The Vatican Exposed: Money, Murder, and the Mafia (21 page)

Michele Sindona, one of the men most esteemed by the Gambino
and Genovese families, had brought a certain matter to Uncle
Marty's attention. The Roman Catholic Church, Sindona had said,
wanted to purchase $1 billion in counterfeit securities through Ledl,
an approved middleman, and Uncle Marty was the right man to
handle the order. The very notion of Holy Mother Church wanting
to engage in such a transaction made Rizzo shake his head. But
Uncle Marty had received assurance that the deal was "legit," that is,
"a sure thing." And Rizzo was in no position to question Uncle
Marty, let alone such a respected family member as Don Michele, the
pope's banker.

Rizzo was a swarthy shylock, operating out of the Columbia Civic
League Club; supplying money to businessmen, restaurant owners,
and other big-league borrowers in Manhattan; and employing a crew
of strong-armed thugs to make sure that payments were made on
time. Rizzo's rap sheet filled several pages. He had been arrested for
car theft, transportation of stolen bonds in interstate commerce, robbery, possession of illegal weapons, and a string of felonious assaults
with blackjacks and guns. FBI and Interpol officials knew that Rizzo
also ran a ring that moved stolen weapons to South America; that he
was a major distributor of cocaine and heroin; and that he dealt with
counterfeit securities with outlets throughout the world.'

The man whom Rizzo had traveled to meet-the suave and
sophisticated Leopold Ledl-was also a subject of interest to the FBI
and Interpol. He was involved in gunrunning, drug trafficking, and
counterfeiting securities. The Austrian millionaire had important
connections in Italy. His friends included Mario Foligni, the selfstyled "Count of San Francisco," who ran an insurance and finance
company called Nuova Sirce with offices in Rome and Munich; Dr.
Tomasso Amato, Milanese lawyer and swindler, who specialized in
bogus paintings, documents, and securities; and Remigio Begni, a
leading Rome stockbroker who was not too concerned about the
origin and destination of the stocks he sold.'

Through Foligni, who had been awarded honorary degrees in
theology by the Vatican, Ledl established friendships with a host of
ecclesiastical dignitaries, including Cardinal Giovanni Benelli, Paul
VI's assistant secretary of state; Cardinal Edigio Vagnozzi, head of
the Vatican's Office of Economic Affairs; Cardinal Amleto Giovanni
Cicognani, secretary of state emeritus; and Cardinal Eugene Tisserant, dean of the college of cardinals.4 Such exalted figures were
regular dinner guests at Ledl's lavish wooded estate outside Vienna.

Early that year Cardinal Tisserant invited Ledl to his office in the
Vatican to discuss a matter of particular urgency. Tisserant, as Ledl
later related the details of the meeting to FBI Agent Richard Tamarro
and New York City Detective Joe Coffey, spoke of the declining
status of the Vatican's treasury and of how Bishop Paul Marcinkus, in
his capacity as head of the Vatican Bank, had made a series of "ill-considered" investments that had cost the Church millions of dollars.
The cardinal then asked Ledl if he had any ideas or suggestions how
the financial situation of the Vatican could be improved. Ledl had
plenty of ideas but few that he would like to share with a man of such
power and dignity, an esteemed prince of Holy Mother Church.

"No ideas at all, my friend from Vienna?" Tisserant pressed.
"Surely, a man with your experience and connections must know
some way to obtain a great many securities that would help the Vatican in its present situation."

Ledl asked what kind of securities.

"First-class securities, of course," Tisserant replied, "in large
American companies."

Such securities would be expensive and difficult to obtain, Ledl said.

"If they are counterfeit?" Tisserant queried mildly.

"What amount do you have in mind?" Ledl asked.

Close to a billion dollars, the cardinal answered. To be precise,
the figure he had in mind was $950 million.

But, Ledl pressed, wasn't the Vatican concerned with what might
happen if caught with such an enormous amount of bogus certificates? It was one thing for a businessman, such as Ledl, or a large corporation to engage in such a venture. It was a different matter for
such a sacred institution as the Roman Catholic Church.

Tisserant said he wasn't at all concerned. The American government would never accuse Holy Mother Church of dealing in counterfeit stocks and bonds. The very notion of such a charge would
strike investigators as preposterous. If it were discovered that the Vatican possessed such phony securities, U.S. authorities would simply
assume that the Church had fallen victim to some unscrupulous
swindlers and would step in to make restitution for any losses.

