born client moved to Cuba with his family in the 1950s and returned
to the United States in 1990.
Gonzalez flew planes for Brothers to the Rescue during the rafter crisis. He
grew "frustrated'' with exile politics, however, when leaders of the group
PUND -- Partido de Unidad Nacional Democratica, or Democratic Unity Party --
allegedly asked him in 1995 to fly cocaine out of Honduras to help fund the
group's "terrorist'' anti-Cuba activities, the lawyer said.
So Gonzalez became an FBI informant, Horowitz said, meeting often with an
agent who was secretly recording their conversations. A PUND leader was
eventually convicted on drug charges, he said.
The government alleges that Gonzalez tried to "infiltrate'' the FBI,
but Horowitz called that idea "ludicrous.'' He said the FBI agent initiated
most of the contacts, eager to exploit Gonzalez's contacts and have him do the
FBI's "dirty work.''
Cuban siblings frame their family history
In the beginning, Philip "Pip'' Thibeaux and Celeste Ellis, brother and
sister, knew little about the homeland their family had left behind.
"Cuba was always a fantasy world,'' Pip recalls. "It was this
idyllic place that my mother talked about with so much pride.''
Even the illustrious family history -- a grandfather owned F. Palicio y Cia,
one of the top cigar manufacturers -- seemed a thing of the past. But then a
parent's death, a hurricane, and the gift of an old scrapbook transformed the
lives of Pip and Celeste. Transformed it in such a way, in fact, that their
journey into the lives of their ancestors now hangs on the walls of their homes
and, in the case of Pip, in an art collector's personal gallery as well. Working
independently but freely sharing ideas, the brother and sister create incredible
collages by using copies of their grandfather's cigar art and cigar bands.
"It's become very personal work,'' Celeste explains. "It's like
continuing the legacy my grandfather started. We can't produce cigars, but we
can produce this.''
To appreciate their art, all one has to do is visit Celeste's Cutler Ridge
home or Pip's temporary digs in Juno Beach, where framed originals decorate the
living room and the halls. But to understand what motivates the two, it is wise
to journey back in time.
The man who started it all was Fernando Palicio, a Spaniard who went to Cuba
in 1912 under the auspices of an uncle, who just happened to own the famous
Romeo & Julieta cigar company. Palicio learned the business from the ground
up, and eventually partnered with another cigar manufacturer to form his own
company. In the 40 years before Castro nationalized private industry, F. Palicio
y Cia manufactured the bestselling Belinda, a moderately priced cigar, as well
as the well-known Punch and Hoyo de Monterrey.
When the extended Palicio family fled Cuba, they lost everything, except the
business' reputation. They scattered around the United States, with the
Thibeauxes settling in Boston where Pip was born.
In Miami, Palicio leased rights to his three bestselling cigars to a company
in Tampa. After he died, his youngest son sold the names outright, a move that
would prove to be a terrible mistake during the cigar craze of the 1990s.
Celeste and Pip eventually learned more about their family history and
business when their parents moved to Miami. Their mother, Virginia, gave Pip an
old scrapbook that belonged to her father. It contained several cigar bands and
artwork from the cigar boxes the company had used since its inception. But
unaware of the gift's value, Pip wrapped it in plastic, put it on the top shelf
of his closet and forgot about it. He moved out and didn't think twice about the
wealth between the brittle pages.
In 1992, Hurricane Andrew destroyed his parents' home, but one of the few
things that survived was the scrapbook. Relieved, Virginia Thibeaux sent it to a
daughter in San Francisco. Pip continued to work as a landscaper; Celeste was
busy raising a family. Art was the last thing on either's mind.
After their mother died in 1993, however, both began to remember with
fondness the stories she had told them. Nostalgic and curious, Pip traveled west
to retrieve the scrapbook and, along the way, met with art dealers and cigar
collectors. He even interviewed family members. The more he ventured into the
past, the more fascinated he became.
Pip recruited Celeste, who had always shared an interest in art. "We've
got to do something with this, he told me,'' she now recalls. "He was so
excited, and it was just about the time I had been thinking of doing something
too.''
Doing something became constructing art from the cigar bands in much the
same way a painter uses paint. The result for both artists is a meticulous,
colorful -- and quite unique -- rendering of Cubania. It has won over fans.
"I don't have an association with their homeland, but I love the
work,'' says Gail Jullie, who owns a Pip original. "To take the family
history and business and make it into art is so unique. They are such talented
people.''
Pip, who signs his work TIBO, has created about 30 pieces, but he is
reluctant to sell his originals. He prefers to give them to family members
scattered around the country.
"I feel like my art is a family business, and I work with my mother and
grandfather although they're not really here.''
Through private showings, he has sold four originals and now talks about
eventually making a living from his artwork. Celeste, who works for Miami-Dade
Water and Sewer, remains more private about her pieces. Most are not even
framed, though they are astonishingly original and whimsical. To recreate Cuban
scenes, she refers to photographs in the book "Cuba Arquitectura y
Urbanismo.'' She is now experimenting with three-dimensional art on glass.
"It's something to pass on to other generations,'' she says. "My
grandchildren come in here and want to do art with me. They watch me and they
realize where this all comes from. This is my family history. It gives me a
sense of immortality.''
Copyright 2000 Miami Herald | 