The Last Pope (35 page)

“Just that?”

“Yes, at first. Later, whatever was needed would be done. Don’t forget that Firenzi was a prince of the Church and his priorities were clear. He wanted the truth, of course, but he also wanted to protect the Vatican’s reputation from any further damage. His Holiness would find the most appropriate solution. Most likely, the Church would opt for the classic Vatican reaction.”

“Which is . . .”

“No reaction at all. Silence is the Vatican’s policy. But simply recognizing the existence of the documents, just knowing that someone in the heart of the Church had been dishonest, was enough of a reason for our brother Firenzi to take some action. And I must confess it was enough for me as well. That’s why you did the right thing, Sarah, and I’m grateful to you for that.”

 

 

NOW, THREE MONTHS LATER, everything had ended well, and only one thing still worried Sarah. She had received no news from Rafael, or Jack Payne, or whatever his name was. She didn’t know how to find him, no matter how much she wanted to see him again. She thought of asking her father for help, but finally decided against it.

The Sunday Mass had ended, and the Monteiro family was walking around Saint Peter’s Basilica, like many other tourists and faithful. Later they’d dine at a restaurant and make a tour of Rome.

While mother and daughter were admiring the magnificent dome, Raul went to greet a friend he had noticed among the crowd.

“Girls, I’d like you to meet a very dear friend of mine.” Raul said, as he approached them. Sarah, still absorbed in reading a tourist’s leaflet about the basilica, didn’t look up right away.

“Let me introduce you to Father Rafael Santini.”

Sarah lost interest in the leaflet the moment she heard the name of Rafael. She looked up and down at the man wearing a black cassock.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said quietly

Sarah couldn’t believe her eyes. Rafael, a priest!

“Father Rafael is in charge of a parish north of Rome, isn’t it?” Raul explained.

“That’s right. It’s not far from here.”

I tried to seduce a priest! Sarah couldn’t get the idea out of her head. How was it possible for a man like him to be a priest, to be dedicated to Christ? Now she understood his rejection when they were in that New York hotel room. He had made a different choice, he was a man of God, and, besides, his role in life was to protect the interests of the Church. Nothing was what it seemed.

“Would you like to have dinner with us?” Raul suggested.

“I’d love to, but I can’t. I brought some children from my parish to visit the Vatican. Another time.”

“I hope so,” Sarah’s father said.

“The documents have been saved,” Rafael told Sarah.”Safely kept where they always were, but with the knowledge of His Holiness.”

No one had ever mentioned to Sarah the existence of the Holy Alliance, the organization that seemed to include all the Vatican Secret Services. Numerous legends, stories, and fictions were told about this institution, none of them easy to verify. Some people thought that the Holy Alliance was made up of unscrupulous spy priests, prepared to sacrifice their lives for Rome and for the pontiff.

There was no official address for the Vatican secret services. The names of its agents didn’t appear on any payroll, nor could they possibly be identified. Nevertheless, the CIA and the Mossad, the CNI and the MI6, all readily believed not only that they existed, but also that they constituted one of the most powerful and most skilled spy and counterspy organizations in the world. Naturally, the Vatican agents were carefully selected from among the most capable, and they were probably trained in institutions unrelated to the Vatican.

Rafael Santini had received training very early with an objective in mind: to infiltrate the P2 and the CIA, and to come to light only when it became absolutely necessary. For almost two decades he had been a “sleeper,” watching institutions and organizations that needed to be controlled, until he received an order related to the Holy See, and then he did what he’d been trained for. There were not hundreds, but thousands of priests in the world who said Mass, taught in schools, and comforted the sick, who were just waiting for orders to act according to serious Vatican directives.

 

 

“SOMETIMES I WONDER how much we lost with the death of that pope,” Sarah commented thoughtfully, strolling around the outskirts of the Vatican after saying farewell to Rafael Santini.

“John Paul I?” her father asked.

“Yes. I even think, after all that happened, that nobody else would ever deserve to take his place.”

Her father tenderly put his arm around her shoulders.

“I know exactly how you feel. But you must realize that life goes on for the rest of us. One day Albino Luciani will receive his just consideration.”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t worry, Sarah,” her mother interrupted. “God never rests.”

Sarah wanted to believe that to be true. The secret would be well kept, this time by honorable men, in the same place where the murder was committed, as a kind of divine, mischievous wink. Where evil was king, good now reigned.

“Firenzi’s plan didn’t seem adequate to me.”

“He did what he could,” her father countered. “If you hadn’t been on vacation, or if he’d possessed another means of communicating with me, things would have turned out better.”

“Even so, they already had Marius Ferris.”

“The fact that they had Marius Ferris didn’t necessarily mean they could have forced him to reveal the location of the documents. And yet that was something we knew.”

“Do you think he would have died, rather than reveal anything?”

“Let me answer you with another question. Do you think Rafael would have given away the secret?”

“Of course not. What does one man have to do with the other? They have nothing in common.”

“Yes, they do. If your godfather sent the papers to Ferris, it was because he trusted him in the same way.”

Rafael. Just the name still sent chills down her spine, particularly now that she knew much more than before. Her rescuer, a man capable of doing what he did in London, was an Italian priest! Was he more of the devil than of God?

“Even so, I’m still not convinced,” she insisted, going back to Firenzi’s plan, ready to forget the man who saved her. “What was the purpose of those double portraits? I never understood that.”

“So that the two priests would recognize Marius Ferris. They knew he was the only one to be trusted. Unfortunately, Father Pablo didn’t think ahead enough to store his in a safe place.”

“How did you ever know it was a double portrait?”

Her father smiled.

“For someone who was very much into all of this, the letter was very explicit. A soft light had to be focused on the portrait.”