"How much would the Vatican be willing to pay for such firstclass counterfeit merchandise?" Ledl asked.

Sixty-five percent of the face value or $625 million, Tisserant
responded. Of course, Ledl would be expected to provide a quarter
of this amount-a sum of $150 million-to Tisserant and Archbishop Marcinkus for the development of the plan. This would leave
about $450 million for Ledl and his associates.'

The deal was irresistible. The two men agreed and Ledl set out to
fill the Church's order. He made contact with Manuel "Ricky" Jacobs
in New York, who brought the matter before the Gambino family. At
the same time, Sindona made contact with Uncle Marty to offer an
assurance that the request for the counterfeit securities was "for
real"6 and that Led], at an arranged meeting, could provide "tangible
proof" of authorization from the Holy See. Sindona knew that such
proof was necessary. The deal was going to cost a lot of money-for
the plates, the paper, the engravers, the printing, and the couriers.
And neither Uncle Marty nor any other member of the Gambino and
Genovese crime families had any knowledge of Leopold Ledl.'

At the meeting within an elegant suite of the Churchill Hotel, as
New York Times investigator Richard Hammer records in The Vatican
Connection, Ledl was accompanied by Maurice Ajzen, who served as
an interpreter. Three men sat in the suite with Rizzo. One was Ricky
Jacobs, the man whom Ledl had contacted to make the deal; another
was Ricky's son Jerry, an aspiring hoodlum. Seated next to Rizzo was
a short, stout, older man with half-closed eyes. Rizzo introduced him
as Dr. Greenwald, a "business associate" from Los Angeles.8

Ledl, after the necessary formalities were exchanged, opened his
attache case and removed a document that he had obtained that very
morning in Rome. The document on the letterhead of the Sacra Congregazione Del Religiosi, now in the possession of the FBI, read
as follows:

To Whom It May Concern:

Following our meeting which took place today, we wish to confirm the following points:

We are willing to buy the complete stock of merchandise up to
the sum of $950,000,000.

We are agreed upon the terms and dates of the consignment, as
indicated below:

9.3.71 per 100

10.9.71 per 200.

10.10.71 per 200

10.11.71 per 250

10.12.71 per 200

It is understood that the last two consignments, most probably,
could be made together on 10.11.71.

We guarantee that the merchandise will not be resold up to and
not after 1.6.72.

Yours faithfully,
(Illegible signature)

Rome. June 29. 1971

Rizzo studied the document and showed it to Dr. Greenwald,
who nodded his head and smiled. This was the assurance that the
family had been promised. Rizzo, after conferring with Dr. Greenwald in private, informed Ledl that his associates would begin turning
out the counterfeits without delay so that the established delivery
dates could be met. Rizzo also said that the family would be willing
to pay a 1 percent penalty-amounting to $9.5 million-if they were
late with the delivery. Such a payment, if necessary, would be a statement of the mob's goodwill and faith in Holy Mother Church.9

Ledl informed Rizzo and his associates that the Vatican would
have to see and examine a sample package to make sure the merchandise was acceptable. The sample should be prepared as quickly as
possible. Rizzo turned to Dr. Greenwald, who gave a nod of
approval.

Ledl and Rizzo agreed that a $14.5 million sample of various types of securities ought to be sufficient. Mafia couriers would deliver the
package to Ledl and his associates at the Cavaliers Hilton in Rome.'°

After settling all matters concerning the split, Rizzo and his associates declined Ledl's invitation to dinner. They were anxious to
return to the states to make the necessary arrangements. Niceties
were exchanged before a limousine arrived to transport the visiting
mobsters to the Rome Airport. Ledl was elated. He had made the
deal of a lifetime. The Austrian con man was set to earn $250 million
within a matter of months. He never realized that the mysterious Dr.
Greenwald was none other than Matteo de Lorenzo, "Uncle Marty,"
the wily old capo of the Genovese family."

As soon as Rizzo returned to New York, the work got underway.
Louis Milo prepared the plates for the certificates at his printing shop
on Avenue A and Twelfth Street in Little Italy. He was assisted by Ely
Lubin, a master engraver, who worked with "black printers" (that is,
specialists in forgeries) in a shop on Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles.
William Benjamin of Philadelphia, the master forger for the Genovese
family, applied the finishing touches. The sample product consisted of
498 bonds of American Telephone and Telegraph (AT&T), valued at
$4,980,000; 259 bonds of General Electric, valued at $2,590,000;
412 bonds of Chrysler, valued at $2,060,000; and 479 bonds of Pan
American World Airways, valued at $4,780,000.12 The total face
value of the phony securities was $14,410,000.

