Did the Mafia Poison the Pope?

[Note on pronunciation: The name of today’s protagonist should be pronounced in the Italian manner—Al-bee-no—rather than the English Al-bye-no.]

Albino Luciani was found dead on his bed in the early hours of September 29, 1978, after yet another night of restless sleep following a hard day at work. The official cause of death was established to be myocardial infarction. In normal circumstances, that sentence should have been followed by a hard, full stop. But in the case of Mr. Luciani, we will have to replace that full stop with a hefty dose of “howevers,” followed by a good serving of “allegedly.”

You see, Albino Luciani had a very peculiar job. He was the Pope of the Roman Catholic Church. He had been elected by the conclave of cardinals only 33 days prior, choosing to be called John Paul. However, he had already started to leave a distinctive mark on the Holy See, hinting at institutional reforms which were bound to leave many a powerful prelate deeply unhappy.

Moreover, no autopsy was performed after his death. And Vatican authorities had bungled official communications about his demise, releasing statements which proved to be complete and unjustified lies.

If that wasn’t enough, revelations about the Pope’s long list of enemies started swirling in the dimly lit corridors of the Vatican palaces, spilling unchecked onto the pages of newspapers and allegedly non-fiction books. Crooked financial institutions, the mafia, secret masonic lodges, among others, all appeared to have a strong motive to get rid of that smiling, caring, unassuming yet tenacious Pope.

So, the questions lingered on for decades about the ultimate fate of Pope John Paul I, also known as Pope Luciani, or the “smiling Pope.” Had he died of natural causes, or had he been poisoned? Was there an intricate, murderous conspiracy slithering inside the Vatican, fuelled by shady financial interests and organised crime?

A Confession

My dearest and most reverend Father Simon, forgive me for I have sinned. Not once, but twice.

My first sin is that I have pitched this topic for mere personal reasons. You see, Albino Luciani died about two months after my conception, which I gather was not immaculate. In his 33 days as Pontiff, the smiling Pope had left a profound and positive impression on many Catholics worldwide, who perceived his warmly intelligent demeanour as a promise for a more open and simpler approach to the Christian faith. My parents were among those who looked at him in hope, and thus decided to honour his memory through their yet unborn child.

That is why my middle name is “Albino.” And that is why I have always been fascinated by his person. Pitching this topic was a way for me to dig deep into Luciani’s story and clear the mists around his untimely death.

My second sin is that for all my adult life I have been a staunch proponent of the conspiracy theory. Yes, I admit it. To me, it made absolute logical sense that a Pope could not die naturally after only 33 days on “Peter’s Throne.” And when we get into the dealings of those who surrounded Albino Luciani, you may understand why one may entertain that notion.

At the time of writing these lines, I am yet to dive deep into the research material I have collected, so let’s see where this is going. For the moment, however, I consider myself to be part of “Team Poisoning.” Therefore, I am happy to acknowledge my most grievous guilt, I will wait for thy absolution and will eagerly kneel in a corner to recite my Our Fathers and Hail Marys.

The Smiling Bishop

Before we analyse the death of the Pope, it is only fair that we address his life. Albino Luciani was born in Belluno, northern Italy, on October 17, 1912. The son of a devout Catholic mother and a socialist, anti-clerical father, he grew up to admire both the church and Christ’s commitment to helping the poor. In 1935, Albino was ordained a priest, and slowly but surely started to rise through the ranks of the clergy.

In December of 1958 he was appointed Bishop by Pope John XXIII. And in December 1969, Pope Paul VI appointed him “patriarch” or Archbishop of Venice.

That was quite the appointment: as Patriarch of Venice, Luciani oversaw the spiritual needs of the inhabitants of a vast region in North Eastern Italy, as well as the day-to-day administrative duties of the clergy reporting to him. That’s a clerical double whammy for you.

Luciani soon consolidated his reputation as a man of simple, humble tastes and demeanour. Yet, the perennial smile which lighted his features concealed a steely determination. The Patriarch was a workhorse, a steam roller, who toiled away at his duties up to 15 hours a day, answering to every letter and listening to everybody who wanted to speak to him.

Failure was a rare occurrence for this smiling bishop, but fail he did. And it was on one of those occasions that he first clashed his will and his wits with a trio of characters, which will take centre stage when we get to the conspiracy theories. Whenever these three gentlemen are mentioned by English-speaking reporters, the adjective “shady” is consistently used. They were “shady” businessmen, who performed “shady” financial deals.

Accordingly, I will keep them partially in the shade for now. Allow me to introduce them quickly; I shall provide more details later on.

