In May 2007, the immigration charges against Posada were thrown out of court by a judge. Posada was released from detention and returned to Miami.
Some in the international human rights community were outraged. Said Fabián Escalante, Cuba’s former chief of intelligence, “Posada is a hired assassin, a paid terrorist. He is a killer, an assassin like those in U.S. movies, who would murder anyone without a trace of emotion, just for money, out of self-interest . . . But he is a very, very dangerous witness [against the United States] . . . He knows too much and constitutes a real danger for those who used him for more than forty years.”
In August 2008, a federal judge in the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals ruled against Posada, reversing the previous judge’s ruling that had freed the man. Once again, he was arrested and held in detention in El Paso.
In April 2011, Posada was found not guilty of the charges against him. He returned to Miami and lives as a local hero. When interviewed for this book in 2016, though his physical health was not good, he remained chipper and upbeat. His memories of José Miguel Battle Sr. were sharp and remained fond. When asked if he knew that Battle was a gangster, he answered, “Later, I learned that, yes. It was in the newspapers. And I heard the stories from people who knew him better than I did.”
To Posada, it did not matter if Battle was a criminal or a killer. “To me, he was a patriot above all else. He supported any cause that was anticommunist. He made financial contributions to many of our causes, including the Contras. He supported la lucha wholeheartedly. Any time we ran into each other, the topic of conversation was the same—the need to kill Castro by any means necessary.”
Asked whether he would be hesitant to accept the support of someone who was a notorious gangster, Posada said, “I did not care whatever they say he did. We were united by a common cause, and to me, he was a stand-up guy. For the cause, I would take money or resources from wherever we could get them in order to keep the mission moving forward. I never kept a penny for myself. I’m old now, without any money of my own. I get by with help from my remaining friends.
“For me, there are no lines. I would cross any and all lines if it got me to the ultimate prize—the elimination of Castro.”
Not everyone from the movement was as hard-line as Posada. Felix Rodriguez, revered by many for his lifelong commitment in the war against communism and his role as a supporter of the Contras, does not accept that the struggle involves suspending any and all moral perogatives. Of Battle, Rodriquez said, “He turned bad. He became a bad man. No, I would not knowingly collaborate with such a man.” At the core of Rodriguez’s feelings about Battle is the fact that he is alleged to have killed, among others, Angel Mujica, his closest compatriot from the days of Brigade 2506. To Rodriguez, a man who would kill his onetime best friend and fellow brigadista was not a man who could be trusted.
ON MARCH 20, 2016, THE WHEELS OF AIR FORCE ONE TOUCHED DOWN AT JOSÉ MARTÍ International Airport in Havana for the first time ever. The same airport the CIA bombed in 1961 was now the point of entry for President Barack Obama, who was the first U.S. president to visit Cuba since Calvin Coolidge in 1928. For one week, at least, the tortured relationship between the governments of Cuba and the United States was front and center in the eyes of the world.
Obama and his diplomatic entourage were there to meet with, among others, President Raúl Castro, who had taken over as leader from his more famous brother in 2006, after Fidel suffered a debilitating gastrointestinal illness that almost killed him. Obama had initiated the extraordinary détente with Cuba in the interest of opening up diplomatic and financial relations, but that could not happen without at least an acknowledgment of the past.
In an unprecedented speech to the Cuban people at the Gran Teatro de la Habana, Obama noted, “Havana is only ninety miles from Florida, but to get here we had to travel a great distance—over barriers of history and ideology; barriers of pain and separation. The blue waters beneath Air Force One once carried American battleships to this island—to liberate, but also to exert control over Cuba. Those waters also carried generations of Cuban revolutionaries to the United States, where they built support for their cause. And that short distance has been crossed by hundreds of thousands of Cuban exiles—on planes and makeshift rafts—who came to America in pursuit of freedom and opportunity, sometimes leaving behind everything they owned and every person that they loved.”
Obama, age fifty-six, noted that “the Bay of Pigs [invasion] took place the year that I was born,” but he wanted the people to know that “I have come here to bury the last remnant of the Cold War in the Americas . . . Because in many ways, the United States and Cuba are like two brothers who’ve been estranged for many years, even as we share the same blood.”
