The Underground Church

Part One

13-6/2010

Introduction

In the past, I have written several articles on the subject of the Catholic Church and the crisis she’s going through during the last six decades.  I decided to do it again, but this time in the form of novel. With the exception of the names of some popes and other ecclesiastical figures, people and locations in the story are fictional and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.  

Prelude

Ravenna, a city in northern Italy, was the last capital of the Western Roman Empire. During this period the new Church of San Vitale in Ravenna[1] was the symbol of orthodox Christian presence amidst the Arians. It was here in this city, that Salvaterra[2] Guido and all the members of his family were born.

Salvaterra Guido is a single, 56 year old freelance investigative journalist. Because of this type of work, Guido travels a lot and only occasionally visits his family home. Guido’s father, Salvaterra Bruno, was a Jew who, some years before his death, converted to the Catholic Faith.  Now for some reason, whether because of differences in character or chemistry, Guido and his father never got on. Their relationship was strained to say the least. One day, Guido was summoned by his mother to his father’s deathbed. 

Salvaterra Bruno said to his son: “Guido, I called you, because I wanted to talk to you before leaving this life for the better one with our Savior and Lord Jesus Christ. But first of all, I want to tell you that I have always loved you dearly, my son, though I have never told you before. Also I am very sorry if the rapport between us has, for long time, not been good. However, it is never too late... and now I am asking you, Guido, to continue the work I have already started some years ago; but left unaccomplished until...”  

Guido’s father was struggling for breath. His mother and his sister Agnese, standing at the other side of the bed, held their peace. Guido’s eyes were wet and he was saddened that he did not know what to say or how to act.  

The old man resumed: “You know, Guido, since my conversion, I dedicated most of my time for the good of the Catholic Church.  However, today our beloved Church is not what it was before Vatican II. The Church has been infiltrated by Communists, Masons and Satanists. The present pope is not the Vicar of Christ but an agent of the devil and the Church is his hostage.  Most people are ignorant and don’t understand what it is going on with the Church.

“I tried often to inform people about the critical situation we are in today. But most people looked at me, as if I was a pork-chop in a synagogue ... Maybe they think I am just mad; they don’t want to have anything to do with me. Now, I am not saying that I know everything about the world affairs and what is wrong with the Catholic Church. There are some gaps in my knowledge.” He paused again and closed his eyes. After what seemed an eternity, he opened his eyes again, and beckoning his son closer, Bruno whispered: “Cardinal Siri–Pope Gregory XVI–Fatima–who shot Pope JPII  ....   why...?”  After that he exhaled. 

Part one

Chapter 1

Rome: May 2002

“Guido, how long have you been waiting here?” The man asked, smiling. He was in his late fifties, average height, dressed in a jersey and long black trousers. They shook hands. The two men were standing outside a cafe bar in Piazza Navona.  

“Oh... not very long, Nanni,” said Guido, “just five or ten minutes.”  Nanni is short for Giovanni. He is an old friend of Guido, and his family, the Nogaras, belongs to the Roman Black Nobility. Guido befriended Nanni in the ‘70s when he was investigating ‘il caso Moro’, the kidnapping and murder by the Red Brigade of the Prime Minister Aldo Moro in Rome.

“Now tell me,” said Nanni, “how long will you be staying in Rome and what’s the purpose of this meeting?”

“I‘ll be in Rome only a few days.  But first I want to apologize for my calling you last night.  It took me some time to find your new telephone number, for the one I had with me wasn’t good any more.  Then on the phone, I couldn’t explain what I wanted from you.  So I decided to talk to you in person instead.” 

A waiter arrived and took their orders.  They both ordered coffee and some pastries. They sat at one of the outdoor tables. Once settled, Nanni said: “Alright, Guido, tell me all about it.” 

“It is a long story,” said Guido, then paused, turned his head, and glanced over his shoulder to make sure they would not be overheard.  “I wanted to ask you if these names mean anything to you.” He showed him a piece of paper with some names on it: “Montefiori Egidio, Sassia Tonino, Socci[3]Antonio, Bongiorno Gino.”

“Where do these names come from, Guido?”  

“I got them from a document that my father had written some time before he died. The document was left inside an envelope that my mother found just days after my dad was buried. It was addressed to me as a trust ... do you recognize any of them?”

“This one, Montefiori Egidio, I know him. He is a friend of our family and lives here in Rome,” Nanni replied.

“What about the rest of them?”

“I am sorry, Guido, but I don’t know the others,” Nanni said with a tone of finality as if to say: ‘I don’t want to say any more.’ 

“Can you tell me where I can contact this Montefiori? Do you have his phone number?” Guido continued.

“Yes, but I don’t have it here with me. Give me your phone number and later in the afternoon, I’ll call you with it... if that is okay?”  

Soon after, the two friends parted. The day went by, then the evening, but Nanni did not call.  The next day, Guido tried to call Nanni, but only got an answering machine.  He realized that Nanni, for reasons of his own, was unwilling to communicate with him.  “Now, how and where was he was going to find this Egidio Montefiori. He couldn’t find his number in the phone book – maybe he had a silent number,’ Guido surmised.

Montefiori Giovanna

Two days later, as Guido was waiting at Quantas Airlines Office to validate his air ticket for the USA, he heard one of the staff calling a name: Montefiori Giovanna.  He looked around, and there he saw a woman in her early forties approached the clerk’s desk, graciously and with self-assurance.  She had auburn hair, average height for an Italian woman; although not a stunning beauty, her allure was too noticeable to be missed.

A few minutes later, as the woman was leaving, Guido approached her: “Sorry to disturb you, Signora.  But may I ask you ...?”  The lady stopped in her tracks and looked at Guido with mild surprise.

“Yes ... but what do you want of me, Signor?”

“May I introduce myself? My name is Salvaterra Guido. I overheard your name called by the clerk. So I believe Montefiori Giovanna is your name.”   

“Yes!” She looked at him a bit mystified.

“By any chance, is Montefiori Egidio a relation of yours?”

“Montefiori Egidio is my father. Why do you ask?”

“You see, Giovanna ... may I call you Giovanna?” Giovanna assented, with a twinkle in her eyes. 

