The Celtic Conspiracy (21 page)

Jennifer didn’t realize immediately that there were tears pouring down her face. Even as she spoke the last words, she knew that this revelation would change everything.

Even her own life.

* * *

MacClary was so agitated that he needed to control himself to avoid sputtering. “Why didn’t Ruth ever tell me? I mean...”

“Because things happen when the time is right,” Adam interjected. Ronald had practically forgotten that the man was there.

“Please, Adam, with all due respect, how can you possibly know that?”

“Because I have seen things in the cave, in the texts, and over the last few days. Because I’ve realized why it’s sometimes important to follow what might seem to be the wrong path. Ronald, you can’t put your tail between your legs and run away just because your reputation as a judge is at stake.”

MacClary shook his head sharply. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s not about me; it’s about the possible harm this could cause in Washington toward all the loyal people who took an oath to serve.”

Jennifer leaned toward him. “Ronald, you must have known this wouldn’t be a walk in the park. And after everything that’s happened, you owe it to Ryan to continue.”

MacClary stood up and went to the window. There was too much coming at him too quickly. He was deeply hurt that his mother and Ms. Copendale had kept the truth from him for all these years. What Jennifer had told him was entirely consistent with his own memories, though. Just a few days before his death, his father had been completely confident that he would be able to leave the hospital soon. He still had so many plans, and they had even joked a little.

Then he had died, without any apparent reason.

Jennifer was right. He would never forgive himself if he gave up now. He turned away from the window, looked at the two of them, and squared his shoulders.

“So what do you two suggest?”

Ryan had slept for a long time. Every breath he took still made his ribs hurt, but the pain in his head was subsiding, and he could think clearly again. He desperately needed to do that. He didn’t have many options to get himself out of this situation and safely to Washington. Without papers, it would be almost impossible.

“So, my dear Brian,” he muttered to himself, “I think it’s time for you to repay your debts.”

Brian Langster was an old friend from Ryan’s youth. Ryan had saved Langster’s life in a shootout in Belfast, and they had been good friends for a long time. Out of concern for his own safety, Langster had left Ireland about ten years ago. The fact that he happened to live in Italy now was an ironic twist of fate for Ryan. On the other hand, though, Italy was the last place people would suspect Ryan to be.

Ryan used his cell phone to find the number, but he made the call from the telephone next to his bed. It took a while before a familiar voice answered. “Brian, damn
it, it’s good to hear your voice. I need your help, and I’m afraid it’s going to be difficult.”

“Thomas Ryan,” was the deliberate reply from the voice on the other end of the line. “This is indeed a surprise. What can I do for you?”

“I’m sitting in Austria near the Italian border. I’m a bit the worse for wear, and I have to get to Washington in the next few days. I don’t have my papers anymore, so the situation is a bit sticky.”

“A bit. And someone is looking for you, I presume.”

“Yes, but it’s not what you might be thinking. I’ll explain everything when we see each other.”

“Where are you?”

“I think it would be easier if you tell me where I should come. I’m not far away.”

“All right. If you take the southern autobahn, there’s a country road just across the border, the Via Frulli. Take that for about five minutes to an old cottage above the road. There you’ll find an old red camper. I’ll be waiting there for you. The best time would be tomorrow, right before sunrise. There will be fewer people out and about then. Let’s say tomorrow morning at six. I’ll wait one hour, no longer.”

There it was again, the old fear. Both of them had spent half their lives on the run. From the police, from IRA terrorists, and sometimes just from themselves. The price for a life of resistance against the Irish insanity was high, and Ryan had walked away with many wounds, of the soul as well as the body. His entire family had suffered
in this conflict—they had lost their happiness, their joy in life. He had hoped to escape these wounds with his search to revive his true identity and heritage. Yet now he was right back where he had never wanted to be again, on the run, caught between paranoia and rage.

“All right, Brian. Thank you, and I hope you have a couple of days for me. I’ll need someplace to recover,” Ryan said, almost choking on his bitterness.

“Don’t worry, Thomas. Of course. Do you think I’ve forgotten what you did for me? See you tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks. Yes, see you tomorrow.” Ryan hung up, lay back down, and started to think. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door.

It was the younger Winter, the innkeeper’s son. “Listen, I looked around a bit. I know everyone around here, and even the tourists are easy to spot. There are some people who definitely don’t belong here, and there’s too much police activity for my taste. I do believe you, but we don’t want any trouble here. You understand, don’t you?”

“I understand, of course. You don’t want anything to do with problems that don’t concern you, and no one can hold that against you. I’m so grateful to you for trusting me and for all your help. Tomorrow I’ll be gone. I just have to figure out how to get to the Italian border.”

“You need a vehicle, don’t you?”

“Well, yes...”

“I have a motorcycle that I don’t use anymore. You can have it.”

Ryan had a large wad of money in one of his jacket pockets. A habit from the old days. Never leave everything in one place, and always have enough with you to go underground for a while if necessary. He picked up the jacket and pulled out the stack of bills.