It was a speech many Cuban Americans thought they would never hear. Even though there were still cold warriors and hard-liners who advocated for a continuation of hostilities with Cuba—and political figures who still curried favor with once-powerful lobby groups like the Cuban American National Foundation—polls showed that a younger generation of Cuban Americans wanted to move on. Obama’s visit to Cuba seemed to encapsulate this spirit. It was as if a cloud had lifted, and those old warriors who had devoted a lifetime to the covert, violent dictates of la lucha could now lay down their arms.
Before the year was over, another seismic event took place that shook the universe of Cuban-U.S. politics. On November 25, Fidel Castro, at the age of ninety, died in his sleep. The passing of Fidel was, if anything, even more monumental than the Obama visit had been in terms of what it represented for the anti-Castro movement in the United States. It was not the resounding repudiation of Cuban communism that so many had hoped for, with the overthrow of Fidel and the fantasy harbored by people like Luis Posada and others that they might one day strangle Castro to death with their bare hands. Castro had not been killed, but he was dead, and this was cause for celebration.
In Little Havana, people danced in the streets. Posada, who could barely walk on his own, was brought into the street by his caretakers and allowed to revel in the passing of a man whose death had been the focus of his entire adult life.
One week before Castro expired, in an event that garnered no attention in the local press, José Miguel Battle Jr. was released from prison after having served twelve years of his fifteen-year sentence. Battle was now sixty-two years old, young enough to still have some good years ahead of him. He reunited with his two boys, who were now grown men, and his mother, Maria Josefa, who was still alive at the age of eighty-two.
Throughout his prosecution in court and his time in prison, Battle Jr. kept his mouth shut. It was with great sadness and consternation that his family observed the testimony of Abraham Rydz, whom Miguelito had considered his surrogate father and closest friend. The fact that Rydz became a snitch, testifying against the Corporation, severed the close ties between the Battle and Rydz families. It did not matter that the government came to believe that Rydz had altered his testimony to protect Miguelito. It did not even matter that Rydz had ultimately taken his own life. It was one of the great disappointments of Battle Jr.’s life that Rydz had agreed to testify against the organization. Even in late 2016, flush with his newfound freedom, the sense of betrayal lingered.
Still, a lot had changed. Battle Jr. was willing to acknowledge that much. After all, only a few months before his release and before Fidel Castro disappeared from the earth, there was the president of the United States, an African American, no less, standing on a stage in Havana, the city of his birth, saying to the world, “It is time, now, for us to leave the past behind. It is time for us to look forward to the future together—un futuro de esperanza.”
As the new year dawned, Miguelito was living at a federal halfway house, with weekends off to live with his family, until the terms of his release had been fulfilled.
The road ahead was paved with uncertainty, but it was good to be free.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS BOOK CA
ME TOGETHER UNLIKE ANY BOOK I HAVE PUBLISHED BEFORE. IN THE spring of 2015, I was approached by two Miami-based movie producers— Jaydee Freixas and Tony Gonzalez (no relation to AUSA Tony Gonzalez)— who were developing a project on the story of José Miguel Battle Sr. and the Corporation. They had come to the conclusion that before they could pitch the subject matter as a film project, it should first be published as a book. Based on my having written Havana Nocturne, a New York Times bestselling book on the subject of the Mob in Cuba in the 1950s, they concluded that I might be the right person to tackle the story. They contacted my literary agent and asked: Has T. J. English ever heard of José Miguel Battle and the Corporation? And, if so, would he be interested in writing a book on the subject?
I had been following the story at least since the late 1990s, when Battle was arrested in South Florida and held on RICO charges. In 2007, when Battle died, I was deep into the research and writing of Havana Nocturne and had become well aware of the Corporation. I had begun to see the criminal activities of this organization in the larger context of the Cuban exile experience, especially the Cuban American underworld, which traced its roots to the era of the Mob in Havana in the 1950s. I knew enough to know that it was an incredible story, but at the time I felt that I didn’t have the sources or contacts in the Cuban crime world or law enforcement to seriously entertain the idea of writing a book on the subject.
Which is what made the offer from Jaydee and Tony so intriguing. They had secured as a source David Shanks, the ex-Miami cop who had played an integral role in eventually taking down the Corporation in a court of law. With a contact like that, I felt it was possible to explore the idea of embarking on this project. My answer to Jaydee and Tony was, “Hell yes, I am aware of the Battle story. I am interested.”