“I’ve been trying to contact your father for some time now; but without success,” Guido continued. He stopped talking and looked around, noticing that some people were listening to their conversation. “Giovanna let us go to some place where we can talk; if you can give me some of your time, of course?”

She had an hour to spare before going to work at her tourist agency, where she worked as a guide. The two of them walked out of the building in the direction of Villa Borghese. They entered the park and sat on one of empty benches near a pond. Leisurely and away from strange ears, Guido told Giovanna about his meeting with his old friend Nanni and his disappointment with him.   

“Nanni, you called him; what is his family name?”

“Nogara is his family name,” Guido replied.

“Nogara Giovanni! He is friend of mine. How did you meet him?”  

Guido told Giovanna how he met Nanni one evening through common friends in Via dei Cappellari in Rome, during those tumultuous years of the late 1970s. Also he told her that he himself was a freelance journalist. And at the present, however, he was writing a book on the contemporary history of the Catholic Church, and in need of some information, to fill the gaps left to be filled in by his dad who, in his will, requested him to do so. What Guido told Giovanna, though, was part truth.  In his story, he did not go into too many details, but only touched some lines broadly - this because he sensed that the less he told Giovanna the better, for he did not trust her enough to disclose his whole plan.

“Guido,” Giovanna said, “today, after I finish work, I’ll talk to my father about you and what you have told me. Then, maybe, he will contact you, or else I will.  Do you have a phone number so, later ... maybe this evening, I might call you?”

Guido wrote his phone number on an old bus ticket and gave it to her.  After that they went their separate ways. Guido got himself on a 64 bus to the Vatican; while Giovanna instead walked to her work, which was not very far from where they met.

Chapter 2

About 16:00 hours, the phone rang and Guido lifted it: “Pronto, who is speaking?”  

From the other end, a female voice answered: “Guido is that you..?  It is me Giovanna...”

“Oh, yes, Giovanna, this is Guido speaking.  Did you talk to your dad about me..?”

“Yes, I did.  He said that you can meet him tomorrow, say, about 10 a.m. at his home, if that suits you.  He lives in 14 Piazza Farnese.”    

“That is fine, Giovanna. Tomorrow, I will be there. And thank you very much for your great help.”

“Ciao.” And she hung up.

Montefiori Egidio

The following day at 10 o’clock, Guido, with his brown briefcase in hand, arrived to meet with Giovanna’s father. Montefiori Egidio lived on the third floor in one of the 15^th century Roman buildings which, notably, had always been the historical abode of the Roman nobility.

Guido rang the door bell. An elderly man came to open the door. Then following the man, Guido climbed a series of stairs up to the third floor. He was led to a waiting room and told to wait a few minutes, for the master would come shortly.

Now what first Guido noticed, as entered the large building, was the high ceiling of all the rooms and the ample empty spaces within. “One of these rooms would be comfortable enough to house a family of five,” he thought.

Then while Guido was still standing in the waiting room and waiting expectantly for his host to appear, he heard some voices approaching from beyond the door. Two men entered. Both men were about the same age, possibly in their late seventies. The tallest man approached Guido saying: “Here you are, Salvaterra Guido, are you not? The son of my old and good friend Bruno ...  My daughter told me everything about you, Guido. I am so glad that you come to see me.”  They shook hands. 

Next Montefiori introduced Guido to the other man who was standing back, watching Guido intently.  As they shook hands the man said, “I am Bongiorno Gino, how do you, Guido?”  

To Guido now, the articulation of that name was like a lighting bolt.  “Wasn’t Bongiorno Gino one of the names on his father’s list?” he asked himself. Guido could hardly refrain himself from showing his surprise; but held his peace. ‘I’ve waited this long; I could wait a little longer,’ Guido thought to himself.

After the small talk ended, they sat comfortably round a low mahogany tea table, Montefiori Egidio addressing Guido said: ”Guido, what sort of information is it that you are looking for? Is this pertinent to the Catholic Church or rather something strictly confidential you want to talk about?” As he said it, he glanced at his guest Gino who sat just opposite him.

“Signor Egidio, the material that I am working on at the moment, is both informative and confidential. However, I don’t mind talking in the presence of Signor Bongiorno. Actually, my father had his name on his list of close friends.”  Saying this Guido put his briefcase on an empty chair near to him.

“Guido,” said Montefiori, “you may call me Egidio ... The title ‘Signore’ is for the outsiders. Here you are among friends. Va bene?”  

“Con vero piacere e grazie[4], Egidio.” said Guido. “You see, my Dad on his deathbed… something is unclear, some words are missing in my Dad’s avowal.  His last words were: “Cardinal Siri – Pope Gregory XVI – Fatima – who shot Pope JPII  ....  Why?” 

“I tried to decipher these lines; but so far with little success.  Although initially Dad’s last words sounded a little cryptic, I think I have some idea now what these names imply. Nevertheless, I am not sure, from my Dad’s point of view, about their intrinsic importance.”

“I suppose,” said Egidio, “your Dad mentioning the name of Cardinal Siri and of Pope Gregory XVII in succession, he most likely used them synonymously. I guess that his mind was on the events during the controversial conclave of 1958, after Pius XII died.  I think your Dad was following ‘Cardinal Siri theory’, that is, ‘The Pope in Red - Gregory XVII’. In other words, your father believed that during the 1958conclave, Joseph Cardinal Siri of Genoa was elected by the great majority of Cardinals, purportedly, as Pope Gregory XVII.  But because of the strong pressure put on him by an outside group, antagonistic to his election, the new Pope Siri yielded his position. Then on the second ballot, Cardinal Angelo Roncalli was chosen and elected as Pope John XXIII instead.”

“Egidio, from what you have just said, I gather that you hold as untrue what Dad believed?” 

Montefiori Egidio glanced at Bongiorno and said: “Guido, the Siri theory has some appeal; but I don’t subscribe to it. There is no final proof of it and what we have now are mostly inconclusive statements by unqualified persons.”

