Archangels: Rise of the Jesuits
Page 8
The letter continued with more Vatican politics. Michael skipped this and went on to the next letter. The date was written American-style. A quick glance at the signature told him this one was from James.
***
Chicago, December 27, 1981
Dear Paolo,
I apologize for the delay, but I had to wait for a courier. Father Herzog and Father Manion have warned me to be careful.
In answer to your question, I think Father Manion can hold up to the pressure. He was in ragged shape when he arrived here, but it was only overwork and exhaustion.
It’s hard to maintain a false identity. It’s even harder to do it for years. Father Manion has an extraordinary strength of faith, character and self. He’s in no danger mentally. It’s the physical danger that concerns me.
The marked portion of the letter ended there. Michael stopped reading, with an unsettled feeling. James was mixed up in this, and clearly had been for years. He’d thought he knew everything about James, but now he realized he didn’t know much at all.
The next two letters were from Father Manion. Michael noted this with a strange sense of relief.
***
Rome, 24 June, 1982
Dear Paolo,
This letter is a hard one to write. You will have heard by now of Roberto Calvi’s death this past week. They are calling it a suicide, but it was murder. I watched it happen.
Calvi’s fraud was on the brink of exposure, and he begged me to help him flee. We spent a week staying in safe houses all over Europe, then flew to London on 16 June. He was irrational, talking continually about his good friend Marcinkus and his own donations to Solidarnosc, the Pope’s favorite cause. I feared for his sanity as well as his safety.
The night we arrived in London, we were in Calvi’s hotel room. Calvi had stuffed his briefcase with incriminating documents and brought it with him. It was on the floor by his bed.
I heard a loud knock, and two rough-looking men entered. Calvi seemed to know them. They were Italian, though no names were spoken. Calvi vouched for me as a friend and officer of Banco Ambrosiano. The two men accepted that and told Calvi to come with them. Calvi insisted I come as well. I think he knew he wouldn’t be coming back.
We drove to a boatyard, boarded a small boat and motored down the Thames. Calvi was nervous; he kept asking where they were taking us and when we would see Gelli. One of the men laughed and punched Calvi in the stomach. We had stopped by then, near Blackfriars Bridge. I took my chance and jumped over the side. I made it to the bank and hid. I wanted to keep running, but I knew I had to bear witness. So I stayed.
I saw everything. One of the men threw a rope over some scaffolding under the bridge, as if to make the boat fast. Then he wrapped the other end around Calvi’s neck and stuffed something into Calvi’s pockets. Rocks, the newspapers said later. The other man put the boat in gear and they sped off. The jolt snapped Calvi’s neck. I cannot forget the sight of his corpse, swaying beneath the bridge.
I went back to the hotel, careful not to be seen. Calvi’s briefcase was gone. The next day, the London papers said he had hanged himself under Blackfriars Bridge with a fat wad of cash and ten pounds of rocks in his pockets.
The men who killed Calvi easily could have killed me. They had guns; one shot is all it would have taken. I think they let me live as a witness. They killed Calvi because he mismanaged Mafia money, but he knew everything about their money-laundering operations and they wanted to shut his mouth. They also wanted to intimidate the P2.
I flew back to Rome the next day. I will never return to Banco Ambrosiano.
Michael was barely aware of his surroundings: the murmur of voices from outside his office, the minor physical discomfort from his recent bruises. He was absorbed in the world described by the handwritten pages.
***
Rome, 12 December, 1982
Dear Paolo,
Italian officials arrested Flavio Carboni, an officer of Banco Ambrosiano, trying to extort $900 thousand dollars from Vatican officials in exchange for Calvi’s stolen documents. Bishop Pavel Hnilica was arrested trying to buy them back.
Hnilica—another Slav, like Marcinkus and John Paul himself—is part of Marcinkus’s inner circle. Clandestine jokes about the Slavic Mafia are making the rounds in the Vatican, but the jokes stem from fear. No one knows what will happen next, only that it won’t be good.
Banco Ambrosiano has officially collapsed, unable to survive the loss of the $1.3 billion Calvi looted from it with the assistance of the Vatican Bank. Licio Gelli’s been arrested too. He was picked up in Switzerland while withdrawing $120 million from the Union Bank of Switzerland’s Geneva branch. He entered the country on a false passport, and Switzerland has an extradition treaty with Italy. Thank God for technicalities. The Swiss are sending him back.
Marcinkus is claiming Calvi duped him. He’s hiding in the Vatican, but he can’t stay here forever. As soon as he steps off Vatican soil, he’ll be arrested too. As to his defense, he may well get away with it. The corruption at the top has seeped throughout our clergy. Financial crimes here, sexual misconduct in the United States. We have much to answer for.
I told Father Herzog the past seven years had made me an old man. He said: “So if you had done something else, you think you wouldn’t have grown old?” Typical Herzog. He has a point, but I would have grown old less quickly.
Yours in Christ,
Mark
Several years elapsed before the next letter. It was from James.
***
Rome, September 18, 1985
Dear Paolo,
Thank you again for your support. I’d no idea I’d create such a stir in the Vatican. Most people think I’m mad.