The first character was a fellow archbishop, American Paul Marcinkus, head of the Institute for Religious Works. Known by the Italian acronym IOR, this Institute is often referred to as “the Vatican Bank.” This is a misnomer, as it gives the impression that the IOR is THE national bank of the Vatican. The IOR is just “A” Vatican bank, mostly concerned with financial investments. But from now on I will use the terms “IOR” and “the Vatican bank” for the sake of simplicity.

Marcinkus was closely associated with one Roberto Calvi, General Director of another bank, Banco Ambrosiano. And the two were close friends with yet another banker and investor, Michele Sindona—himself allegedly involved in money laundering on behalf of the Mafia.

Back to Luciani now. One of the institutions he could rely on in his duties was the Catholic Bank of Venetia, a small bank which loaned money on very favourable terms to parishes and dioceses. At the time, the IOR owned 37% of shares in the Catholic Bank, i.e. the relative majority. In 1972, Marcinkus decided to sell the stock to Calvi’s Banco Ambrosiano, an operation that was facilitated through Michele Sindona’s intermediation.

Marcinkus’ Vatican Bank pocketed $45 million in the sale, a much needed injection of cash for the institution. The Catholic Bank of Venetia was now controlled by a private institution, which had little interest in financing the charitable works of local churches at advantageous conditions.

Obviously, Patriarch Luciani could not tolerate such callous application of unbridled capitalism. Had he known about it, he would have certainly opposed the sale—but that was the problem. Despite him being the most senior clergyman in the Venetia region, Marcinkus had acted behind Luciani’s back!

In late 1972, Luciani had another banking-related disappointment: this time it was the collapse of the Bank of San Marco, in Venice itself, another small financial institution inspired by Catholic ideals. Also in this case, Albino Luciani may have had a grudge against Marcinkus. The IOR could have saved the San Marco from bankruptcy, but didn’t lift a finger.

So, in February 1973, Luciani visited Rome to meet with Pope Paul VI and with Giulio Andreotti, a senior Christian Democrat politician. During both encounters, Luciani complained about the unscrupulous conduct of Marcinkus and his Vatican Bank, advocating for a restructuring of such an institution. Why had Marcinkus associated himself with businessmen already rumoured to be money launderers for organised crime? Why had he so promptly sacrificed the good old Catholic Bank of Venetia?

Why had he not re-invested the cash to save the Bank of San Marco?

Luciani’s short stay in Rome made an impression on Father Ettore Malnati, who later stated that Luciani had a personal meeting also with Paul Marcinkus. The two archbishops clashed in the latter’s office, but the American clergyman refused to yield to Luciani’s continued demands to save the San Marco. Again according to Malnati, Luciani confided to a friend that Marcinkus had unceremoniously shown him the door: “I have been treated by Marcinkus like a school janitor.”

It seems as though a rivalry had been born that day. In one corner, the pragmatist and ruthless businessman clad in religious garb, one who was once quoted as saying “you cannot run the church on Hail Marys alone.” In the other, the idealist, hard-working prelate with a reformer’s heart, who had criticised religious financial institutions. A rivalry had been born, one which, according to certain authors, may have sparked a murderous act some five years later. But had it though?

To continue my earlier confession, up to now I had always considered the 1973 Marcinkus-Luciani bout to be Gospel. But it took a little amount of research to realise that this story features only in the memories of Father Malnati, and was picked up by other authors. And Father Malnati may have been influenced by rumours circulating after the death of Pope Luciani. While I would not discount 100% Malnati’s account, let’s at least consider other, differing versions.

First of all, while there are official records of Luciani’s other important Roman meetings in February 1973, there are no written records about his encounter with Marcinkus. The American archbishop himself admitted refusing to save the Bank of San Marco, despite having the power and opportunity to do so. In an interview released to journalist John Cornwell, Marcinkus declared that he did not know that the San Marco was so important to the Church in Venice.

But in any case, he would have never acquired it, because it was a bad investment. He realised that such a move may have angered the Patriarch of Venice Albino Luciani, but the two had neither met, nor otherwise discussed the matter.

The Smiling Pope

Let us now skip to the next big event in Albino Luciani’s life. Following the death of Pope Paul VI, Luciani, who had become a Cardinal in March 1973, was invited to join the Conclave, the assembly in charge of electing the next Pope. It took the Conclave only two days to agree that the new Pontiff should be Cardinal Luciani. On August 26, 1978, he became Pope John Paul I.