After that a heavy silence fell on the room. Guido did not know if it was wise to pursue his enquiry with Montefiori further. It was quite clear to him that Montefiori was not going to be of much help to him. Nonetheless, Guido tried his last card: “Egidio, I really appreciate your candid remarks. However, as I understood you now and how you view my Dad’s opinions on religion, would you say that Fatima, the murder attempt on John Paul II and the reason behind it have nothing to do… no connection with… the 1958 event?” 

Montefiori replied with a paternal smile: “I think, our good Gino here might answer your last question.” And saying so, Egidio glanced at his friend.

“Dear Guido,” said Bongiorno, “I am not certain what your father had in mind when he pronounced those words; don’t you think perhaps he was delirious?”   

“Absolutely not,” Guido said, “Dad was lucid right to the end.”

“Alright Guido, I apologize for that. Nevertheless, I cannot see a connection, as your father appeared to have done, between the 1958 conclave, Fatima and the attempt to murder of John Paul II. As for Fatima, and the three secrets Our Lady gave to Sister Lucy, we have the official statement, which cleared away all the doomsday nonsense that Catholic people have been fed, for years now, by alarmist traditionalists.” Then Gino nonchalantly took out of his waistcoat a box of cigarettes and lit one.

At that point the sun, which had lighted up the room through the high window, darkened for what seemed time without end.  Was it an eclipse? Whatever it was, it was time to leave, Guido reflected. He thanked his host and his friend Gino Bongiorno and left the place.

Ten minutes later, on his way to Pensione Termini, Guido realized that he did not have his briefcase with him; he had left it behind at Montefiori’s. Guido returned to Piazza Farnese.  He rang the bell at number 14. The door opened. “Oh! Signor Salvaterra, it’s you again,” said the porter, “I am happy that you’re back, for you forgot your briefcase. Here it is. Master Egidio told me to give it to you; you left it on the chair upstairs.”  The man handed Guido his briefcase.

Chapter 3

Back at his lodgings, Guido went through his notes and papers to try to find a different way to deal with his investigation. He was now well aware that he had not made much inroad – he was miles away from his goal. It appears after all, Guido considered, that Montefiori and Bongiorno – not to mention Nanni – have been of no help at all. Why then were their names on Dad’s list? Guido could not answer his question.    

According to the document his father had left as a trust to Guido, after Rome there were two places he should go to look for information, first New York, and Tel Aviv.

New York

Guido’s flight landed at LaGuardia New York airport, early in the afternoon. He took a taxi straight to the Emilia's Retreat Hotel[5] in Brooklyn. After a swift refreshing, Guido made a few phone calls and eventually contacted Tonino Sassia, an associate to the now deceased Edward J. DeBartolo[6].  

“Hello, this is Guido Salvaterra; may I speak to Tonino Sassia, please?” 

“Hello, Tonino Sassia speaking. What can I do for you, Guido?”

“I would like to talk to you, Tonino, but not over the phone, if that is possible and you have the time. I have some important matters to discuss with you in relation to my father’s trust left with me. I wonder if it would be possible for you to meet me somewhere ... some time tomorrow.”

“Well, yes, if you like, you can meet me at Michael’s Restaurant at 12:30 pm. Is that conveniant for you?” Without waiting for a reply, Tonino continued: “At Michael’s, they serve delicious meals.”

“Okay, Tonino ...  see you there tomorrow.”  Then Guido hung up.

Tonino Sassia

Tonino Sassia was in his late sixties, 5 feet 10 inches tall, well dressed and a traditional Catholic who never missed daily Mass. In New York, there was no man as well-connected as Tonino Sassia.  However, because of his ties with founders of the Bank of America[7] -the Giannini family - and their involvement with Michele Sindona affair in 1969[8], in late ‘70s Tonino lost everything. Tonino Sassia never lost his good spirit, though.  Like Job, his biblical counterpart, Tonino got on his feet again after only ten years. His financial position was now in even better shape than before the crash – thanks to his good star, of course.

Tonino has always been a loyal and close friend to Bruno Salvaterra.  All the same, Tonino and Guido had not much seen of each other.  Their acquaintance was, more than anything else, because of Guido’s father’s longtime friendship to him. Also, Guido’s work kept him away from the family home most of the time.

“So, Guido, what brings you here to the United States?” Tonino asked, after some preliminary small talk. They ordered spaghetti alla Bolognese and a bottle of Chianti.

As they were having their first glass of wine, Guido noticed that, to his right, two women sat two tables from them. One was about 30 and probably ten years younger than the other; she had long dark hair, stunning eyes and a fine complexion, a Middle Eastern woman, he thought. Her companion had short black hair; darker skin, with big, lively eyes, as only an Egyptian woman would have. She reminded him of his old friend, Celina. The two women were eating a pizza and having an animated conversation. 

As if awaking from a dream, Guido turned his attention back to his companion: “Tonino, my Dad had your name on his list of his most trusted friends. I know that you have been my Dad’s friend for many years. And from what I remember in our talks, Dad, did mention your name from time to time, He used to say how much you and he were of the same mind in many things, in particular, in regard to most issues of the Catholic Church.  So I thought that you might help me unveil some of the mysteries behind Vatican II, and even before that, as regards Fatima and what followed, and the attempt assassination to Pope JPII, in particular.”

“I may be able to answer some of your queries, Guido. Specifically, what is it that you want to know?”

“Dad’s last words were: Cardinal Siri – Pope Gregory XVI – Fatima – who shot Pope JPII  ....  Why?  At first, that sounded meaningless. Then I thought that, maybe, he was just feverish. But after I read a document which my mother found later, inside a sealed envelope which she gave me, only then did I realize the importance and implication of my Dad’s last words.

“As I see it now, between those lines there must be an invisible thread of events, which, I guess, with closer scrutiny, might come to light one day; and everything will come together. About a week ago in Rome, I asked these same questions to Egidio Montefiori and his friend Gino Bongiorno. But I got nowhere with them. What I got from them is no more than I knew already. I feel now as I haven’t achieved anything.”

“Guido, you know that after your father was admitted into the Catholic Church, he changed totally from a freethinker to a fervent, traditional Catholic. In the Catholic Church, which he began to love immensely, your father found new meaning. He gave himself entirely to the cause of the Gospel. He even spent some years as a lay missionary in a third world country. He read theology and Sacred Scriptures with gusto. Biblical speaking, he became a sort of scholar.  In the last ten years or so, your Dad read hundreds of Catholic books.