Both Jaydee and Tony were born and raised in Miami. Through family and other personal connections, they had links to many key interview subjects and other sources of information. They helped set up interviews. Tony, in particular, sometimes acted as a translator, and some interviews took place at his beautiful home in the neighborhood of Coconut Grove, Miami. Both Tony and Jaydee traveled with me on a research trip to Havana. They were cohorts on this project in many ways, and I am grateful for their hard work and friendship.
Dave Shanks was also an invaluable contributor. Having lived this story from a law enforcement perspective, he had much to offer. His original manuscript helped lay the groundwork for this book, and his perspective added depth and insight to the story of the Corporation. I owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Shanks for his cooperation.
In doing my research, it soon became apparent that the story of the Corporation was more than a crime story: it was the story of an entire generation of Cuban exiles in the United States. This tale involved those whose personal and cultural trajectory in America was shaped by the revolution and everything that came afterward. Exile and dislocation were aspects of this story for the majority of post-revolution Cuban Americans. For those who became participants and fellow travelers in the story of the Corporation, it involved violence, secrecy, paranoia, and fear.
Though the Corporation was a criminal organization, it had within its structure an emphasis on family—brothers, fathers, cousins, and in-laws made the best co-conspirators, on the theory that they could be trusted. The younger children—too young to be involved in the criminal activity—were in many cases witnesses to “the life.” They experienced firsthand the paranoia and fear of their elders’ lives outside the law as exiles, gangsters, and, in some cases, as enablers who simply got in over their heads. The children were there when their parents hid the money, or had to go on the run, or became witnesses for the government. In some cases, their parents were murdered while they were still young.
I was startled by the degree to which the inheritors of this legacy came forward to be interviewed. Enough time had passed; most of the major players were now deceased. As kids, and into adulthood, the sons and daughters had adhered to a strict code of secrecy that is at the core of many criminal conspiracies. With the Mafia, it’s called omertà, having to do with manhood. In the case of the Corporation, this code of secrecy was absorbed deep into the family ethos. You kept your mouth shut. You talked to no one. Only now, many decades after the events of this story had taken place, did they feel they could tell their side of the story. Not only were they willing to speak, they needed to speak as a process of letting go and moving beyond the dark memories of the past. In doing so, they contributed mightily to the telling of this tale and the creation of this book.
For their role in helping to make this book possible, I would like to thank the following people:
In Miami and South Florida: Natalee Fernandez, for her tremendous work helping to organize the research material; Alina Gonzalez, for her unerring and gracious hospitality; Maria “Edi” Gonzalez and Joaquin “Pipo” Gonzalez; Jack Blumenfeld; Bruce Fleischer; Tomas “Tito El Conejo” Guerra; Pedro Marquez; Pepe “Chamby” Campos; Frank “Sergio” Gonzalez; Raul J. Garcia; Chris Sotolongo; Freddy Castro; Raul Martinez Urioste; Art Hernandez; Adam Arnholt; Francisco “Pepe” Hernandez; Luis Cristobal; George Dávila; Humberto Dávila Jr.; Joaquin Deleon Jr.; Miguel Cruz; Ian Cruz; Elpido Guzman; AUSA Tony Gonzalez; Christian Fong; Alex and Adrian Battle; José Miguel Battle Jr.; Koki Freixas; Sophia Marie Banda.
In New Jersey and New York: Susan Rydz; Carol Ann Daly and Kelly Noguerol; Wayne Chesler; Tom Farley; Dennis Ring; Scott Deitche; Michael Dávila; Joey “Coco” Diaz; Henry, Daniel, and David Raymont; Stuart Deutsch; Jack Brown; Teresita Levy; Ben Lapidus.
In Havana: Geo Darder; Mario Villa; Ciro Bianchi; Osmani Garcia; the lovely Loreta.
In Lima, Peru: Christina Lorenzato, who served as my personal assistant in Lima; Modesto Julia Jara; Justi Polanco; Gilberto Diaz del Castillo; George Croes.
