The Celtic Conspiracy

by Hansen, Thore D.

  Foxter gave a start and looked at MacClary quizzically. “What do you have to do with the Vatican?”

  “Well, actually, a great deal and for some time now,” MacClary said. “Until now, though, it was always a kind of personal hobby. However, a rather controversial case is emerging in Washington, in which I am not entirely uninvolved.”

  “Oh, my lord. Does this have anything to do with your father and his thesis about the Church’s crimes against humanity? Oh, Ronald, have you been afflicted with the family illness in your old age? I can tell you now that there’s nothing we can do, although we might be handling the current abuse cases sometime soon.”

  “Yes, that is an interesting matter. I’ve read about your star attorney, a countryman of yours if I’m not mistaken. But it sounded more like a canard to me. Is there really a serious attempt to put the pope on the dock?”

  “Ronald, George Caven is one of the most well-known human rights lawyers in the world. If someone like him goes this far out on a limb, then it means something. This could be a watershed moment. Until now, the pope has been protected from any kind of criminal prosecution, just like any other head of state...”

  “I understand, and since he’s holder of the Holy See and head of the Vatican state, one can’t expect that anything will change. In the final analysis, though, everything depends on recognition under international law, and that’s what I’m concerned with, Dave. It’s a moral and ethical decision of the world community whether we continue to stand idly by or finally draw conclusions from current and historical crimes.” MacClary’s voice had risen unintentionally.

  “Yes, Ronald, the status of Rome...it’s a positively grotesque relic from the distant past. Believe me, it’s a thorn in my side that a country encompassing St. Peter’s, five hundred priests, and little else has such power and influence, and that it’s never held responsible for anything.”

  “Wait a minute, Dave. Caven sees a crime against humanity in the indulgence and facilitation of child abuse, according to the currently applicable international law. And more and more people throughout the world are starting to share this opinion!”

  “That may be, Ronald, but the problem is that no one, not the United Nations, not any individual country, no one, is ready to act on this realization. Even in the US, it doesn’t go any further than lawsuits that are dismissed or withdrawn due to lack of evidence. Where are you headed with this?”

  “To another case. It concerns attempted murder, theft of international cultural assets, and the right to historical truth.”

  Dave’s expression dimmed. “My God, Ronald, those are serious accusations, and you know how they’ve always handled that in Rome. They foist the whole thing off on a single person and say that he no longer has any affiliation with them. Maybe they hand him over, or the Italian police find him under some bridge somewhere.”

  “Let’s assume that we have enough proof, motive, and witnesses. Would there be a way, theoretically, that the case could be tried by you here?”

  Dave shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid the whole thing would be over before it began. You’ve already seen how the lawsuits dealing with even these repugnant cases of child abuse are shot down. The immunity of the pope and other officials no longer applies if they’re charged by this court, but the Security Council would have to refer the case to us. What does your president think about this?”

  “Oh, she’s overjoyed. She had already written off the possibility of reelection and she’s behind me one hundred percent,” Ronald said, only half joking. “No, in all seriousness, she knows all about the situation.”

  “If she’s really on board, then she could tip the scales in the Security Council. But we’re not getting anywhere like this. If we want to keep talking, you have to tell me what this entails.”

  Ronald looked out of the window for a long couple of seconds, thinking about his next move. Foxter had always been someone he could depend on to keep things quiet. It would be foolish not to take him into his confidence.

  “Friends of mine have found scrolls from the fourth century that prove how the church betrayed its own ideals and betrayed millions of people with unmitigated criminality and power hunger. From the very beginning, they violently destroyed almost the entire early culture of Europe and—”

  “You don’t have to go on, Ronald. I know what you’re talking about. I thought that’s what this was about, and as you know, I know my way around this topic as well.” Foxter gestured to his bookcase, where Ronald recognized works from the most important contemporary critics of the Church.

  “Then you agree with me. It’s time that we confront the Christians throughout the world with this and show the religion its historical place.”

  “I completely agree, Ronald, but be careful that you don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. It’s of vital importance that you not attack the many, many authentic Christians who are just living their faith and who have nothing to do with the crimes of the Church.”

  “I realize that, Dave. I know we’ll be walking a tightrope with this, but the historical truth seen in light of current events could also be very healing for Christians. If they were to finally turn away from the Vatican, the original ideas of Christianity could be freed from the filth and guilt of centuries. I should also add that my Celtic friends are far more concerned with forgiveness than revenge. I know my role in this, and I’ll soon retreat into the background. The future belongs to those who can think into the future. And there are a few of those in my circle. Perhaps you’ll get to know them. They want, quite simply, a different world. If you can call that simple.”