“But then, in the seventies the crisis hit the Catholic Church badly.  The Michele Sindona scandal was only the tip of the iceberg. There were several other problems that the Church was already facing. Even some years before Vatican II, there was already a loss of faith in the basics of Catholic doctrine among the hierarchy; immorality, deception, corruption, from the top down in the clergy. Then your Dad became disheartened about almost everything; but he never lost his faith in his Lord Jesus Christ.

“Then one day your Dad discovered the culprit, as he called it - the mastermind behind the scenes of much of what is going on in the world, not only religiously speaking.  He discovered, as he told me more than once, that most powerful elite was behind all this.  Now, as you should know, this elite is composed by an international and influential group of people - mostly Jews and not a few of them living right here in New York. ‘The Plutocrats’ he used to call them. As a good ferret, your Dad was always on the lookout for information, in order to find a common denominator, whether it was of a Catholic nature or not.

“Now coming back to what you just told me, Guido. You have conferred with Egidio Montefiori and Gino Bongiorno in Rome. But was there anybody else in Rome you talked about it with?”

“Yes, with Giovanna, Egidio’s daughter, and before that, with Nanni Nogara, an old friend of mine since the late ‘70s.”

“Nogara, you said?”  

“Yes, why?”  Guido asked.

“I guess that you didn’t get much out of him, or am I mistaken?”

“No, Tonino, you guessed right. Nanni did not tell me much at all. In fact, when I tried to call him again on phone, he was unavailable.”  

“That doesn’t surprise me. Guido, do you know that the Nogaras and the Montefioris, and in all probability, the Bongiornos too, belong to the Roman Black Nobility?”

“Yes, I am aware of that; but I cannot see the implications,” Guido replied.

“Dear Guido, the implications of this investigation of yours are too dreadful to them. Because they have a vested interest in the matter, once your finding comes into the open, they have too much to lose.  Can’t you see that?” Tonino said vehemently.

“Not really, Tonino, I can’t see it. Can you be more specific?”

“Guido, historically, the black Nobility has been, now and again, on the side of Holy See. In the 12^th century, they were called the Guelfi and the Ghibellini,[9] both of Germanic origin.  The former were on the side of papacy, whereas the latter were against.  

“During the Reformation, these houses of nobles, because of their intermarriage with Judaic elements, became what we know of today as the Roman Black Nobility. By saying Judaic elements, I mean the money changers of the Middle Ages. Later, in the 18^th century - with the entry of the Rothschilds and the rabbinate with them, as the all-powerful elite in our western society - the Black Nobility became even more entrenched with the Vatican.

“If these foreign elements coexist now within the Catholic Church - for they are not Catholics but crypto-Jews - then we are in deep trouble. As you know, their ultimate interest is not to establish the kingdom of God on earth, but their own kingdom, that is, One World Government, which they control.”

“I see, but ... Tonino, what does Cardinal Siri or Pope Gregory XVII have to do with all this?”

“I was coming to that,’ Tonino said.  “It was your father’s opinion, and mine too, that after the death of Pope Pius XII in 1958, Cardinal Siri was chosen for the chair of St Peter. However, because some Cardinals inside the conclave were against his election, the news of Cardinal Siri’s election was leaked to an alien group, namely, the infamous B’nai B’rith, which, by the way, is a Judaic Masonic lodge.  In response, the B’nai B’rith sent an ultimatum, threatening the newly elected Pope with disasters and death, if he did not surrender his appointment on the spot.”

“I see,” Guido said. “So the real thread tying everything together is the Jews - behind the scene most of the time.”

“You got it,” said Tonino. “You follow that trail and will find eventually what you are really looking for. Now that sounds quite simple. But once you start nosing around, people will become, soon or later on, suspicious of you. Then the real troubles will start for you. From now on, Guido, watch your back. Don’t trust anybody. As the Gospel[10] says: ‘Behold I send you as sheep in the midst of wolves. Be ye therefore wise as serpents and simple as doves.’”

“So what do you advise me to do next?” asked Guido, “Should I continue my search here in New York, or go somewhere else.”

“No, Guido, don’t waste your time here in New York. You should go to Tel Aviv. There, you should concentrate your work. Tel Aviv is the centre of the new power today. New York was, and to some extent still is, the international centre of commerce and trade, where Mammon reigns. However, the centre of power, real political power, with its executive clout, resides in Tel Aviv. The White House doesn’t dare to do anything that is contrary to Jewish interests, which are all focused in the state of Israel, with Tel Aviv as its capital. To draw a parallel, Guido, today, Tel Aviv is what Moscow was in the past, before and during the Cold War...” 

“Hang on... Do you mean to say that there was a shift of Communistic power?” Guido interjected.

“You may call it so,” Tonino answered, “although I prefer to call it the reassignment of Talmudic Marxist philosophy from east to west; but disguised. In other words, before, Moscow was the centre for international Communism; now it is Tel Aviv which is the centre of the international power for the incoming One World Government which controls U.S. policies and the rest of the world.”

“This is the global situation, then,” Guido uttered eagerly. Then after a moment’s hesitation, “Now, Tonino, this may sound beside the point, but do you think that Israel got this far, with the help of the last six decades of holocaust propaganda?  I mean, all that Shoah rhetoric of victimization, on which the state of Israel is based.”

“Yes,” Tonino replied. “The story of the six million Jews who died at the hands of the Nazis, is Israel’s main axle, from which her political muscle originates.”

“But going back to Rome, Tonino,” Guido said, “considering the poor results I got Montefiori and Bongiono - do you have any idea why my Dad put their names on his list of trusted friends?”

“I don’t know...” Tonino replied. “Maybe there was a lapse...”

“Lapse? Do you mean Montefiori and Bongiorno, as my father’s former friends, shifted their allegiance and joined the enemy camp?”

“Yes, Guido, that might be a plausible explanation,” Tonino responded. “The Montefioris, Bongiornos and Nogaras, being what they are - Black Nobility... As the saying goes, ‘A Communist is always a Communist.’  I would add to that, ‘A serpent may shed its skin but never its nature.’”