Obtaining permission to perform the exorcism almost required divine intervention. The Vatican administration felt it would seriously damage Catholic credibility if publicity about Jesuits performing exorcisms made the press and television news. Most priests view exorcism on par with hunting for leprechauns on St. Patrick’s Day.
The Society granted approval in two days. The Vatican clergy grilled me for four. They asked me if I really believed in possession. I took your advice and told them that what was important was that the patients believed they were possessed.
Father Manion got a good chuckle out of my dilemma. He said I’d have much more support if I’d embezzled $100 million from the Vatican Bank. Speaking of which, Marcinkus is still hiding in the Vatican. I wonder how much longer he can stay here.
The Vatican Bank paid a $250 million settlement to the defrauded depositors of Banco Ambrosiano, but admitted nothing. What’s most amazing to me is that Marcinkus raided the Vatican pension fund to come up with the money. Catholics have no idea where their donations are really going. Everyone involved with the scandal is still free. Father Manion finds that hard to accept. As do I.
I’ll see you in Chicago next month.
Yours in Christ,
James
The next letter, posted from Chicago, came from Father Manion.
***
17 March, 1986
Dear Paolo,
James is finally out of the hospital. He’s taken a few steps, and it’s just a matter of time before he walks again. His features are recognizable, and he’s making a fine and full recovery. Incredibly, his only permanent scars are from the back surgery and the teeth marks on his arm where he was bitten to the bone. The teeth missed a major artery by a millimeter.
I read your account and James’s of the exorcism. I hope you won’t attempt this treatment again.
James is actually happy with the result. His patient no longer believes himself possessed, and now James can treat what he calls the man’s “garden variety” mental illness.
Despite the circumstances, it’s good to be out of the Vatican. My mole in the Vatican Bank tells me he saw papers for another dummy corporation. The following week, $150 million appeared in the corporation’s account. My mole thinks it’s Latin American money. A
ny ideas?
Marcinkus isn’t involved this time. The Pope tried to find a diplomatic post for him so he could leave the Vatican immune from prosecution, but so far hasn’t succeeded. My only consolation is that Marcinkus can’t play his beloved golf, and I hope he misses it. I plan to get in a few rounds myself tomorrow. I'll send Marcinkus a postcard from the Oakbrook Country Club.
Yours in Christ,
Mark
The next two letters covered larger gaps in time, two and five years respectively.
***
Vatican City, 2 December, 1988
Dear Paolo,
Marcinkus got off scot-free. The authorities tried to indict him, but Italy's Supreme Court threw it out on grounds that the Vatican and its institutions enjoy sovereign status.
I sense Gelli’s hand in this. The combination of the old P2 members and Mafia money bought too many top officials for these charges to stick to anyone.
A new generation of crooks infests the Vatican like rats. They call themselves the Archangeli. The Vatican Bank is laundering Italian Mafia money, and your hunch was correct. They’re getting money from Colombia and other countries in Latin America as well.The documents are veiled in secrecy, but my mole is doing his best to get proof.
Yours in Christ,
Mark
The P2 and the Archangeli, Michael thought. The former, Italy’s right-wing secret society; the latter, the same group of Mafia-linked clergy that the Specialists had been looking at for years with little to show for it. Licio Gelli had been P2’s Maestro Venerabile, the Venerable Master.
Right-wing Freemasons, the members of P2, were wealthy Italian industrialists, publishers, high level military men and cops, and well placed politicians. An organized group of well-connected thugs, larcenous, lucrative and deadly. He kept reading.
***
Milan, 4 September, 1993
Dear Paolo,
Hard evidence and living witnesses both elude me. I pressured these men to help me, and now they’re dead.
The papers reported Raul Gardini’s murder as a suicide. The story referred to the Ca’ Dario, a haunted Venetian castle with a long history of its owners meeting tragic ends. Gardini bought it in the eighties and now the “curse of the Haunted Palace” is being blamed for his death.
That’s pure Gelli. He loves to scare his followers with this occult nonsense.
The truth is, Raul Gardini was about to give me evidence. He had proof of bribes and illegal money transfers out of Italy for the Italian Mafia this year.
Do you recall the stories about Ente Nazionale Idrocarburi, the Italian state energy corporation—the merger with Montedison, and the bribery scandal that followed? Gardini and Gabriele Cagliari, the head of ENI, were indicted for it. Gardini had nothing more to lose, so he agreed to help me if I used my influence to lighten his sentence. Cagliari agreed to the same deal.
The day before he would have been arrested, Gardini’s body was found in his apartment. Cagliari died in his prison cell in Milan. No chance of suicide being blamed for that one; he was asphyxiated by a plastic bag over his head. His killers couldn’t have been more obvious if they had put a bullet in his brain.
I may be next, unless I am very careful. I don’t plan to leave the Vatican until this is over. The Society’s power protects me here.
Yours in Christ,
Mark
Poor Father Manion, Michael thought. The Society had protected him, but not for long enough.