I can still remember my first month “on the job”—one which I will not mention. But suffice to say that it took me two weeks to understand how to use Outlook and Excel, another week for basic training and a fourth week to sort out how the canteen payment system worked. By contrast, my almost namesake Pope was a paragon of productivity, churning out reform projects so early and so quickly that he was bound to ruffle a few feathers.

Two days after his election, he clearly signalled that a new Catholic Church under his direction should not concern itself with material concerns nor temporal power. John Paul I did so by cancelling the traditional, lavish and pompous coronation ceremony, which was replaced by a simple, inaugural Mass. If the message was not clear enough, the new Pope spelled it out in a speech to foreign diplomats: the Catholic Church, the Holy See, the Vatican, would not concern themselves with political and economic matters, but simply with a spiritual agenda and the “humane causes that the temporal power is intended to advance.” At another point in his speech, he announced that “We have no public goods to exchange.”

Some days later, on September 10th, he delivered another landmark speech, this time in front of a packed St Peter’s Square. The Vatican elite was shocked to hear the Pope uttering some almost blasphemous concepts: “[God] is our Father; even more he is our Mother.” What was this gender-bending heresy? How dared this plucky newcomer upset so radically the word of the Lord?

It turns out that Pope Luciani had been quoting directly from the Gospel of the Lord, more precisely from the Old Testament, even more precisely from the prophet Isaiah. Paradoxically, the same establishment who had elected Luciani as Pope appeared to be constantly on edge about what he might say or do in his first days on the job. And yet, his criticism of the Vatican’s business interests and unorthodox views on Catholic doctrine were well known!

Just to give you an example: back in 1968, when he was still just Bishop Luciani, our protagonist had penned a confidential report addressed to his superior, arguing that the Church should allow Catholics to use the contraceptive pill—a radical departure from the Vatican’s position on the matter! After his death there was some speculation that he intended to make his own stance the official one, but the truth is that Pope Luciani never spoke in public about his positive views on birth control.

The conservative faction which was likely to oppose the new Pope was particularly strong amongst the Roman Curia, the central administrative body of the Church. And the Curia itself was torn by internal rivalries and bickering, which absorbed much of John Paul’s time and energy. The Pope was 66-years-old by this time, still maintained his 15-hour-a-day regime and probably the account where he kept his fucks was heavily overdrawn, when it came to handling this type of bullshit.

Apparently, he had confided to a friend: “I have noticed two things that appear to be in very short supply in the Vatican. Honesty and a good cup of coffee.”

Dead Shall Come Like A Thief in the Night

On the last day of his life, September 28, 1978, Pope John Paul conducted his daily grind, hard at work reading and writing tons of documents. Especially reading. He once joked that he did not need a typewriter, but a “typereader,” so that he could process the reams of incoming letters and memos faster. Those who were close to him, like his personal secretaries, noted how John Paul appeared constantly overworked, overstressed and fatigued by the sheer volume of workload in the weeks after the Conclave.

At 6:30pm the Pope held the last meeting of the day, with the Vatican Secretary of State, Cardinal Jean Villot. After the meeting, John Paul dined with his personal secretaries, Father Diego Lorenzi and Father John Magee. During dinner, the Pope experienced pain and a sense of oppression on his chest for about five minutes, at one point clutching the area with his hand. Father Magee suggested they call the doctor on call at the Vatican, but John Paul refused any help.

The pain was easing. Besides, he had experienced it on a number of occasions before, and he attributed it to mild rheumatic pain.

After dinner, the Pope placed two phone calls. One, at 9pm with the Archbishop of Milan, and one at 9:30pm with his personal doctor back in Venice. Pope Luciani then retired to his bedroom. Father Lorenzi, worried about the Pope’s health, helped him to his bed. He then pointed to the emergency button next to the bedstead, and advised him to push it should he need help. As the personal secretary left the room, John Paul was sitting upright on his bed, holding some type-written pages—the last memos of the day.

The next morning, September 29, at 7:30, Italian public radio and news agency ANSA broadcast the most unexpected news. Only 33 days after his election, Albino Luciani, Pope John Paul I had been found dead in the morning in his bedroom. The newswire mentioned the official cause and time of death: acute myocardial infarction, which had happened at 11pm.

It also included a description of how his body had been found: “This morning, around 5:50, the Pope’s secretary did not see the Holy Father praying in his chapel as it was his custom. The secretary entered his bedroom and found him dead, in an upright, reading position.”

The ensuing news reports identified the secretary who found the Pope’s lifeless body as either Father Lorenzi or Father Magee. The truth is that neither secretary found him. For some reason, the Vatican press room decided to hide from ANSA—the Italian press agency—that John Paul had been first found by two nuns.