Their conversation went on for a little while longer. By now, the restaurant was quite busy and full and the aroma of food hovered. People came and went all the time.

As Guido was leaving, Tonino said: “Guido, I wish you the best success with your search.  And if there is anything more I can do, you just have to call me.  Once you are in Tel Aviv and, for some reason or another, happen to need some particular help, here is the name of a man to contact there. Paul Waldo is a good friend of mine and a man you can trust unreservedly.” Tonino handed Guido a piece of paper with the name, address, and phone number of his friend in Israel.

Leaving the restaurant, Guido noticed that the table where the two women were sitting just within an ear-shot of them at the initial stage of his talk with Tonino was now vacant.

Chapter 4

June, 2002: Tel Aviv

It was around 15:00 when Guido arrived at Ben Gurion International Airport in Tel Aviv. He went direct by taxi to the Pensione Eden House, a small private guest house located in a beautiful, quiet, and safe street in the historic Yemenite quarter, close to the downtown area and just minutes by foot to the beach[11].

A couple of hours later, after he had made some phone calls, Guido strolled to the beach. The weather was fine, the sky free of clouds, except for one cloud which, for just a brief stretch of time, shadowed the sun of early summer. In his heart, at the present time, Guido was dealing with two intermittent conflictual feelings: one that gave him a sense of pure delight; the other, telling him how fruitless his work has been till now.  ‘So far, I have done less than half of the inquiry, and the other half has to wait a little while longer. Then I will see what tomorrow will bring me.  But with God’s help everything is possible,’ Guido considered soberly.  

As he reached the beach, Guido noticed there were few people around: a group of five adolescents, two girls and three boys; and a little further from this group, a young mother with a little boy playing with the sand near the water.   

Guido decided to walk a little further, to the other part of the beach which was devoid of people.  He truly enjoyed being on his own and hearing the sound of the birds and the motion of sea.  

Walking back half an hour later, Guido saw a woman on the beach, sitting on a multicolored towel on the beige/gray sand, intently reading a book. In passing, Guido glanced at her. She looked at him, in turn, briefly. Lo and behold, something struck him. Her face reminded him of somebody he had met before... but he couldn’t remember where. Suddenly it came to him: she was the young woman accompanied by the older woman in New York, who sat two tables away at that restaurant. Was it a coincidence? Guido’s curiosity got the better of him.

Guido retrieved his steps and approached the woman. “Miss...  I am sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if we have already met before.”   

The woman put down her book, looked at him and said laconically: “No, I don’t think so...” then went back to reading her book. 

Guido was not too sure what to say next. The woman was beautiful!  She was wearing a light short green dress. Her face and her tanned skin were glowing under the tepid afternoon sunlight. She had long, shining black hair and those stunning eyes. He couldn’t take his eyes away from her.  

Then, Guido swiftly stole a look at the title of her book, which lay on her lap. “I see that you are reading ‘The Angels of Russia’ by the British author Patricia le Roy.  How do you find it?”

“I really enjoy it,” she answered amused. 

“Why?’ she said, “did you read the book yourself?”

Samia

“Yes, I did.  Actually, I’ve read all her books,” Guido was now glad he had found common ground with this enigmatic young woman. Guido introduced himself. 

Her name was Samia, she said. She was on holiday in Israel for about five weeks: two in Tel Aviv and three, still to come, on a kibbutz. Guido asked her where she was staying.

“I am staying at the Pensione Eden House,” she replied.

Hearing that, Guido was surprised, to say the least. “I am lodged at the Pensione Eden too.” He paused for a moment to assess her reaction, but Samia’s face showed no sign of feeling. She was unresponsive.  Guido intended to say something, but then he changed his mind. Besides it was time for him to return to his lodging, for somebody might be calling, looking for him. 

So Guido said: “I must go back now. Are you going back too, Samia?”

“No, not right now. I like to stay sitting here reading a little while longer. But I’ll catch up with you at the Pensione another time.”  Guido left.

Arriving back at Eden House, the concierge told him that somebody called on the phone for him. His name was Max Miller, he said, and he would call back again in an hour.

It was about 7:30 pm when the phone rang. Guido picked up the receiver: “Hello, who is speaking?” From the other end he could hear some faulty electrical disturbance, like an electrical storm was impending.

“Is that you, Guido?” a man’s voice said. The electrical noise had stopped. Then he continued, “You called me some hours ago; did you not?  But I was home and...”

“Yes, Max,” said Guido cut in. “I’m in Tel Aviv for a few days and I’d like to talk to you. Can we meet some place where we can talk, sometime tomorrow, or perhaps the next day..?”  

“Come to my office, Guido,” Max Miller replied, “say, between 12 and 1 o’clock tomorrow afternoon.” He gave the address and directions, and then hung up.

Max Miller

Max Miller, 77 years old, German-born, single, semi-retired businessman, has lived in Tel Aviv for the last ten years. In spite of his age, from time to time, Miller still works for the Israeli government and for some private firms as an industrial consultant.  Guido’s father and Max Miller had known each other since they worked for Anglo-American gold mining company, first in South Africa and then in Rhodesia during the sixties. 

Not having children of his own, Max Miller had developed a strong liking for Bruno’s son, Guido.  

“I am in a bit of a quandary,” Guido was saying to Max Miller, after their initial exchange of news and conventional talk. He was now seated in a comfortable armchair in Miller’s office, while Miller was serving some Turkish coffee. The furniture there, the library shelves, the desk, the two filing cabinets, was made of teak, probably from Malaysia. On top of the cabinets, there was a collection of artifacts from Indonesia and the Menorah[12].

“I mean, I find it quite hard to put everything together. Dad left me with bits and pieces of information. My findings so far are scanty and not well documented. Also, I am afraid that in the long run, I may lose interest altogether, because this investigation of mine seems to be going nowhere.”

“What is your main point, Guido?” Miller asked.

“Israel.”