CHAPTER IX
Vatican City
Monday, June 17
By the time Michael finished reading, he had just enough time to find a caffe and have a sandwich and espresso and still get to the Vatican by 3:00 p.m. A brief detour to the library set him back an extra ten minutes, but he should still make it. His head was spinning with everything he’d learned, though he didn’t yet see how it tied into the murders of Father Manion and Father Pintozzi. Whatever hard evidence Father Herzog had of who was behind the notorious crimes from the past or the current murders, he owed it to Father Manion’s courage. After reading the letters, Michael felt as if he knew the man, and badly wanted to bring his killers to justice.
Father James was waiting for him outside the Jesuit apartments, and greeted him in English. “I hope I’m not late.” Michael appraised his friend with fresh eyes. He’d known James for almost two decades, yet after reading the letters he realized he knew very little about James.
“You're right on time.”
Michael matched James’s pace. They moved swiftly around the colonnade to the right of the basilica. Two Swiss guards stopped them at the base of the Scala Regia, the royal staircase designed by Bernini in the 1600s. In their orange and navy striped uniforms with billowing pantaloons and puffed sleeves, their heads crowned by black berets, they resembled large menacing dolls. Their expressions were grim, unyielding. The Vatican was still on red alert after Saturday’s murder.
Although Father James wore a cassock, the guards did not relax until they checked his identification and compared his face with his photo. They asked for Michael's identification as well, then finally nodded and stood aside.
A little further up the staircase was an archway crowned by the papal insignia: keys, papal crown and crest. Two angels supported the insignia on either side, blowing trumpets with their free hands as if announcing the visitors. Two more rows of columns, each flanked by another pair of Swiss guards, supported the archway itself. The guards looked gravely at them and waved them through.
“How large are the Jesuit apartments?” Michael asked.
“Not very. Most Jesuits don’t live in the Vatican, only a few very highly placed leaders of the Society.”
They walked though echoing marble halls and finally turned into a smaller hallway carpeted by a wide Persian runner. As they halted before the third door on the left, a young priest stepped out of an alcove, knocked on the door and opened it.
“Father James Talman has arrived,” the younger man said into the room beyond.
A clear voice answered in Italian. “Wonderful. Show him in.”
Michael followed James into the large comfortable-looking study. As with Father de Aragon at Michael’s apartment the other day, the air felt oddly dense and warm, yet comforting. A soft hum, so low he could barely hear it, added to the soothing effect. He had the sensation of being watched—no, more than watched. Probed, with an intensity that almost unnerved him, by the other two men in the room.
Seeking distraction, he glanced around. The room looked like a much larger version of his own study, minus the desk and computer equipment. Overstuffed reading chairs were positioned on a large oriental carpet in the middle of the room.
The feeling of probing intensity ebbed. He turned his attention to the two unfamiliar priests. Both elderly men looked delighted to see James. Father James greeted them with warm handclasps, then turned to Michael. “This is Father Herzog, the Superior General.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father Herzog.” He nodded toward the man, observing him in turn. Herzog stood straight and tall, as if he were decades younger. His slender frame looked wiry and muscular, and his sharp grey eyes missed nothing. Michael had taken a little extra time to do his homework before coming here; he knew Herzog had been elected to his high office just six months prior and was a descendant of a wealthy noble German family.
Herzog gestured to James to take the empty chair next to him, then turned to Michael and smiled. “We are most grateful you agreed to meet with us. May we speak in English?”
“Yes.” Michael preferred English for analytical thinking. Although he loved the beauty and expressiveness of Italian, English lent itself better to reason and logic. He had a feeling both would be needed here today.
Father Herzog turned toward the other unfamiliar priest—another man in his eighties, shorter than Herzog but giving off a similar air of vigor. “This is my aide, Father Heilman.”
“My pleasure.” Michael bent slightly as he shook the man�
��s hand, noting Heilman’s steel grey-hair and enigmatic expression.
“And mine.” Father Heilman gripped Michael’s hand firmly, looking him directly in the eyes.
They sat down, Michael directly across from Father Herzog. “So why did you ask me here?” Michael said.
“First, let me make something clear,” Father Herzog said. “We do not represent the Church. At least, not yet.”
“No,” was all Michael could think to say. He glanced at James, but his old friend’s serene expression yielded no information.
Father Herzog went on. “We represent the Society of Jesus and our Rota.”
Michael knew what that was. “But there is no Rota,” he said. “The Rota was the ancient ecclesiastical court. Nowadays the Vatican has its own civil court, and the tribunal of the Church cardinals deals with internal Church matters.”
A slight smile crossed Herzog’s face. “Your trip to the library was not wasted.”
“You had me watched?” Michael spoke sharply, with another glance at James that earned him nothing.
“Yes,” Father Herzog replied. “For your own protection.”
“And the photographer this morning?”
Herzog looked puzzled, and somewhat alarmed. “I’m sorry. Could you explain that?”
Michael did. He also explained the added security he had put around his villa. All three priests listened with heightened interest. James leaned forward, looking deeply concerned.
“We had nothing to do with that,” Father Herzog said firmly. “We do not condone violence or invade people’s homes. We only tracked your whereabouts, as you may be in danger.”