Sister Vincenza Taffarel had been an assistant to Pope Luciani since he was the Bishop of Venice. Every morning, at 5:15am, Sister Vincenza prepared a cup of espresso and left it on a table just outside the papal bedroom. She would then return shortly afterwards to collect the empty cup. That morning, the nun noticed that the cup was still full. Sister Vincenza addressed another nun working with her, Sister Margherita Marin: “He hasn’t walked out yet? How come?”

Sister Margherita witnessed Sister Vincenza knocking on the door of the papal bedroom. When no response came, she walked in. Sister Margherita heard the other nun saying: “Your Holiness, you shouldn’t be playing these pranks on me!” Sister Vincenza then called for Margherita.

The second nun entered the room and noticed how the Pope appeared to be sleeping, with a faint smile on his face, hands still clutching his memos. Sister Margherita touched his hands and felt they were cold. The fingernails had started to darken.

The two sisters then went to fetch the Pope’s personal secretaries. Father Magee was the first to appear on the scene. Magee then alerted the Secretary of State, Cardinal Villot, who in turn summoned the doctor on duty, Renato Buzzonetti. As the secretaries, the Cardinal and the doctor filed into the bedroom, the two sisters walked out.

Some minutes later, Magee joined them and informed them of the doctor’s diagnosis. The Pope had succumbed to myocardial infarction at 11pm, the death was sudden and John Paul had likely not suffered any pain.

Sister Margherita later reported that Father Magee had asked the two nuns not to mention that it was them who had first discovered the body of the Pontiff—“because they had decided to report that it had been the personal secretaries who had first found him.” The reasons for this decision are not clear. It has been speculated that Vatican officials simply found it “inconvenient” that the Pope had been found by two women. Whatever the motive, this clumsy handling of the event generated initial confusion on the circumstances of Luciani’s death, fueling suspicion and conspiracy theories.

In the early hours of September 29, Vatican officials took another controversial decision, which was also poorly handled and communicated. They decided that the body should not be subject to an autopsy, and arranged for the Vatican’s funeral directors to immediately embalm the deceased Pope.

Behindologists

Immediately after Pope Luciani’s death rumours began to swirl around the corridors of the Vatican and in newsrooms across Italy, fueled by the poor handling of the early newswires and the decision not to perform a post mortem on the body. It did not help that according to some early, bungled statements, the Vatican’s funeral directors of choice had been summoned one hour before the body was discovered!

So, for the moment let’s put ourselves in the shoes of an ordinary Joe, trying to make sense of the news in Rome in the late 1970s. The entire country was—and partially still is—steeped in a mindset which Italians refer to as “Behindology”: the conviction that someone, somewhere is always conspiring behind the scenes. And there were some good reasons to look for dark conspiratorial cabals lurking round every corner.

Let me give you just a couple of examples. In 1964 General De Lorenzo of the military police had plotted a coup d’état, a conspiracy known as the “Solo plan.” The coup was eventually halted in its inception, and revealed only years later. It emerged that General De Lorenzo enjoyed the support of high ranking politicians as well as one Archbishop.

In December 1970 a second coup was attempted, this time led by a former Fascist naval officer, Junio Valerio Borghese. Armed insurgents were ready to take over key public institutions, when the coup was silently aborted. Again, the plan only came to light in March 1971, and in later years a broad conspiracy fresco was unveiled. Borghese had found allies among far-right terrorists, members of the secret services and even tacit support from the US Embassy in Rome, as attested by CIA declassified files.

Investigative journalists had already started writing about the alleged unholy alliances between the Mafia, terrorism, secret masonic lodges, certain political parties and “deviated” members of the armed forces and secret services. I will stop there, but if our readers have the time and patience I would invite them to look into that terrifyingly complex rabbit hole by searching for “Italy Years of Lead” and “Italy Strategy of Tension.”

The point I am trying to make is that complex plots did take place in my fair homeland, some of which have been proven to be true, others are still alleged. So, a conspiracy theory behind the sudden death of a Pope would be the natural go-to explanation in the world capital of behindology.

Suspect No. 1: The French Cardinal

The lead conspiracist in this case, however, is not an Italian author, but a British one: David Yallop, who laid out his theories in his 1984 best seller In God’s Name. Yallop speculated that Albino Luciani, Pope John Paul I, had been murdered with a lethal overdose of a cardiology drug, digitalis—also known as digoxin. The author confidently claimed that “A fatal dose of digitalis, half a teaspoonful, would be undetectable” if added to the other medicine which the Pope took regularly, a treatment called Effortil, indicated for low blood pressure.

