The Vatican Exposed: Money, Murder, and the Mafia (28 page)

The Geneva settlement averted the possibility of a long and damaging court trial for the Vatican, but it did not close the case. On
February 26, 1987, the investigating magistrates concluded that the
Vatican Bank had acted as an umbrella for Roberto Calvi's illicit
transactions; that it owned a substantial share of Banco Ambrosiano
as well as the dummy corporations; and that it was largely responsible
for the theft of $1.3 billion. Arrest warrants were issued for the three
top Vatican bankers: Archbishop Paul Marcinkus, Luigi Mennini,
and Pellegrino del Strobel.

The arrests were not made. To protect its officials, the Vatican
pointed to article 11 of the Lateran Treaty of 1929 that served to
regulate matters between the Holy See and Italy. The article stipulated that there should be no interference by the Italian government
in "the central institutions of the Catholic Church." Italy's highest
court upheld this ruling and ruled that Marcinkus and his two associates could not be arrested and brought to trial in Italy. The three
Vatican bankers remained safe from extradition within the sanctity of
the Sovereign State of Vatican City.'

Despite the arrest warrants, the charges of fraud, theft by deception, and criminal conspiracy, and the payment to Ambrosiano creditors, Marcinkus remained the president of the Vatican Bank and was granted as much amplitude as before. His relationship with John Paul
II grew closer. At one point the pope placed Marcinkus at the top of
a list of new cardinals he was going to create. But advisors managed
to persuade him that the elevation of Marcinkus would create an
uproar in the international banking community with serious repercussions for the Holy See. Several Vatican officials, including Cardinals Benelli and Rossi, openly pleaded with the Polish pope for the
expulsion of Marcinkus from Vatican City. But John Paul turned a
deaf ear to such pleas and let it be known that any criticism of his
Lithuanian friend was both irksome and unwelcome.' For the next
four years Marcinkus remained within the walls of Vatican City,
knowing that as soon as he set foot on Italian soil he would be
arrested and placed in prison. John Paul II never addressed the
charges against the Vatican banker or the demands for justice.

Marcinkus remained under papal protection until 1991, when he
took up residence in Sun City, Arizona. Italian authorities
throughout the next decade attempted to persuade U.S. officials to
return Marcinkus to Italy so that he could face a jury. But such efforts
proved fruitless. Marcinkus continued to hide behind his Vatican
passport, maintaining that he was not a citizen of the Republic of
Italy but of the Sovereign State of Vatican City. At Sun City,
Marcinkus joined a prestigious country club, formed fresh political
alliances to extend his visa, played daily rounds of golf, and smoked
expensive cigars.9

John Paul II's complicity in the affair became obvious by further
discoveries. By tracing transactions between the dummy corporations
and Swiss bank accounts, investigators uncovered a flow of money not
only to Licio Gelli for P-2's support of military juntas in Argentina,
Uruguay, Peru, Venezuela, and Nicaragua, but also to the Solidarity
Trade Union of Poland, the key project of the pope. Indeed, Solidarity
was the principal beneficiary of the scam, receiving more than $100
million for its struggle against the Communist regime.'°

Early in 1982 Calvi spoke of John Paul II's involvement in
securing funds for Solidarity to his trusted friend Flavio Carboni, who
happened to be carrying a concealed tape recorder. "Marcinkus,"
Calvi said, "must watch out for [Cardinal] Casaroli, who is the head of the group that opposes him. If Casaroli should meet one of those
financiers in New York, who are working for Marcinkus, sending
money to Solidarity, the Vatican would collapse. Or even if Casaroli
should find just one of those pieces of paper that I know ofgoodbye, Marcinkus, good-bye, Wojtyla, good-bye Solidarity. The
last operation would be enough, the one for twenty million."11

Sindona, the archbishop's old friend and partner in criminal
activity, was not so lucky. On March 27, 1980, the Mafia don was
convicted of sixty-eight counts of misappropriation of funds, perjury,
and fraud involving the Franklin National Bank. He was fined
$207,000 and sentenced to twenty-five years at the Federal Correction Institute in Otisville, New York. In a long letter of September 1,
1981, Sindona petitioned President Ronald Reagan for a presidential
pardon. David Kennedy, Nixon's former secretary of the treasury and
Sindona's longtime friend, personally delivered the letter to the White
House. Three months later Sindona received a reply from President
Reagan's lawyer, Fred F. Fielding. "Thank you very much for your
petition," Fielding wrote. "I have taken the liberty of forwarding your
material to Mr. David Stephenson, Acting Pardon Attorney." 2

When no word came from Stephenson, Sindona sent a four-page
letter to the Federal Plaza office of former president Richard Nixon.
The Mafia don reminded Nixon of their meetings and of his "generous offer" during the 1972 campaign. "I now turn to you for assistance," Sindona wrote. He received no reply. Sindona then asked
Rudolph Gutherie, Nixon's former law partner, to approach the
former president on his behalf. Nixon told Gutherie that any help he
offered Sindona would only serve to further harm his public image.13

Things for the mafiosi got worse. On July 7, 1981, the Italian
government charged Sindona with ordering the execution of Giorgio
Ambrosoli, the chief bank investigator who helped to uncover the
Vatican's connection to the Mafia. On January 25, 1982, Sindona
was indicted in Palermo, Sicily, along with seventy-five members of
the Gambino, Inzerillo, and Spatola Mafia families. They were
accused of operating a $600 million-a-year heroin trade between
Sicily and the United States. Two years later Sindona was extradited
to Milan, where he was tried and convicted of bank fraud and murder. He was sentenced to serve a life sentence at Voghera prison
on the outskirts of Milan.

