The Celtic Conspiracy (22 page)

Instead of heading back home, Shane had the driver take him to the pub where he had first met Thomas and Deborah. As he got out of the car, he pulled up his collar. He was cold, and he knew it wasn’t just the bitter March wind.

Just a few days ago, he had been in Austria, lost in senseless frustration, weary of the world. Now he felt like he had found the answer to all the questions that had been plaguing him. It was a frightening answer, though. It meant that billions of people would have to change their way of thinking, and he couldn’t imagine that humankind was ready for this, even though belief in Jesus Christ had nothing to do with the Vatican and the discoveries had done nothing to diminish that belief.

Suddenly he found himself looking into Deborah’s face, which caused him to laugh aloud.

“What are you doing here, Adam?” she said. “I’d been waiting for you at Ronald’s. He told me you were going to stay in Dublin.”

“Yes, that’s right, but I felt like I needed a break first, and a nice, big beer.”

Shane settled into a chair and gestured for Deborah to join him. As she sat, Shane noticed the excitement on her face.

“I was able to translate another parchment. It’s written by a chronicler, not a Druid, talking about the fact that the rising bishops no longer had any interest in people living freely. Meanwhile, they were killing all the priests who were spreading the most important lessons of Jesus’s teachings, which was that every person could find God in their own soul.”

“That’s very impressive, but—”

“Wait, there’s more. Women’s openness and their sexuality were to be shunned in the future by all officials in the Church. The chronicler depicts this as the greatest of crimes, since originally women had made up the majority of priests.”

“That’s amazing stuff, but we shouldn’t forget that this has been a known and accepted truth for centuries, only behind closed doors. It’s just that we’re not being burned at the stake for it anymore...though Thomas might manage that too if he keeps on like this.”

Deborah laughed—though nervously—and ordered a Guinness.

“Remember that the priests supposedly had an incredibly important task,” Shane continued. “They were supposed to be people who knew about the divine potential of every being, who radiated trust and helped people
overcome fears. And they were to do this by teaching how everyone could find God inside themselves. By creating an association between the commandment to love and true human encounters, the Church would have had the chance to be a truly divinely inspired movement. But the opposite happened because of the force of the lies the Vatican has piled up since the founding of the Roman Church. Nothing divine can come from that system anymore. In spite of that, I still have my doubts about whether we should get into a battle with them.”

“Why a battle? We didn’t want a battle. If the Vatican doesn’t start to learn from the past, history will wipe out the whole nightmare. No culture will allow itself to be suppressed forever.”

“Try telling that to the Native Americans who’ve virtually been wiped off the planet. I don’t know, maybe Ronald and Jennifer are planning an eleventh-hour way of using law to foster justice. I’m just worried about our safety. It’s hard to say what the ripple effects of a trial will be.”

“I don’t think Thomas had a chance to tell you about his vision. He’s explained everything to me over the last several years, about the gifts of the Druids and other indigenous peoples. He’s convinced that a time will come when people will recognize that the path we’ve been following has been the wrong one. And we can use what remains of these gifts and the knowledge of older cultures to help us to remember, so that a new consciousness can forge its own way in the world. At least that’s what he believes.”

“You know, that’s what I believe as well. When you translated the scroll of Dubdrean about the return of the Druids, I almost got dizzy. Ryan must have felt an even more powerful affirmation from this text. But with this indictment Ronald and Jennifer are going down a road that could trigger a religious war. It’s very possible that we’re underestimating the consequences of our actions.”

“No, Adam, I don’t think so, at least not anymore. There will be resistance from the Vatican, of course, but most Christians have known for a while that the true message isn’t to be found behind the Church’s power-hungry walls.”

“I’m still worried. I think it’s very possible that Ronald has something else up his sleeve. What if Jennifer is just a puppet here?” Shane ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his tired eyes. “I think we’ve done enough talking and speculating for the day. I propose we drink another round and then go back.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that. Ronald called me before he left. The scrolls are going to be flown to Washington tomorrow on a special plane so that experts can precisely date their origin. He asked us to come along and stay with the scrolls on the flight.”

Another flight
, Shane thought with a shudder.

MacClary had taken Jennifer to the Hotel Monaco and was now sitting in his apartment, not far from the Supreme Court Building, looking thoughtfully out the window. Just as he was about to get out of his chair, the telephone rang. Shaking his head in surprise, he went to his little study. In comparison to the remarkable, almost dramatic antique feeling of his parents’ house, this room was much more cold and formal, filled with files and legal books.

“Ronald MacClary.”

“Ah, Mr. MacClary. Thank you for answering. This is Bill Axton. The president would like to meet with you tomorrow at five o’clock.” Axton was one of the president’s closest advisors. The invitation, though friendly, was extended in such a way that it was quite clear it was actually an order.

MacClary grew uneasy. Had the ambassador gone against his wishes and already told the White House about what was going on in Dublin?

“May I ask about the agenda for this meeting?”

“I can’t tell you that, but the matter is urgent.”

“Very well. I will be there right at five. See you tomorrow, Mr. Axton.”

“Thank you and good-bye.”