“Very clever. Why didn’t J.C. take the risk? He could have reached the last steps.”

“Because of fear.”

“Fear?”

“Yes. Fear. Those people are used to acting when they are sure they’re going to win. The mere possibility of losing stops them, and keeps them quietly in the shadows, waiting for a better opportunity.”

“Do you mean that someone may still try to recover the documents?”

“I don’t think so. J.C. won’t live forever. And this served his interests perfectly.”

“Will he try to do something against us in the future?”

“I doubt that, too. Bringing this matter up again could only hurt him. We can rest assured.”

 

 

CLOSE TO SIX that evening, Sarah’s parents decided to go back to their hotel and rest awhile before dinner. Their leisurely tour of Rome had been wonderful. It was a pity that Sarah couldn’t get the meeting with Rafael out of her head. At least, he’d never hidden his real name from her. She wandered through the streets and alleys of Rome until it was past seven.

On her ambling return to the Grand Hotel Palatino, on Via Cavour, not far from the Coliseum, she was planning to have a good bath and dinner. After such a long day that had started so early, she felt very tired, but still had the former Rafael on her mind.

Immersed in these thoughts, she entered the hotel lobby, totally unaware of the figure in black who had been following her for hours.

“Miss Sarah Monteiro,” the receptionist called her, but she was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear him. He had to call her again.

“Yes?” she finally answered.

“There’s a message here for you,” the clerk said, handing her a small envelope.

“Who gave it to you?”

“Sorry, I don’t know who brought it. I wasn’t on at the time.”

“Fine. No problem. Thanks.”

Sarah went to the elevator while opening the envelope, which was unsealed. She pulled out a small black object that resembled a button. Filled with curiosity, she got in the elevator, and realized there was also a note, which she read on her way up to the seventh floor. Seconds later she looked up, flabbergasted and nervous, thinking to herself, No, not this again. It can’t be.

The note was very brief.

Sarah hesitated, but she knew she couldn’t run away from destiny. She put the little object into her ear and waited. Perhaps it was just a practical joke. Even so, she couldn’t imagine her parents engaging in such a charade.

“Good evening, Miss Monteiro,” she heard a voice saying into her right ear.

“Who is it?” Her voice, though firm, betrayed her anxiety.

“Hello, my dear. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten me that fast.” There was sarcasm in the voice. “I’d be personally offended.”

“What do you want?” Sarah’s tone was even firmer now, trying to mask the fear that overcame her when she recognized the speaker.

“I just want to recover what rightfully belongs to me.” There was no doubt that it was the old man, the one who murdered John Paul I.

“I have nothing to do with that,” Sarah answered coldly. “Go to the Vatican.”

A loud, guttural guffaw was the annoying answer, hurting her ears. Sarah went to her room with some hesitation, still listening.

“That’s what I’m going to do, but I want you to be my messenger. Since you were the one responsible for the final destination of those papers, I think it’s only fair that you should be the one to recover them for me.”

Now it was Sarah’s turn to laugh.

“You think so?”

“Definitely.”

Sarah had the strange sensation that the old man was hiding something. She unlocked the door to her room.

“Tell me exactly what is it that you want. I’ve got other things to do.”

“Do you see the package on your bed?”

Seeing it terrified her.

“Yes,” she said in a muted voice.

“Open it.”

Sarah obeyed. It was a bundle of papers.

“What’s this?”

“Read those documents carefully. We’ll talk later.”

“Do you think this could be enough to convince the Vatican to surrender those papers?”

“Without a doubt. We all have our weak points. Wait for my instructions.”

The earpiece stopped. She took it out and threw it on the bed. She sat on the edge, still with the bundle of papers in her hand, and read the heading. There was a name in all capital letters.

 

MEHMET ALI A
CA

EPILOGUE

When I first contacted the author to write this book, the most important requirement was that he had to mix fact and fiction. Why? The answer was simple. I knew from my own experience that that’s the way real life happens. Many historical truths that we consider authentic are no more than mere fictions. The set of circumstances surrounding the death of John Paul I is an example and, believe me, not the only one.

I must confess that the result surprised me very positively. Fact and fiction did mix adequately. With this artifice, it wasn’t my intention to ask readers to use their own means to distinguish fact from fiction. I just wanted them to know that not everything that has been said with an open smile, or with a look of deep despair, is the truth.

In these pages the author has created a character who represents me and honors me. I am grateful to him for the skill he showed in developing the plot, using me for his own purpose, as well as mine.

With all the conspiracy theories about the death of John Paul I that have been generated over the past thirty years, I’ve enjoyed staying in the shadows, particularly with all those experts commenting on it as if they were sole proprietors of the truth.

The institutions were not to blame, but rather the people who constituted them or worked for them.

I was a member of the P2 Loggia, and as a human being I am not, nor do I pretend to be, immune to sin or to making mistakes.

However, don’t fool yourselves. Only God will be my judge.

 

—J.C.

CHARACTERS

CARMINE “MINO” PECORELLI
. Born in Sessano del Molise, Isernia province, September 14, 1928. Founder of the weekly
Osservatorio Politico,
specializing in political and financial scandals. He gained power not only through his knowledge of the ins and outs of Italian politics, but also because he was a man of vision. He joined Licio Gelli’s P2. After the assassination of Aldo Moro, he began printing unpublished documents, including three letters that the former prime minister had written to his family. The articles published in his weekly enraged many people, including cabinet members, representatives, ministers, and also Licio Gelli, because Pecorelli made a list of the members of the P2 and sent it to the Vatican. He intended to publish it. He was assassinated on March 20, 1979, with Gelli’s knowledge and consent. The instigator was a noted Italian politician.