“What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“Max,” Guido said, “you live here in Tel Aviv and, perhaps, are not fully aware how things are seen from outside Israel. Where I come from, Israel has become the central point of the news nowadays.  There is not a single day that the media doesn’t have some news on Israel, for one reason or another. In the past thirty years, Israel did not make headlines.” For a moment Guido stopped, as if to coordinate better his thoughts. Max Miller was gazing at him patiently: “Yes, Guido, pray, go on.”

“Yes, by all means,” Guido said, guardedly, “In my view, Israel is a real menace for world peace today. And I cannot help but see that Israel has assumed for herself a sort of centre of power, a centripetal force which she exercises globally today.  

“To use a metaphor, Israel is like a black hole of a dead star: everything and everybody is inexorably drawn into it, but with no return - a one-way ticket for the poor bastards like you and me. Not only that, but it seems that Israel’s reason d’etre on this earth is to inflict pain and suffering on her neighbors, the Arabic people and whoever else gets in her way. For example, see the way Israel treats the Palestinians. Israel acts as their master and executioner, and their exploiter for the rest of the world.”

“Now, Guido, wait a minute. Don’t you think you are going a bit too far, painting such dark picture of Israel?”

“I don’t think so, Max. How else would I describe it? What good has Israel achieved for humanity in the last six decades, if nothing else, but creating constant conflict with the Palestinians and the rest of the Arabic countries?” 

“I admit that lately...” Max said patronizingly, “the state of Israel has been a social and political sore in the eyes of the Islamic world. But to call Israel the black hole of a dead star is a bit of an overstatement.” 

At this point, Guido was not too sure whether to continue this line, or to try a different approach. He did not want to antagonize old Max. Perhaps, he should change his tone, he thought.   

“Wouldn’t you say, Max” he said cautiously, “with the dismantling of the Soviet Union, Communism did not die, but only morphed, and in order to weaken the Catholic Church further, blended its caustic doctrine with the now dying Christian thinking. To achieve that goal, Communism changed also tactics, creating new slogans: minority rights, child’s rights, women’s rights, equal opportunities and so on and adopting new names, like democracy, Greenpeace, Solidarity, feminism, multiculturalism, open borders and so on. In the meantime, though, Communism’s center of power was shifted from Moscow to Tel Aviv - this since the fall of Berlin Wall?”

“What makes you to think that, Guido?”

“Isn’t it an historical fact that the majority of leaders of the Communist Party in the Soviet Union were Jews? Isn’t it true that the United States foreign policy has been under the influence of Zionist Israel right through the Roosevelt presidency [if not before] to the present President George Bush.  Isn’t it a fact that the majority of Israelis are atheists? What about the kibbutz? Isn’t the kibbutz a Communistic institution, initiated in Russia as communes, then later operated in Palestine?”

“Where did you get that from - that the majority of leaders of the Communist party in the Soviet Union were Jewish?”

“It is well documented, Max,” Guido said, hastily. “It’s an historical fact that the Russian Revolution was achieved mainly by Jewish brainpower. Karl Marx’s real name was Kissel Modecay,[13] and Engel too was a Jew. Successively, weren’t the members of the first communist government of Moscow of Jewish origin?”  

Guido produced a list of names and showed it to Max.  “This is a list of the Council of Peoples Commissars,” he said.

The list read as follows:

1. Ilich Ulin (Vladimir Ilich Ulianov or Nikolaus Lenin). President of the Supreme Soviet, Jew on mother’s side. His mother was called Blank, a Jewess of German origin.

2. Lew Davinovich Bronstein (Leo Trotsky), Commissar for the Red Army and the Navy; Jew.

3. Iosiph David Vissarionovich Djugashvili-Kochba (Joseph Vissarianovich Stalin), Nationalities Commissar; descendant of Jews from Georgia.

4. Chicherin; Commissar for foreign affairs; Russian.

5. Apfelbaum (Grigore Zinoviev), Commissar for internal affairs; Jew.

6. Kohen (Volodarsky), Commissar for press and propaganda; Jew.

7. Samuel Kaufmann, Commissar for the landed property of the State; Jew.

8. Steinberg, law Commissar; Jew.

9. Schmidt, Commissar for public works; Jew.

10. Ethel Knigkisen (Liliana), Commissar for supply, Jewess.

11. Pfenigstein, Commissar for the settlement of refugees; Jew.

12. Schlichter (Vostanoleinin) Commissar for billetings (confiscation of private houses for the Reds); Jew.

13. Lurie (Larin), President of the supreme economic council; Jew.

14. Kukor (Kukorsky), Trade Commissar; Jew.

15. Spitzberg, Culture Commissar; Jew.

16. Urisky (Radomilsky), Commissar for “elections”; Jew.

17. Lunacharsky, Commissar for public schools. Russian.

18. Simasko, Commissar for health; Jew.

19. Protzian, Agriculture Commissar; Armenian[14].

“Are those names not sufficient to make my point?” Guido said hotly.

Max was staring at Guido in dismay. A heavy silence fell on the room, a sort of unidentifiable admonition for the men who were now facing each other uncomfortably.   

“You made your point, Guido,” Max said at last. “But I cannot see how the Catholic Church fits into all this.”

“Max, for centuries the Catholic Church has held a prominent position in the world. Historically, the Church of Rome took over the central position the Roman Empire previously had – as the centre for cultural and social civilization. But in addition to that, through her work of evangelization, a new force was instilled into the humanity, namely, the Spirit of her Lord Jesus Christ who was raised from the dead. Thanks to the Holy Spirit, a new civilization came into being, first in Europe and afterwards elsewhere. Rome has been the capitulum mundi, the heart of Christendom, for 2000 years. Alas, her lifelong adversary, the Synagogue of Satan, never acquiesces to her prerogative, but fights it incessantly, in order to grasp it from her and never let it go.” 

“According to you, Guido, how and when has the synagogue of Satan, as you call it, dispossessed the Church of her prerogative, to be the hub of the entire world?”

“How the synagogue did it?” said Guido, “Gradually, of course. For a start, we had the French Revolution, based on the Enlightenment of Jacques Rousseau; then the Frankfurt School in 1923; next the Fabians of George Bernard Shaw[15] and finally Communism and all its consequences. 