MacClary didn’t put down the phone right away. Instead, he dialed the embassy in Dublin and asked for the ambassador.

“Mr. MacClary, what can I do for you? Has something happened?” the ambassador asked when he came to the phone.

“I asked you to keep silent about the bugging,” MacClary said sharply.

“What do you mean? What makes you think I haven’t kept my word?”

“You haven’t told anyone about it?”

“No, and I can speak for all the people who work for me as well. It’s absolutely impossible that information about this bugging was leaked out, at least from here.”

MacClary could hear the unspoken question behind the ambassador’s words. He was deeply embarrassed about his hard tone of voice. “Oh God, I must be seeing pink elephants now,” he said contritely. “Please forgive my rush to judge. I’ve made a mistake.”

“Already forgotten. I can understand how these affairs would cause you some concern. Good luck in Washington, and I hope the matter sorts itself out quickly. Good night.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. And a good night to you as well.”

Confused, MacClary hung up the telephone. What could the president need to talk with him about? He had never been summoned to the White House before.

There was no likelihood of sleep tonight. MacClary turned on the television and, as if the news had been waiting for him, CNN was reporting about Ireland.

“As was reported today,”
the well-groomed anchor said,
“the Vatican has for decades been systematically concealing the number of Catholic officials involved in the abuse of minors in Ireland and the US. In addition, reports of a large number of cases involving sexual abuse of children by Catholic clergy have again been reported in Germany and other countries. Pope John Paul III has repeatedly apologized for the abuse. He has requested the presence of the entire College of Cardinals, comprising approximately two hundred members, for a meeting in Rome on the fourth of April to address the abuse cases.

“Meanwhile, it was reported on Friday that a German bishop was taken into temporary custody related to the cover-up of approximately three hundred abuse cases in the Munich area. It was announced that he had been taken into custody on Wednesday, but has since been released on a bail of fifty thousand euros. The name of the bishop has yet to be disclosed, but Rome has signaled its willingness to do so in the coming days should the charges be confirmed. The bishop has, in the meantime, been suspended from duty.”

MacClary sat motionless in his chair. He could feel his customary self-confidence returning as he listened to the news report. There was no going back now, and he was going to make sure that the Vatican stood before the world and their god and took responsibility for their actions.

Ryan had said his good-byes to the friendly innkeepers the night before. He had to trust that they wouldn’t take any action, at least not before midday, when he’d already have met up with Brian Langster and was miles away over the mountains in safety. Only the son had gotten up with him to set up his motorcycle behind the house.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Ryan said as he prepared to depart. “When this is all over, I promise you I’ll bring my friends back here to celebrate. We’ll have a few reasons for a party by then.”

As he started up the motorcycle and drove off, though, he could see in the rearview mirror that the young man was crossing himself.
Hmm, well, I might have to rethink that idea about celebrating here.

It was about thirty miles to the border once he had the mountain road behind him. It was still pitch black, and he hoped that no one had seen him or would recognize him later. When he got to the bottom of the mountain, he was suddenly blinded by lights from a side road. A
car started heading directly toward him. Ryan swung the motorcycle around. It started to lurch so much that he almost crashed. Then the cross-country bike started to earn its keep. He cut across a slope and lost his pursuers.

He turned off the light, driving almost blind in the darkness through the brush, until he came back onto the road. He could see his pursuers coming nearer from above, and he pushed the motorcycle as hard as it could go. It took the tight curves squealing. As he desperately tried to get to the autobahn toward Italy, memories flashed across his mind about all the conversations he’d had over the last years about the Celts and Druids with Deborah and MacClary.

He’d soon travelled a solid twenty-five miles on the autobahn. His wounds were still causing him a good deal of pain, but the burning desire to make it to Washington lent him strength. The dawn illuminated the mountains with an orange-yellow light as he approached, and he could already see where he had to get off the autobahn to get to the country road on the other side of the border.

He’d just crossed the open border to Italy when a black helicopter rose up from under the autobahn bridge. Seconds later, he saw a police roadblock about a half mile ahead. That could only be meant for him! He could hear an announcement in Italian coming from the helicopter. Ryan couldn’t understand a word of it, but its meaning was unmistakable.

In the next moment, a door opened on the side of the helicopter, and out of the corner of his eye Ryan could
see that two sharpshooters were leveling their weapons at him. He began to swerve back and forth, but he realized this wouldn’t help for long. How could he get away? To make matters worse, police cars were approaching from behind.

He had to get off the bridge. Underneath him was a wide mountain river with sandy basins on either side, its water glistening turquoise blue in the dawn light. A bit farther downriver he could see a few scattered farms. It was at least sixty feet down, and the water was too shallow to jump from the bridge. He noticed that every bridge pile had a steel ladder on the inside, but before he could do anything with this information, he heard a loud pop, and he felt the motorcycle swerve behind him. The back tire had been hit. He slid to the side and was lucky that his fall was cushioned again by the well-wrapped scroll. He sent up a silent thanks to his ancestors. The fall was still bad enough. His feet slipped toward the crash barrier, which stopped his slide with a jolt.