Luis Rocha - The Last Pope

“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 AGCA

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.

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.

ALDO MORO. Italian statesman, born September 23, 1916, in Maglie, in Lecce province. He was prime minister of Italy five times, as well as one of the two most distinguished leaders of the Christian Democracy. Kidnapped by the Red Brigades in the center of Rome, on March 16, 1978, he was held captive until his death, on May 9 of the same year. Disregarding the requests for help that Moro wrote to his party and to his family, the government adopted a tough stance and refused to negotiate with the terrorists. Moro even appealed to Pope Paul VI, a personal friend of his, but to no avail. Officially, Aldo Moro was shot to death by the Red Brigades and placed in the trunk of a car because of the Giulio Andreotti administration’s intransigence, its unwillingness to negotiate. But this is only the official story.