As always, the pope began his day by going to his prie-dieu to kneel in private prayer. Afterward he shaved and showered and dressed in the clothes the valet had laid out: a heavy woolen white cassock caped around the shoulders, white clerical shirt, knee-high white stockings, brown shoes, and white skullcap. He was ready to go to see Agca in Rome’s Rebibbia Prison.
The meeting was arranged at the pope’s request, intended, he said, as “an act of forgiveness.” In reality, John Paul wanted to find out if what Mossad had said was true. He was driven to the prison by the very man who was at the wheel of the popemobile in St. Peter’s Square when Agca shot him. Accompanied by a Roman police escort, the limousine sped northeastward across the city to the prison. In a backup car was a small group of journalists (they included the author of this book). They had been invited to witness the historical moment when the pope and his assassin came face-to-face.
Two hours later, John Paul was admitted to Rebibbia’s maximum-security wing. He walked alone down the corridor to the open door of cell T4, where Agca stood waiting inside. The reporters waited farther up the corridor. With them were prison guards, ready to run to Agca’s cell should he make any threatening move to his visitor.
As the pope extended his ring hand, Agca moved to shake it, hesitated, then bent to kiss the Fisherman’s Ring. Next he took the pope’s hand and placed it briefly against his forehead.
“Lei è Mehmet Ali Agca?” The pope framed the question softly. He had been told Agca had learned Italian in prison.
“Sì.” A quick smile accompanied the word, as if Agca was embarrassed to admit who he was.
“Ah, lei abita qui?” John Paul looked around the cell, genuinely interested in the place where his would-be killer might well spend the rest of his life.
“Sì.”
John Paul sat on a chair positioned just inside the door. Agca sank onto his bed, clasping and unclasping his hands.
“Come si sente?” The pope’s question as to how Agca felt was almost paternal.
“Bene, bene.” Suddenly Agca was speaking urgently, volubly, the words coming in a low torrent only the pope could hear.
John Paul’s expression grew more pensive. His face was close to Agca’s, partially shielding him from the guards and journalists.
Agca whispered into the pope’s left ear. The pope gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Agca paused, uncertainty on his face. John Paul indicated, with a quick chopping motion of his right hand, that Agca should continue. Both men were so close their heads almost touched. Agca’s lips barely moved. On John Paul’s face there was a pained look. He closed his eyes, as though it would help him to better concentrate.
Suddenly, Agca stopped in midsentence. John Paul did not open his eyes. Only his lips moved; only Agca could hear the words.
Once more Agca resumed speaking. After a few more minutes, the pope made another little chopping motion of the hand. Agca stopped talking. John Paul placed his left hand to his forehead, as if he wanted to shield his eyes from Agca.
Then John Paul squeezed the younger man’s upper arm, almost as if to thank him for what he had said. The exchanges lasted for twenty-one minutes, and then the pope slowly rose to his feet. He held out a hand, encouraging Agca to do the same. The two men stared into each other’s eyes. The pope ended this moment of near perfect drama by reaching into a cassock pocket and producing a small white cardboard box bearing the papal crest. He handed it to Agca. Puzzled, Agca turned the box over in his hand.
The pope waited, the gentlest of smiles on his lips. Agca opened the box. Inside was a rosary crafted in silver and mother-of-pearl.
“Ti ringrazio,” thanked Agca. “Ti ringrazio.”
“Niente. Niente,” responded the pope. Then he leaned forward and spoke again words only for Agca.
Then, saying no more, the pontiff walked from the cell.
Later, a Vatican spokesman said, “Ali Agca knows only up to a certain level. On a higher level, he doesn’t know anything. If there was a conspiracy, it was done by professionals and professionals don’t leave traces. One will never find anything.”
Not for the first time, the Vatican had been economical with the truth. Agca had confirmed what Luigi Poggi had been told by Mossad. The plot to kill the pope had been nurtured in Tehran. The knowledge would color John Paul’s attitude toward both Islam and Israel. Increasingly, he told his staff that the real coming conflict in the world was not going to be between the East and West, the United States and Russia, but between Islamic fundamentalism and Christianity. In public he was careful to separate Islam, the faith, and Islamic fundamentalism.