The bonds were delivered to Ledl by Uncle Marty's couriers.
Ledl, in turn, conveyed the counterfeits to the Vatican for inspection
by Cardinal Tisserant, who inspected them and found them to be satisfactory.

As the Vatican waited for the remainder of the securities to be
delivered, Bishop Marcinkus wanted to satisfy himself that the bonds
would pass as genuine. Late in July he ordered Mario Foligni to make
a trial deposit of $1.5 million at the Handelsbank in Zurich. When
Foligni opened the account, he named Monsignor Mario Fornasari,
a secretary at the Vatican, as the beneficiary. The securities passed
inspection by the bank officials, a tribute to the Genovese family's
skill in forgery. 13

In September, Marcinkus directed Foligni to make a second trial deposit-this time of $2.5 million at the Banco di Roma with Alfio
Marchini, the owner of the Leonardo da Vinci Hotel and close friend
and emissary of Bishop Marcinkus, as beneficiary. The securities were
examined and certified as authentic.14

The problem arose when officials of both banks sent samples of
the bonds to New York for physical examination. The Bankers Association in New York determined that the securities were counterfeit.
Word was sent to Interpol. When Foligni was questioned, he sang
like a canary, stating that he had acquired the securities from Leopold
Ledl. When Ledl was questioned, he, too, broke into song and
chirped about Vincent Rizzo, the Genovese family, the Vatican, and
Cardinal Tisserant. Ledl and Rizzo were arrested, tried, and convicted, along with Ricky Jacobs, Jerry Jacobs, William Benjamin,
Tomasso Amato, Remigio Begni, and Uncle Marty. Louis Milo, the
master counterfeiter, was found murdered in the trunk of his car.
Foligni managed to escape the long arm of the law by claiming that
he was operating as an agent for the Vatican's secretary of state and,
therefore, subject to diplomatic immunity.

By the time William Lynch, chief of the Organized Crime and
Racketeering Division of the U.S. Department of Justice, and
William Aronwald, assistant chief of the New York Strike Force, managed to cut through the red tape at the Vatican to arrange an interview with Tisserant, the Cardinal was dead of natural causes and
already buried. The investigators then sought to question Bishop
Paul Marcinkus. It took more than a year before their request for a
visit to the inner sanctum of the Vatican Bank was granted.

The interview, as taped by Lynch and Aronwald, began with the
investigators questioning Marcinkus about Michele Sindona.

"Michele and I are good friends," Marcinkus said as he puffed on
a large Cuban cigar. "We've known each other for several years. My
financial dealings with him, however, have been very limited. He is,
you know, one of the wealthiest industrialists in Italy. He is well ahead
of his time as far as financial matters are concerned."

When asked about his "limited" dealings with Sindona,
Marcinkus replied: "I do not believe it necessary to break banking
secrecy laws in order to defend myself."

"If it becomes necessary, are you prepared to testify in a United
States court?" Lynch asked.

"Well yes," Marcinkus said, "if it's absolutely necessary."

Lynch got down to business and asked: "Do you have a private
numbered account in the Bahamas?"

"No," Marcinkus responded.

"Do you have an ordinary account in the Bahamas?"

"No," Marcinkus said in a matter-of-fact manner, "I don't."

"Are you quite sure, Bishop?" Lynch pressed.

"The Vatican does have a financial interest in the Bahamas,"
Marcinkus replied, "but it's strictly a business transaction similar to
many controlled by the Vatican. It's not for any person's private
financial gain."

"No," Lynch continued, "we are interested in personal accounts
you have."

"I don't have any private or personal account in the Bahamas or
anywhere else," Marcinkus said.15

The investigators must have known that everything Marcinkus
said was untrue. The bishop was a member of the board of directors
of Banco Ambrosiano Overseas in Nassau and had been since 1971;
he took regular trips to the Bahamas, and personally owned 8 percent
of the Nassau bank's stocks. They also must have known of the
bishop's private accounts at Sindona's banks throughout Italy, and
the small fortune Marcinkus had stashed away, compliments of his
dealings with Sindona and P2, at the Banque de Financement in
Geneva.'6