“No, really, that’s not—”

“Yes, it is. Honestly, it’s important to me. You’ve helped me so much.” He pressed some bills into the hand of the young man and clapped him on the arm.

Winter shook his head, then took the money and turned to go. “OK, thank you. I hope you get to wherever you’re going safely.”

Ryan looked after him until the door closed.

Where exactly was he going?

* * *

Jennifer and MacClary were with Shane in the basement of the embassy looking at the scrolls and discussing how they should proceed in Washington. The plane would take off in a little more than an hour, but they were nowhere near agreement.

“One thing is clear, Ronald: Rome has always been afraid that documents like these would turn up because they justify every critique of the Church.”

“Wait a minute,” MacClary said, “let’s take another look at where we stand. First, we have several testimonials that
provide sufficient evidence. Everyone understands that the Vatican has to have a vital interest in keeping these documents far from the public eye. Second, we have a witness who has gone underground with another scroll and is presumably being followed. We don’t have any evidence that the Vatican is directly involved in this, but Ryan might be able to testify to this. With his dual citizenship he fulfills the preconditions for a charge in the US. We have bugs in my home, whose origin is unknown. That’s everything, and it’s quite a lot.”

“How did you suddenly find out that the residence was bugged?” Adam asked.

“I should have been able to figure it out for myself, yet I refused to believe it. Then I received a tip. For the moment, that will have to suffice as an explanation, but this source might be able to help us more in the future.”

“If Ryan actually manages to get to Washington without being caught,” Jennifer said, “we could definitely file the suit in Boston.”

Shane shook his head. “How would that work? The Vatican still has immunity.”

“That’s relative, Adam,” MacClary said. “What we want first of all is attention. You’re right; we probably won’t be able to obtain a judgment against the Vatican. However, we can win one against the actual perpetrators who might be members of one of the organizations of the Vatican.” MacClary looked nervously at the clock. “What we don’t know is whether Ryan will manage to get to Washington in time, and how far the people in Rome
are willing to go. In every rearguard battle, the Vatican has an infinite number of insider contacts throughout the world. The best protection we can offer Ryan is to file the suit as quickly as possible. And if that doesn’t work, then we have to generate publicity.”

Jennifer nodded. “One thing is for sure: these intrigues are not compatible with the actions of a religious group. This alone will make judges, as well as the average US citizen, sit up and listen.”

“Well, I do have to remind you about the case in Mississippi, Jennifer,” MacClary noted skeptically. “The judges rejected it because it couldn’t be proven that the Holy See was involved and not just the individual people in the case. But it—”

“Wait a minute, please,” Adam said, agitated. “We’re forgetting what’s in these documents. We have evidence in hand that proves that even the founding of the Church involved mass murder—of the pagans, the original civilizations of Europe. It’s at least as horrible as a planned genocide, and it’s a direct consequence of the founding of the Church.”

MacClary held up a hand. “No, no, Adam. That won’t work. That’s what our friend Thomas is dreaming about, but we can’t let ourselves be that naïve. We won’t be able to get a criminal conviction for the crimes of the past, only a moral one. But the reaction of the Church in the present is worth its weight in gold, because it only serves one purpose—to cover up the past. And this evidence is part of humankind’s community assets. There are
supranational cultural assets, such as, for example, the pyramids. The claim to historical truth and information is an asset that belongs to everyone.”

Jennifer was nodding emphatically as she strode across the room with her finger pointing in the air. “If we could establish that as a right, and if there are no international treaties covering it—and there aren’t any, that much is clear—then Ryan can lay claim to these documents as a direct descendant of the Druids who were murdered by the Christians by order of the pope. Simple.” Suddenly she stopped still and looked soberly at MacClary. “But for that, the retrieval of the artifacts would have had to have been carried out officially from the start. And you didn’t do that because you wanted to provoke an incident. Publicity. The whole time, you knew that something would happen, and Ryan was on board from the very beginning.”

MacClary looked down at the floor for a moment, abashed. Then he looked her straight in the eye. “An incident, perhaps, but not something like this. Ryan and I had something else in mind.”

“I suspected you two were up to some childishness. Well, let’s make the best of it.”

MacClary was watching Shane, who was looking at Jennifer quizzically. “We don’t have time now to explain everything,” MacClary said. “We have to get to the airport. I promise both of you that I still have a trump card up my sleeve in case the suit is rejected, but don’t ask me any questions about it now.” He put on his coat. “Adam,
if you’ve had enough of our adventure, you’re more than welcome to hold down the fort here with Deborah.”

“I accept that offer gladly. What did you think? I’m not going to miss the rest of this story.”

“Great! I think we’ll still need to be in touch with both of you when Jennifer and I are in Washington. A driver from the embassy will bring you back to Arbour Hill. Everything should have been taken care of by now, I hope.”

* * *

Even before Jennifer and MacClary had packed up their last documents, Shane had left the embassy. As the limousine glided through Dublin, he looked out the window. There were still the same old houses, but things had happened in the last few hours that could change the world. How high would the price be for this change?

And more importantly, who would pay it?