Yallop did not single out one single culprit, but several suspects, all of which had something to gain from the Pope’s death. These alleged poisoners may have acted independently, or may have conspired together to eliminate their powerful enemy from the Vatican.

Let’s start with Cardinal Jean Villot, the Secretary of State. Villot may have had the occasion to administer the lethal dose of digoxin, as he had met with the Pope on the afternoon of his death, at 6:30pm. According to several testimonies, Villot was also one of the first to rush to the Pope’s bedside on the following morning. He may have had the occasion to remove any incriminating evidence.

What about the motive? Cardinal Villot had been in post since the previous pontificate, serving under Pope Paul VI. The recently elected Pope Luciani had “inherited” Villot from his predecessor, and disliked Villot’s policies. Sensing his dismissal, the Cardinal had therefore decided to eliminate his new boss.

This claim was debunked by Paul Hoffmann at the New York Times as early as the book was published. It appears that Pope John Paul I actually valued the overall performance and advice of Cardinal Villot. And one of his first acts as Pontiff had been to confirm Villot’s appointment as Secretary of State.

There is a second possible motive. According to several Italian journalists, such as Eric Frattini and Federico Bettuzzi, some days before his death, Pope Luciani received a copy of Political Observer, a magazine edited and directed by investigative journalist Mino Pecorelli. This Pecorelli had an uncanny ability to recruit confidential sources within the secret services, which allowed him to expose political and criminal scandals ahead of his peers.

In the mid-1970s, Pecorelli had either willingly joined, or infiltrated, a secret masonic lodge, “Propaganda 2” or “P2” for short, which in the early 1980s would be exposed as a massive conspiracy aimed at installing an authoritarian regime in Italy. This experience made Pecorelli something of an expert on secret masonic lodges. And his September 1978 issue of Political Observer featured an exposé about a secret lodge replete with senior clergymen.

This was quite the scandal, as the Catholic Church did not see eye to eye with freemasons, striking them with “excommunication,” i.e. the exclusion from participation in the sacraments and religious services. In other words: one could not be a member of the clergy AND a freemason at the same time. Pecorelli’s magazine published a list which included several high-ranking players within the Curia, including Cardinal Villot!

So, the speculation here is that the Pope may have been enraged by the exposé, and may have considered purging the Vatican of the masonic lodge—but was stopped before he could take action.

Now, there are several problems with this theory, in itself rather flimsy. In his original article, Pecorelli himself seems to take the list with a pinch of salt, not citing the source and warning that it may be a fabrication. Furthermore, there is no direct evidence that Pope Luciani actually received the issue of Political Observer with the list, nor that he decided to act upon it. In fact, there are differing versions on how the Pope got hold of the document listing the Vatican masons. According to Pecorelli’s sister, it was the journalist himself who handed the list into the hands of the Pope, the very day of his death! Which is unlikely, as we know exactly how Luciani spent his last hours of life, and there are no records of Pecorelli visiting the Vatican.

So, I would exclude the “masonic conspiracy” from the realm of possibility, and proceed to the next big hitter in Yallop’s roster of culprits, a character we already introduced: none other than American Archbishop Paul C. Marcinkus, head of the IOR, or Vatican Bank.

Suspect No. 2: The American Bishop

According to Yallop, Luciani was concerned about the IOR’s shady financial deals, championed by the pragmatic and morally ambiguous Marcinkus. The American Archbishop had in fact conducted business with questionable business partners, such as bankers Roberto Calvi and Michele Sindona. Now, let me give you some details about these financial deals. Please note that this matter is incredibly complicated, so I will only scratch the surface.

In the late 1950s and throughout the 1960s, the IOR, or Vatican Bank, was booming. According to author Eric Frattini, in those years the IOR controlled up to 5% of the Italian stock market. Thanks to a law promulgated by Mussolini in 1942, and never abrogated, the Vatican was exempt from paying taxes on capital gains. But in 1968, the law was changed, and suddenly the Vatican faced a tax bill estimated at 1.2 billion euros in today’s value, almost $1.3 billion.

Back then, the Pope was Paul VI, who decided to move all the Vatican’s investment abroad to dodge that bill. The man in charge of this complex operation was Michele Sindona. In the late 1950s, the financier had forged personal and professional relationships with three very powerful individuals: Paul Marcinkus, mafia boss Joe Adonis, and David Kennedy—no relation with THE Kennedys!—future Secretary of the Treasury for the Nixon administration.