“However, 1958 was the particular year,” Guido continued meticulously, “that marked the beginning of the Catholic Church crisis and, at the same time, the end of her prerogative. The Church in Rome had surrendered her spiritual power to her perennial enemy, the synagogue of Satan.  Nowadays, all the Kings, States and governments, even the Vatican itself, look to Tel Aviv as their referential centre of political power.” 

“How did you come to this conclusion?” Max asked.

“From the media...  You should know, Max, the communication machine is in the hands of the Jewish elite. They control 90% of the media. So I cannot see anything there that doesn’t come from its blueprint, the Talmud.”

“Now, Guido,” said Max impatiently, but not without sympathy, “most people would not know what you are talking about. As for me, I understand only part; yet it is not very clear. Can you give me some example of how the media gives off the scent of its Talmudic blueprint?”

“Just observe how the media praises John Paul II, and on the other hand, demonizes Pius XII for his alleged support for the Nazi regime before and during WWII. Or the way it pays tribute to Vatican II, especially Nostra Aetate and Religion liberty.”

“I see, but ...”

“Are you, Max, aware that the document, Nostra Aetate, has become the Trojan horse within the Catholic Church?”

“No, really; why, Guido? You tell me.”

“Because if you look inside this Trojan horse, you will not find Greeks, but rabbis, telling the Pope what is good for him and for the Church,”  said Guido, vehemently.

“Okay, Guido,” said Max, peering at his watch and yawning. “There is much to think about in what you’ve said. Wouldn’t it be better if we stop this conversation here and come back to it some other time?” 

Now there was silence between them. Guido did not know what to make of Max’s abrupt change of attitude. He had assumed that Max Miller, the old friend of his father, would show some support and also give some clue as to how to go on with his investigation.  Is this another case of going round in circles, the ‘dog biting its own tail’?” he mused plaintively.

Chapter 5

Abdul Rahman[16]

“Abdul! He is coming...” Samia said, “But leave it to me. I’ll do the talking. Then, I will introduce you.”  

It was late in the afternoon. The sky was deep blue, except for a few clouds; the air was warm but dry.  From next door, the musical notes of a piano could be heard distinctly.

When Samia saw Guido approaching the gate of the pensione Eden House, she and her companion, Abdul Rahman, were in the garden, sitting on a wooden bench, holding hands and talking cozily.  

Leaving Abdul Rahman seated on the wooden garden bench, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette, Samia greeted Guido cheerfully. “Hi Guido, how are things going with you?”

“Not too bad; they could be worse I guess, thanks, Samia,” Guido replied. He glanced at Abdul Rahman, only a few meters from them, who seemed oblivious of his surroundings.  

“Guido,” said Samia, seductively, “I would like you to meet Abdul Rahman. He is an old friend of mine, just arrived in Tel Aviv from Syria. He is here for a short visit and in case you don’t know, because it’s my birthday today.”  

Guido congratulated her. Samia introduced Guido to her friend Abdul Rahman. They talked for a while about travel and the sort of work Abdul did for a living. Abdul Rahman, 35 years of age, a Muslim, sold tapestry and owned carpet shops: one in Rome, two in Damascus and one Casablanca, he said. As Guido talked to Abdul, he had the feeling that he had met him before, but he couldn’t remember where.

“Listen, Guido,” said Samia, “Abdul Rahman and I are going out for dinner tonight. Why you don’t join us?” Guido was really taken by surprise at this. He glanced hesitantly, first at Samia, then at Abdul Rahman: “If you think my presence won’t be an inconvenience, Samia, why not!” And so it was settled. Three hours later the three of them sat at the table in one of the few Arabic restaurants in Jaffa.  They ordered a few dishes to share: kebabs, some goat cheeses, a assortment of green vegetable and salad, yogurt, plenty of fruit, dessert, and a plethora of tasty olives; however for the celebration, they had brought with them a bottle of Italian Chianti.  

During their animated conversation, Guido learned how Samia had first met Abdul in Rome about ten years ago. Abdul Rahman was not a ‘good Muslim’ - that explained the bottle of wine on the table now. Abdul and Samia were just good friends, they claimed. What that meant, though, was anyone’s guess, Guido mused.

After they finished eating and the bottle almost empty, Samia got out a digital camera and took a few pictures of them, including a good one of Guido and Abdul Rahman raising their glasses to their new friendship.

It was past midnight when the three of them got back to Pensione Eden House. They bade to each other goodnight and then went to bed.

It was around two o’clock, in the pitch-dark of the night, Guido was startled to be awakened by a scream. He had no idea where it came from. He got up and opened the window facing the garden of his second floor bedroom. He peered down and around, but there was nobody to be seen. Still not knowing whence the scream came, Guido, still in pajamas, went out to investigate what may have happened.

In his haste, Guido left the bedroom door open behind him, went downstairs, and through the sitting room, opened the front door and went out into the garden. Standing near the door, he stared in all directions. Nothing. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, or a sound to be heard. That’s odd! Guido thought. Maybe he had just dreamed the whole thing. He went back to bed.

The following morning over breakfast, still a bit uneasy because of last night’s disturbance, Guido decided to have a leisurely day, with possibly some shopping and sightseeing. He was still bothered by that cry in the heart of night.  And Guido couldn’t help thinking about Abdul Rahman, where he had met him before. 

‘Ah! I know,’ Guido said almost aloud to himself. ‘It was in Athens in 1992. He was about 25 years old then. But his name was Omar somebody ... I can’t remember now. We became friends in no time.  We walked the streets of Athens, which was crowded by tourists, for hours, chasing after pretty girls.  

I still recall the incident in a bar during a conversation with two French girls. At one point, I asked one of the girls where they were staying in Athens. Now, I don’t remember her reply, but I must have said something that upset Omar very much, because, after the two of us left the bar, Omar got real mad at me, saying: “You are a killjoy, mate, truly.  You don’t know how to talk to women.”

It was already dark when Omar talked to me again: “I’ll go over there, Guido,” he said, pointing in the direction he intended to go, “I’ll be back shortly.”  I waited him for about a half an hour in the dark of a ruin. Omar did not come back, however, and I was left on my own at the acropolis. I walked back to my hotel disenchanted. And till now, I had never seen his face again. 