In Madrid, Spain: Ernesto Torres Izquierdo, son of the late Ernestico Torres (El hijo pródigo), and Antonia “Monica” Izquierdo, his mother.
David Shanks would like to thank the following people for their contributions to the investigation and prosecution of the Corporation: Sexy Cubana, the secret source who provided information on the Battle family; Assistant Director of Miami-Dade Police Department (MDPD) Steve Rothlein (ret.); MDPD Lt. Victor McEachin; FBI special agent Brian O’Rourke; criminal IRS agent Santiago Aquino; Florida Dept. of Law Enforcement analyst Vonnie Aimes (ret.); New Jersey Commission of Investigations agent Judi Gore (ret.); State Dept. FSN investigator Manuel Ramirez from the Lima Embassy; Broward County Sherriff’s Det. Al Lopez; MDPD Det. Dick “Crash” Krtausch (ret.); MDPD Maj. Bobby Munecas (ret.); MDPD Lt. Joe Lopez (ret.); MDPD Sgt. Joe Aja (ret.); MDPD Tech Supports Dets. Jay Huff, Kevin Verstraten, Joe Iteralde, and Ron Cooksley; AUSA administrative assistants Wanda Hubbard, Milly Perez, and Kerri Isern.
As always, special thanks to my agents Nat Sobel and Judith Weber at Sobel Weber Associates; and at William Morrow/HarperCollins Publishing, my editor David Highfill and his stellar assistant Chloe Moffett.
The work is sometimes stressful, and on the many research trips from my home base in Manhattan to Miami, I sought refuge in the local music scene. For providing stress relief and inspiration, I would like to thank the great band Spam Allstars for those late nights at Hoy Como Ayer, and especially Tomás Diaz, their percussionist; Locos Por Juana, most notably lead singer Itawe Correa, for the beautiful music filled with joy; and the hip-hop legend El B of Los Aldeanos, for his flow, his integrity, and the ways in which his work embodies an indomitable Cuban spirit.
NOTES
INTRODUCTION
Post-revolutionary Cuba (political executions): The legacy and historical veracity of the executions is still a controversial subject. The Castro government acknowledged that some executions took place but have never specified an exact number. Cuba: The Pursuit of Freedom, revised ed. (New York: Picador, 2001), by Hugh Thomas, considered by some to be the definite history on Cuba, estimates as many as five hundred political executions.
Cuban
diaspora in the United States: Luis A. Perez Jr., On Becoming Cuban: Identity, Nationality and Culture (New York: Ecco, 1999).
Atmosphere of corruption in Havana: T. J. English, Havana Nocturne: How the Mob Owned Cuba, and Then Lost It to the Revolution (New York: William Morrow, 2008).
The Mob in Havana: Ibid.
Martín Fox and the Tropicana: Rosa Lowinger, Tropicana Nights: The Life and Times of the Legendary Cuban Nightclub (New York: Harcourt, 2005; Coralstone reprint edition, 2016).
José Miguel Battle-Vargas Sr.’s background: Certificación de Nacimiento, Registro del Estado Civil, República de Cuba [Cuban birth certificate]; Battle’s military file, U.S. Army, including education and employment records from Cuba; criminal file, State of New Jersey, accessed by U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of Florida; President’s Commission on Organized Crime, Record of Hearing, June 1985.
Incident with “Jesús”: Interview with Jesús, May 10, 2016.
Santo Trafficante Jr.: Scott Deitche, The Silent Don: The Criminal Underworld of Santo Trafficante Jr. (Fort Lee, NJ: Barricade, 2007); Scott Deitche, Cigar City Mafia: The Complete History of the Tampa Underworld (Fort Lee, NJ: Barricade, 2004).
Battle’s arrival in United States: Battle military file, U.S. Army.
“At the time he had nothing”: Testimony of Abraham Rydz, U.S.A. v. Battle et al., 2006.
Earliest formations of the Bay of Pigs invasion: Interview with Francisco “Pepe” Hernandez, October 15, 2015; interview with Raul Martinez, February 4, 2016; interview with Luis Posada Carriles, October 23, 2015; interview with Felix Rodriguez, February 17, 2017; Victor Andres Triay, Bay of Pigs: An Oral History of Brigade 2506 (Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 2001).
PROLOGUE
The Corporation Page 60