In 1971, Marcinkus was appointed head of the IOR, and his cooperation with Sindona intensified. Thus, the banker, who enjoyed the protection of organised crime, the Nixon administration, and the church, was able to freely move capitals across tax havens and shell companies, laundering money on behalf of the mafia AND the Vatican!

In the same year, Sindona found another ally, fellow banker Roberto Calvi—this was the director of Banco Ambrosiano, the guy who had acquired Luciani’s beloved Catholic Bank. The trio Marcinkus-Sindona-Calvi were on a money-making, tax-evading roll until 1974. Nixon’s resignation removed a powerful ally from the scene, Secretary David Kennedy. At the same time, both Italian and American authorities had begun investigating Sindona for his involvement in money laundering, as well as drug trafficking.

Thus far, the partnership with Sindona had been encouraged by the Vatican’s office of the Secretary of State. But when he became an embarrassment, they were quick to dump him, and appointed Roberto Calvi as their sole financial advisor. This did not sit well with Sindona, who “shopped” his old pal to the financial authorities. Italy’s central bank ordered an inspection into Banco Ambrosiano, uncovering a can of worms of enormous debt, fraud, tax evasion and political corruption.

This constituted another huge embarrassment for the Vatican Bank and his head, Marcinkus.

Luckily, the banker-bishop could still count on the protection of Pope Paul VI. But on August 6, 1978, the pontiff died, and was replaced by John Paul I.

In Yallop’s reconstruction of the events, Marcinkus and some mafia-friendly associates feared that the new Pope might enact an overhaul of the Vatican Bank. An overhaul which would have kicked off with the dismissal of Marcinkus. The plotters may have been joined by another American prelate, Cardinal John Patrick Cody, later under investigation for financial misconduct in the arch-dioceses of Chicago.

However, in his book Yallop was unable to produce little more than rumours and conjecture when it came to this alleged conspiracy perpetrated by the IOR. This theory rests on two “pillars”: First, that Luciani and Marcinkus bore a grudging rivalry against each other since the events of 1973. Second, that Luciani had announced either an investigation, or a dramatic shake up of the IOR.

As we have learned earlier, the rivalry between the two men may have been exaggerated, if not entirely made up. And while Pope John Paul I realistically disapproved of the IOR’s banking practices, there is no certainty that he had already laid out plans to dismantle it, nor that he had publicly announced them.

There is another fallacy, not strictly related to the “Marcinkus theory,” which pertains to the method of the alleged murder. Yallop speculated that Luciani had been poisoned with a lethal overdose of digitalis, or digoxin, which he claimed amounted to half a spoon.

Now, if I can add my own two cents here, I did some research on the effects of digoxin overdose. According to journal Australian Prescriber, this drug can in fact cause fatal cardiac arrhythmias if administered in large doses. Death can sometimes occur asymptomatically, but it is more commonly associated with other adverse events such as anorexia, nausea, vomiting and neurological symptoms. On the night of his death, Luciani did not display any of these side effects.

Moreover, according to TheHeart.org and Medscape, a single dose of digoxin has to exceed 10mg in order to be fatal. The most common formulation of the digoxin oral solution has a concentration of 0.05 milligrams per millilitre. In other words, to achieve an amount of 10mg, one should administer a dose of 200 ml of digoxin solution. For context, 200 ml is equivalent to 40 teaspoons or 4,000 drops.

Therefore, it is not some lethally potent and concentrated venom which some devious Bishop could carry concealed in his ring, like some pantomime villain. It would be pretty difficult to mix it surreptitiously into someone’s drink or medicine!

A similarly fatal concentration of digoxin into the human body could be achieved gradually, over a long period of time, but it would almost inevitably carry the side effects I described earlier. Which, again, did not afflict the Pope in his last days of life.

Marcinkus appears as the chief culprit also in another, much more recent book: When the Bullet Hits the Bone, published in October 2019. These are the memoirs of Anthony Luciano Raimondi, a former Italo-American enforcer with the Colombo mafia syndicate. Raimondi is related to legendary mafia don “Lucky” Luciano. More importantly for our case, his cousin happened to be Archbishop Marcinkus. Who, by the way, died in February 2006.

The enforcer revealed that when he was 28-years-old, cousin Marcinkus summoned him to Rome, to help him eliminate the Pope. According to his account, John Paul I had uncovered a massive financial fraud within the Vatican, masterminded by the bishop-banker. The fraudsters had been counterfeiting shares of large American companies such as IBM, Coca Cola and Sunoco, to then sell at a huge profit. I guess that this was possible, back in the days when shares were actually printed as individual pieces of paper and kept safe inside security boxes.