‘Now, Abdul Rahman [alias Omar] is in Tel Aviv.’ Guido was inquisitive. ‘Is he here just because of Samia, or for business, or both? ...or are there ulterior motives for his presence in Israel?’ Guido couldn’t help but like Abdul Rahman, for he was a rather pleasant guy. It is no wonder then Samia gives the impression of fancying him.  But then, it came to mind what Tonino said to him in New York, before their goodbye:

“...follow that trail and eventually you will find what you are looking for. Now that sounds quite simple. But once you start nosing around, people will sooner or later become suspicious of you. Then the real troubles start for you. From now on, watch your back, Guido. Don’t trust anybody. As the Gospel says[17]: ‘Behold I send you as sheep in the midst of wolves. Be ye therefore wise as serpents and simple as doves.’”

Ercolino/ Brother Ignacio

A strange feeling, a sort of premonition, lingered in Guido telling him something unpleasant may happen to him.  

In Jaffa, as he was walking the busy streets of the inner city, Guido noticed a church across the road; the door of was open. He crossed the road and surreptitiously entered through the side door. It was San Antonio Roman Catholic Church.[18]  

Although a relatively modern building, seen from the inside the church was beautiful and inspirational. The moment he put his foot inside, Guido felt an urge to talk to a priest. He glanced round to see if he could see one. Apart from a couple of elderly women, the church seemed empty. Guido slowly walked towards the sanctuary, peered round the central high altar; there he saw a man, probably the sacristan, coming in through the sacristy door.

Guido approached him to inquire if it was possible to see a priest. The man, with a gleam in his eyes, stared straight at Guido’s face and said: “But is that you, Guido?”  

For a few seconds, as if in shock, Guido was speechless, then, regaining his composure, said: “Good heavens! Ercolino! You? Here! I can’t believe this. My old friend, what are you doing here in Jaffa?” 

The name Ercolino means ‘the small daring Hercules.’  Because of his size and daring spirit, he was called Ercolino. He had been an old friend of Guido’s since they worked together in the building industry in Rhodesia, but later they lost contact.

“I am now a Franciscan brother,” Ercolino said, “and my religious name is Brother Ignacio. I was assigned here as a sacristan.” He told Guido how he became a conventual religious brother. Brother Ignacio suggested going into the sacristy where they could talk more freely. They exchanged news and talked of the old times.

After a while Guido said: “Listen, Ercolino, oh, pardon, Br. Ignacio... I came here because I wanted to talk to a priest. But I have changed my mind. Would you do me a favor?”

“What is it?” Brother Ignacio asked.   

“In two or three days, I will phone you, or call personally... But in case I fail to contact you, would you, please, then contact this number for me and tell this person that I am in a dire need of his professional help?” Guido gave him a piece of paper on which he had written a name, address, and phone number.  After that Guido bade goodbye to Br. Ignacio. They embraced warmly and Guido left the church.

That very morning, while Guido was still in Jaffa, there was a terrible explosion right near the market place in Tel Aviv. It killed 14 people and injured 60 more. Now the Israeli police was searching to find the culprit of this malicious deed.  Guido had two more days left to stay in Tel Aviv; then he would to fly back to Italy.

The following morning at breakfast, Guido noticed the apparent absence of Samia and Abdul Rahman. He couldn’t remember seeing them the previous morning either. What had happened to them, he asked to himself. Then as he was leaving the table, the front page of a local paper caught his eye. There was a photo was of Abdul Rahman, alias Omar. The caption said: “Notorious Hamas terrorist Ibrahim al-Rashid, age 35, has been arrested by the Israeli police, charged with the murder of 14 people in yesterday’s blast...”

Guido was utterly stunned. He went to his room and gazed at the door. Guido spent most of his day doing nothing but staring into the space. “One thing is for certain, that I’m leaving Israel tomorrow for good,” he thought, as if to console himself.

Departure

It was about 9:30 the following morning, when Guido took a cab to the Ben Gurion International Airport. Once inside the airport, Guido consigned his only suitcase at the appropriate desk; his briefcase he always carried with him. His flight was due out at 11:20 am. He had some time to spare. In the waiting room, he tried to read a book he had bought from the bookstall; but his attention was elsewhere. He was nervous.

At 10:30, Guido got on his feet and walked to the check-in. When came his turn, he handed his passport to the man in uniform and waited gingerly. The official opened the passport, peered at the photo then at Guido. He stamped it and gave it back.

Next Guido put his briefcase on the roller-belt, his jacket on a tray and then he walked through the scanning machine. A bip, bip signal went off. The official told him to go back and go through again, which Guido did. When he went to retrieve his briefcase, it was missing. As he looked round, he saw it near the computer monitor.  Guido drew the security staffs’ attention to it and asked if he could have his briefcase back. The security man told Guido that his briefcase has to go through the scanning process again; the machine had detected a metallic object inside. A dozen security guards stood around and one of them had a sniffer dog, a young, ginger Labrador on a leash.

Five minutes later, the briefcase was scanned again, with the same result. Then the briefcase was passed to another official for a closer inspection. Another ten minutes went by; the next official opened the briefcase and emptied it onto the bench. Among some folders, notebooks, letters, air tickets, a wallet and a sealed yellow envelope, the inspector saw the incriminating object, a penknife.  He took the penknife and put it aside on the bench. Guido went pale. His eyes now were glued on the penknife. The look on his face was of total disbelief.   

Next the official called the security guard with the sniffer dog and asked to bring the animal to the briefcase. Still on the leash, the ginger Labrador went straight to briefcase’s content sniffing all over it. The nose of the dog was over the sealed yellow envelope and he started whining.  

“What is inside this envelope?” the official asked Guido.

At a loss now, Guido looked at the yellow envelope for a few seconds; but not a single word came out. Then finally he said: “I have no idea. I’ve never seen that envelope before.”

At this point, Guido was ordered by the security guards to follow them to a near office. There they searched him. They opened the yellow envelope and found inside about 100 gr. of pure heroin. He was arrested and charged for smuggling an illegal drug.

==================

  To read Part 2, please, click here.