  Foxter pulled a file out of the huge pile on his desk.

  “You can still do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “You’re the only person I’ve ever known who could find the exact file he needed, no matter how many files were lying in front of him,” MacClary said with an admiring smile.

  “It’s like riding a bike.” He handed the file to MacClary. “Here, I worked on this not too long ago. It’s now common sense in New York, but it hasn’t yet been acknowledged. The Vatican has long since gambled away its international legal status, to say nothing of the moral conscience of the world. I will support you where I can, Ronald. The time is simply right for it. If you can call that simple.”

  MacClary let out a sigh. He was gradually realizing that it wouldn’t be possible to hold the Vatican as a whole responsible unless his last trump card really delivered what it had promised. “Then a call to the president would be extraordinarily helpful. Right now, she doesn’t know if she should send me to the moon or into retirement.” He stood up. “Dave, many thanks. When this whole thing is over, we should have a nice long game of chess. I think I’ll have a lot more time for that soon.”

  “I wish you all the luck in the world, Ronald.”

  “Thanks, Dave. I can use every good wish I get.”

  MacClary quietly shut the door, took a deep breath, and went back down the corridor to the elevator. He stopped to look at one of the pictures lining the hall. It was a photograph of the Nuremberg trials. Back then, the world had taken a huge step forward in the area of human rights. MacClary buttoned up his coat and muttered, “It’s time for the next step. For everyone.”

  * * *

  EIGHTH STREET, WASHINGTON, DC – MARCH 21, AFTERNOON

  Shane and Deborah had flown to Italy in the morning. If Ryan had only contacted them before they left, they could have gotten him the papers he needed and transported him to Washington safely. Jennifer could barely contain her anger. How was she supposed to convince the deputy attorney if she didn’t have the plaintiffs with her?

  She was late. Louise Jackson was probably already waiting in the Belga Café on Eighth Street, where they often met. They had originally gotten to know each other at a law firm in Belgium where they were both doing a practicum. The Belga had an authentic atmosphere, and the amazing Belgian hot chocolate brought them back to earlier days, helping to f
oster their friendship in its own peculiar way. Louise Jackson was a young, slender, and somewhat feisty woman with South African ancestry. She had made a brilliant career for herself in Boston, where she had been the district attorney at the district court for the last two years.

  Jennifer went into the café and smoothed down her hair before spotting Jackson in the back reading a book.

  “Louise?”

  “Jennifer, it’s lovely to see you again. I was worried when I heard your news. Sit down.”

  “You look radiant! How are you?”

  “Thanks for asking. I’m still madly in love—and pregnant to boot. How do you think I am?”

  Jennifer suddenly felt a pang in her stomach.

  “What was that look?” Louise said. “Did I say something wrong? Oh wait, let me guess, you’re—”

  “You know, I think you just made me realize something,” Jennifer said, smiling sheepishly.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Who?”

  “I want to know what his name is!”

  “Adam, Adam Shane. He’s...but...I’m still not sure, and...”

  “Oh God, Jennifer, how long are you going to keep on trying to control everything?”

  Jennifer couldn’t suppress a loud laugh, followed by a quick sob, which she quickly stifled. “I’ll deal with it, Louise, don’t worry. I don’t have a choice anymore, anyhow. He even has a little to do with the reason I wanted to see you, indirectly at least. Let me get to the point. I’ve prepared a claim against the Vatican that’s pretty explosive.”

  “No, really?”

  “Yes, really. I was afraid you’d react like this. I—”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. The coincidence is...yesterday I had to make an indictment. A student from a Catholic boarding school in Boston, along with three other victims, came to us and claimed that a bishop currently living in the Vatican had covered up his abuse of these three and—”

  “Another abuse case? I just get sick thinking about these children. My case is a bit different, though. It’s about the historical investigation into the European pagans and the question about which deeds the Church participated in and apparently continues to participate in to cover up the historical truth of their founding.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you think it would be possible for us to go to my place?” Jennifer said with a quick glance around. She didn’t want to talk about this in public, especially since the first wave of information had already made it into the White House. Somehow, though, she had to get Louise on her side.

  DUBLIN – MARCH 22, AFTERNOON

  “Ruth? Are you home?” MacClary was feeling guilty about not saying good-bye to Ruth before he left the last time and about not explaining to her why everything was in such a mess.

  “Ronnie? Yes, I’m here. What in heaven’s name happened here?” she said, coming into the foyer. “Once a week I go to see my friends, and this time I come back to find the house filled with strange men. At least Deborah was still here to give me some idea of what was going on. Otherwise I would have been scared to death. But I still don’t understand why they had to check all the outlets just because the electricity went out. As if it didn’t happen all the time! They made a right mess of everything.”