Pope Luciani had collected evidence on the scam and was about to report the counterfeiters. Naturally, he had to go!

Raimondi’s job was to travel to Rome and then shadow the Pontiff, to study his movements and habits. On the night between September the 28th and the 29th, Raimondi had infiltrated the Vatican palaces, and was standing outside the papal bedroom. The murder, however, had been perpetrated by Marcinkus himself. The archbishop had first spiked the Pope’s tea with valium to knock him out.

Later, he had crept into his room and administered a lethal dose of cyanide with a dropper. On the morning after, when the dead body of Luciani was first discovered, Marcinkus had rushed into the bedroom, acting surprised and dismayed.

Raimondi’s memoir was rejected by the Vatican as complete and utter rubbish. One may argue that they are not an impartial actor in this case, but I tend to agree with their one-star review. The first question which springs to mind is: why would Marcinkus seek help from a younger, fitter, more violent cousin with ties to the mafia … and then commit the murder himself? Logically, it would have made more sense to delegate the act to the mafia enforcer, for the sake of plausible deniability.

Raimondi states that his job was to shadow Luciani and take note of his habits. But in those 33 days as Pope, he barely left the Vatican palaces and he adhered to a strict routine, very well-known to all those around him. If that was the extent of Raimondi’s involvement, Marcinkus could have spared himself the airfare from New York to Rome.

Finally, Raimondi states that Marcinkus was one of the first to rush at John Paul’s bedside once his motionless body had been discovered. This contradicts several verified and published accounts, which claim the contrary. The first to rush into the papal bed chamber were the two nuns who assisted the Pope, followed by one of the personal secretaries, and then by the Secretary of State and a doctor on duty.

My humble opinion is that Mr. Raimondi has included this nice tale in his memoirs to drum up some press coverage. Vatican conspiracies sell books after all. Again in my opinion, the former mafia hitman cleverly painted himself as a secondary and rather inconsequential character in the scenario of Luciani’s murder, casting blame instead on the long-dead Marcinkus. Well played, Raimondi.

No Suspects At All

So far we have covered publications which espouse the murder theory; let us now look at two books which support the official cause of death, originally communicated by the Vatican.

The first one is Like a Thief in the Night, by John Cornwell, published in 1989. Cornwell conducted an inquiry similar to the one pursued by Yallop, but he reached a completely different conclusion. According to Cornwell, Pope Luciani died of natural causes, but his death could have been prevented if the Vatican administration had given him more support during the first weeks of his pontificate. Instead, the new Pope was left to his own devices, stressed and overworked. Cornwell argued that John Paul’s already fragile cardiovascular health deteriorated progressively, culminating with a myocardial infarction.

The second book, Pope Luciani: Chronicle of a Death, was published in 2017 and written by journalist Stefania Falasca, who is part of the commission in charge of John Paul’s beatification, a key stage in the process to eventual sainthood. Falasca acknowledges that the Vatican took the perhaps too hasty decision to embalm Luciani’s body without performing an autopsy—a decision which fuelled conspiracy theories. She explains, however, that the same procedure had been applied to the previous Pope, Paul VI, to prevent the decomposition of the body in the heat of the Roman summer.

As per the autopsy, or lack thereof, Falasca’s book debunks the myth that it was the Cardinals who decided not to perform it. This decision was actually taken by the Vatican doctor, Buzzonetti, and other two cardiologists, as they were quite certain about the cause of death and believed it was not necessary.

Falasca then went on to include the integral medical record compiled by Buzzonetti, who certified the death as caused by “Cardiovascular disease. Ischemic heart disease due to coronary atherosclerosis.” Buzzonetti’s records also clarify how this type of ailment ran in the late Pope’s family. And Luciani himself, back in 1975, had been hospitalised due to a “Thromboembolism of the central artery of the left eye’s retina.”

This cause of hospitalisation was compatible with Luciani’s atherosclerosis, which would later have a much more severe effect.

To me, that seals the deal. I had approached this topic with the preconceived notion that Pope John Paul I, Albino Luciani, may have indeed been murdered by an obscure cabal of freemasons and/or corrupt financiers. And one would be excused for holding this notion. The conspiracy theories revolving around the Pope’s death gravitate around the IOR-Calvi-Sindona banking scandals, or the secret masonic lodges—with frequent overlaps. And all the major characters involved have been assassinated—allegedly.