On March 20, 1986, Sindona rose from his solitary cell to take
his breakfast. As always, his plastic plate and Styrofoam coffee cup
were sealed. It was eight-thirty. He carried the coffee cup with him
through the door that led to his toilet. Minutes later the Mafia don
emerged from the toilet, his shirt covered with vomit, his face convulsed with horror. "Mi hanno avvelenato,"he screamed, "They have
poisoned me!"14

These were his last words. Sindona was rushed to a nearby hospital, where he was diagnosed to be in an irreversible coma. A lethal
dosage of potassium cyanide was detected in his blood. That afternoon a priest administered extreme unction. Forty-eight hours later,
Michele Sindona-the man who was known as "St. Peter's banker"was dead.

No one has been able to explain how Sindona could have been
poisoned as a prisoner in solitary confinement within a maximum
security facility.

In May 1981, at the height of the Ambrosiano affair, Italian
police raided the home of Licio Gelli and discovered secret documents linking Gelli, Sindona, and other members of P-2 to financial
crimes and conspiracies against the State of Italy. The discovery of the
list of P-2 Masons that included the names of forty-eight members of
Parliament and four cabinet members led to the collapse of Italy's
fortieth government since World War II.I5

Gelli was indicted for espionage, political conspiracy, criminal
association, and fraud. He managed to escape arrest by fleeing to
Argentina. On September 13, 1982, Gelli returned to Europe to
withdraw $50 million from a Swiss bank account-funds that had
been illegally transferred from a branch of Banco Ambrosiano. He
was arrested in Geneva and placed in a holding cell for extradition to
Italy. The crafty "puppet-master" managed to escape justice by
bribing a prison guard.

In 1987 Gelli surrendered to Swiss authorities in South America,
claiming that he was at "the end of his tether" and suffering from heart
problems. He surrendered only after negotiating the terms of his return to Italy. He would be charged only with financial offenses. After
serving less than two months behind bars, Gelli complained of deteriorating health and was released on parole. In 1992 he was sentenced
to eighteen years in prison for his involvement in the Ambrosiano
affair. The sentence was returned to twelve years upon appeal.16

For the next six years Gelli remained under house arrest (detenzione domiciliare) at his luxurious villa in Tuscany. In 1998, when
police came to transport him to a public facility, Gelli again vanished.
At the villa, police discovered gold bars worth in excess of $14 million that the grand master of P-2 had stolen from the Yugoslavian
government while operating the ratlines for the Vatican.

Two months later Gelli was tracked down in Cannes on the
French Riviera, whisked away to Rome, and placed in the Regina
Coeli jail. Again complaining of heart problems, he was allowed to
return to his villa.

The fact that Gelli has served less than two months of "hard
time" for a career that included such high crimes as international
bank fraud, acts of terrorism, a string of assassinations, and the operation of a "state within a state" represents, according to several
critics, including artist Franc Talarico and journalist Danielo Gulbini,
a "searing indictment" of Italian justice.'7

While these events were taking place, the Vatican, under John
Paul II, returned to business as usual.

Jesus said: "How hard it is for the rich to enter the
Kingdom of God! Indeed, it is easier for a camel togo
through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter
the Kingdom of God." Those who heard this asked,
"Who then can be saved?"

Luke 18:24-26

s Vatican, Inc. returned to business as usual during the long
of John Paul II, more financial scandals occurred.
One seemed to be an American version of the Ambrosiano affair.

The scheme was hatched by Martin Frankel, a high school
dropout from Ohio. Frankel, who modeled himself after Roberto
Calvi, came up with the idea of creating a billion-dollar insurance
empire-that offered no insurance-with the help of the Vatican
Bank. To accomplish this goal, he secured the services of Tom
Bolan-a law partner of the late Communist-baiter Roy Cohn,
founder of New York's Conservative Party, and an adviser to President Ronald Reagan and Senator Alfonse D'Amato on judicial
appointments.'

On August 18, 1998, Bolan arrived at the Vatican to meet with
Monsignor Emilio Colagiovanni, an emeritus judge of the Roman
Rota, an important Church tribunal; Monsignor Gianfranco Piovano,
an official at the Vatican's Secretariat of State; and Bishop Francesco
Salerno, the secretary of the Holy See's Supreme Court. The meeting
was arranged by Fr. Peter Jacobs, a New York priest with connections
to Rome.2

Bolan told the Vatican officials he represented a Jewish philanthropist named David Rosse (an alias for Martin Frankel), who
wanted to establish a Vatican foundation in order to give hundreds of
millions to various Catholic causes. The Vatican officials were mesmerized. Why should the Holy See turn down millions from
anyone-Jewish or not-who offered to open a checkbook? The deal
seemed too good to be true. And, of course, it was.