MONTOYA | LOPEZ, P.L.

Rodolfo Ulises Castrell is capable of evincing a wide range of emotions, from levity to rage, with only a slight change of expression. His eyes will narrow or widen almost imperceptibly. Atop Castrell's large wooden desk is a pen-holder inscribed with a map of Panama, the nation's flag, and a winged shield that bears the letters FAP, the abbreviation for the Panamanian Air Force, in which Castrell served for more than two decades.

Mounted on the wall is a silver platter presented to Castrell while he was Panama's ambassador to Israel, a post he held from 1988 until the U.S. invasion of Panama in late December 1989. The platter is etched with the names of Castrell's colleagues, including the then-U.S. ambassador to Israel, William A. Brown. Since General Noriega's April 1992 conviction on drug-trafficking and conspiracy charges, Castrell has become a sort of phone factotum for the former Panamanian leader, a stalwart as strong as any prison wall between the General and the outside world. "You heard I received [political] asylum," Castrell gabs, referring to a recent ruling by a U.S. immigration judge. Castrell's lawyer, Edward Montoya, argued successfully that the former Panamanian Air Force major's years of service to Noriega would result in political persecution were he to return to his home country. Some Panamanians disagree with that assessment, but no one would argue with the fact that Castrell must contend with legal problems in Panama, where he faces an order of detention in connection with an arms cache allegedly found in his home after the invasion.

Castrell maintains that his decision to move to Miami had nothing to do with Noriega, who was awaiting trial in a cell at the Miami federal courthouse: "I came here, not because of any political or economic motives, but because this was the best place for my wife to be treated. I wanted to stay out of politics until things calmed down in Panama." Although Castrell speaks of his wife's death without betraying any emotion, his attorney, Edward Montoya, says his client's military bearing and stoicism should not be confused with a lack of feeling.

"This man endured a lot of emotional pain in his family life," Montoya observes. "And he found himself alone here in a strange country." To this day, mention to Castrell of the arms cache, especially the surface-to-air missiles, elicits first laughter, then anger that threatens to explode into rage. "As a military man, I had stored my military equipment [at the house] -- uniforms, army vests, boots, helmets -- but not arms," Castrell simmers. He had rented the house through a real estate agent, he adds, and he had no idea who was living there. "This raid was conducted as a means to pressure me, to persecute me because of my friendship with Noriega and my position in the former government. This is the judicial terrorism that exists in Panama." In May 1992 the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) denied Castrell's request for asylum, filed one year earlier. At a subsequent deportation hearing in Miami on December 1, 1993, Castrell contested the decision before U.S. Immigration Judge J. Daniel Dowell.

As evidence of political persecution of his client, attorney Edward Montoya introduced several newspaper articles about the raid, pointing out inconsistencies between them. "They couldn't even agree on the number of people captured," the lawyer now notes. "It was a farce." Montoya also presented four letters from Panamanians, including one written by a prominent congressman from the Revolutionary Democratic Party (PRD), formerly headed by Noriega. Every letter stated that the former air force major would face "judicial persecution" were he to return to Panama. The lawyer pointed out that some 40 former military officers have spent years in jail awaiting trial for alleged crimes committed under the Noriega regime.

Nancy Frankle, the INS lawyer in the case, argued that judicial prosecution by a democratic government supported -- indeed put in place -- by the United States was not the same as political persecution. She also noted that Castrell's four children -- two girls and two boys aged fifteen to twenty-two -- lived with relatives in Panama, which demonstrated that Castrell himself was under no threat there. Judge Dowell, evidently, thought otherwise.

"Through the letters, the clips, and Castrell's own testimony, we were able to convince Judge Dowell that there was specific political persecution being aimed at him," Montoya says now. "We had a tough standard to meet, but I knew we had a good case."

Dowell declined to discuss the case with New Times. Frankle, who has since been transferred to San Francisco, initially agreed, but later changed her mind. A source from the U.S. State Department, however, is more than willing to talk about Panama's judicial system -- as long as he is not quoted by name. Though he acknowledges some problems, he asserts that several Noriegistas, the dictator's former military subordinates, have been tried and convicted in what the U.S. government views as fair trials. "I don't believe that judicial authorities in Panama would tolerate using the system in an improper manner in order to exact revenge even on the Noriegistas," says the source.

"That's really straining for a conspiracy when in fact the system is just slow." And several people in Panama disagree with Montoya's assessment of his client's situation. In fact, they argue, Castrell did not have much of a case at all.

"I would like to meet this lawyer," ventures an attorney who has practiced immigration law in Washington, D.C., and who now lives in Panama. "He must be a real hotshot," she says of the 29-year-old Montoya, a lawyer with Montero, Finizio, Velasquez and Weissing who admits to having more experience in personal-injury litigation than asylum claims. But Castrell is firm about returning to Panama.

"I want to regain my position in the military and to work again for my country," he says. And he goes against the opinions of many legal experts by predicting that Rubino and May's upcoming appeal of Noriega's case will be successful and that the General himself will eventually return to Panama. Perhaps for that reason, he continues to guard his boss's reputation as closely as any secret. Unsmiling, the Panamanian exile offers one last suggestion before closing the door to his dark townhouse: "Don't write anything that's going to harm the General.

*Article edited given size