Do you remember Roberto Calvi, the director of Banco Ambrosiano? He was found dead, hanging from Blackfriars bridge, London, on June 17, 1982. His death was initially ruled as a suicide, but in 2005 the case was reopened as a murder trial. The roster of suspects included several members of the Sicilian Mafia, as well as a character worthy of his own episode: one Licio Gelli, head of the subversive “P2” masonic lodge.

All were acquitted, but the Italian magistrature acknowledged that Calvi’s death was NOT a suicide.

And then there is Michele Sindona, the other banker. On July 11, 1979, Giorgio Ambrosoli, a lawyer investigating Sindona’s deals was gunned down by the mafia. On March 18, 1986, Sindona was convicted for instigating this murder. Two days later, he died from cyanide poisoning while in prison.

As per Mino Pecorelli, the investigative journalist, we have already discussed his unsolved shooting. However, all these deaths were unequivocally violent. The identity of the culprits may still be a mystery, but the fact that these people were killed is not for discussion.

In the case of the smiling Pope, his death was apparently, and mercifully, peaceful. There may have been some initial ambiguity on whether the causes were natural or not. But the proponents of the poisoning have never been able to materialise convincing evidence. Despite my initial propensity to err on the conspiracy side, I can confidently say that Pope Albino Luciani died of natural causes.

As sad and unfair as it sounds, a man who had shown great promise to modernise a stale institution, died 33 days into his mandate. He definitely had a sharp brain, a vast intellect, and a big heart. Unfortunately, that same heart proved to be too weak to cope with the pressures of his job.

Frequently Asked Questions

Who was Albino Luciani?

Albino Luciani was the Pope of the Roman Catholic church, elected by the conclave of cardinals and choosing to be called John Paul I. He was known for his warmly intelligent demeanour and his hints at institutional reforms.

What was the official cause of Pope John Paul I’s death?

The official cause of death for Pope John Paul I was established to be myocardial infarction.

Why was there speculation about Pope John Paul I’s death?

Speculation arose due to the lack of an autopsy, bungled official communications about his demise, and revelations about his long list of enemies, including crooked financial institutions, the mafia, and secret masonic lodges.

What was the role of the IOR in the conspiracy theories surrounding Pope John Paul I’s death?

The IOR, or Vatican Bank, was involved in shady financial deals with bankers Roberto Calvi and Michele Sindona. Pope John Paul I was concerned about these deals and had clashed with Paul Marcinkus, the head of the IOR, over financial matters.

What was the significance of the Catholic Bank of Venetia in the conspiracy theories?

The Catholic Bank of Venetia was a small bank that loaned money on favourable terms to parishes and dioceses. Paul Marcinkus sold the bank’s shares to Roberto Calvi’s Banco Ambrosiano, which had little interest in financing charitable works, leading to a clash with Patriarch Luciani.

What was the role of Cardinal Jean Villot in the conspiracy theories?

Cardinal Jean Villot, the Secretary of State, was suspected of administering a lethal dose of digoxin to Pope John Paul I. However, this theory was debunked as the Pope had valued Villot’s performance and confirmed his appointment as Secretary of State.

What was the role of the ‘Political Observer’ magazine in the conspiracy theories?

The ‘Political Observer’ magazine published an exposé about a secret masonic lodge within the Vatican, which included Cardinal Villot. It was speculated that Pope John Paul I might have been enraged by this exposé and considered purging the Vatican of the masonic lodge.

What was the role of Anthony Luciano Raimondi in the conspiracy theories?

Anthony Luciano Raimondi, a former mafia enforcer, claimed in his memoirs that his cousin, Archbishop Paul Marcinkus, had summoned him to Rome to help eliminate Pope John Paul I. Raimondi’s account was rejected by the Vatican as complete and utter rubbish.

What was the conclusion of John Cornwell’s book ‘Like a Thief in the Night’?

John Cornwell concluded that Pope John Paul I died of natural causes, but his death could have been prevented if the Vatican administration had given him more support during the first weeks of his pontificate.

What was the conclusion of Stefania Falasca’s book ‘Pope Luciani: Chronicle of a Death’?

Stefania Falasca acknowledged that the Vatican’s decision to embalm Luciani’s body without performing an autopsy fuelled conspiracy theories, but she explained that the same procedure had been applied to the previous Pope, Paul VI. She also included the integral medical record compiled by the Vatican doctor, which certified the death as caused by cardiovascular disease.

Sources

• Original Decoding the Unknown video: Did the Mafia Poison the Pope?
• Hero image source by thegetty / openverse, cc0.