  “Oh, Ruth, I feel just awful. I had so much to do, and I had to rush off to Washington. I’m terribly sorry!”

  Ruth looked at him kindly. “It’s all right. Everything is back to normal again. Deborah helped me put things back in place before she left.”

  MacClary couldn’t continue to look at Ruth without thinking of the question that had been plaguing him. “Ruth, why didn’t you ever tell me about what happened to my father?”

  Ruth looked past him and out the window. “So Jennifer told you. My God, Ronnie, is it really so hard to understand?”

  MacClary sat down and looked around. “So many years, Ruth, so many years I’ve been trying to find a way to bring my father’s search to some kind of conclusion. Who knows if I would have done that if I had known that it had cost him his life?”

  “Then you should take it as a warning now, Ronald. You really can’t understand why I did what I did? I couldn’t deny your mother her dying wish. You were all she had after Sean’s death. She prayed every night that nothing would happen to you and that you would be able to live your life in peace.”

  MacClary laughed mirthlessly. “It’s too late for that now, and it’s just as well.”

  He headed to the library, rubbing his left eye, which had begun to twitch. MacClary made himself comfortable there. It had become his custom to listen to one of his favorite Mozart symphonies after a trip. Today he put on a CD of the Prague Symphony and sat down in one of the old leather chairs. A few minutes later, he was so lost in the music that he didn’t hear the telephone ringing.

  “Ronnie...Ronald...” Ruth had to shake him gently to get a reaction. “You have a call.”

  “Oh, um, all right. Thank you, Ruth.”

  MacClary stood up and turned the music down before he took the phone from Ms. Copendale.

  “Ronald, it’s Jennifer. I did it! Louise Jackson filed the suit—expedited, no less—at the district court in Boston.”

  MacClary’s focus returned instantly. “Fantastic, Jennifer, fantastic! That’s just what we need. We’ll proceed as planned. I’ll contact my friend Alan Montgomery today and ask him to arrange a press conference. If we can’t get any further in Boston, you can present everything to the experts in the field and make the findings of our consultants public. We can’t allow the media to scoop the story and take this out of our hands. Deborah has translated everything, and there are apparently still more surprises waiting for us in the scrolls. We’ll coordinate the timing tomorrow. When do you think Rome will receive the written indictment?”

  “Judging by the speed that Louise displayed today, I’m sure they’ll have it by tomorrow. And if I know Rome, they’ll already have a policy in place for a response.”

  “We just have to hope that Thomas keeps his promise and that our two brave treasure hunters don’t fall flat on their faces in Orvieto.”

  “Yes, we do. We’ll see each other tomorrow in Washington?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  Jennifer hung up, and MacClary turned up the music again before he sat back down in his chair.

  He closed his eyes, gave himself over to the music. Within a few minutes, he was sleeping soundly.

  * * *

  ORVIETO, ITALY – NIGHT

  Deborah had spent the whole day with Adam investigating the dome. They’d been able to find some evidence that there had to be more underneath the structure than just old graves of priests or Etruscans, the original inhabitants of this ancient city.

  “I’m wondering how Ronald knew about this archive,” Adam said suspiciously. “Even the most esoteric conspiracy theories on the Internet have never mentioned anything about it.”

  “He knows what he’s doing. This dome isn’t just some random church, you know. The entire city was constructed by the Etruscans on this rocky plateau. It has a secret labyrinth of cellars, passageways, and cisterns running through it. There’s a reason they talk about a ‘city upon a city,’” Deborah said.

  “You mean, the archive isn’t in the dome? It’s under the rock?”

  “The construction of the dome is based on a legend, the same one from which the Feast of Corpus Christi stems. According to the legend, in 1263 in Bolsena, a little town near here, blood is supposed to have flowed from the Eucharistic bread. But there is another reason I think we’re in the right place: in the Middle Ages, several popes were entrenched here, among them Clement VII. All the secret escape routes and cellars would make it an ideal hiding place.”

  Deborah and Adam looked like a pair of backpackers looking for a hotel late at night. No one took any notice of them as it grew quieter and quieter in the streets around the dome.

  “Wait!”

  Deborah grabbed Adam by the arm. A c
ar approached the dome. They hid behind a corner of the wall and watched as three priests went up to a side door and disappeared into the building.

  “What are they doing here at this hour?”

  “Better late than never.” Deborah grinned.

  Adam pointed to the ventilation shaft they were standing on. “Do you see this exhaust grate? It’s not very old. I can see light down there.”

  They looked at each other in silence, and then a childlike smile spread across Deborah’s face. “Bull’s-eye, Adam. I think this is it,” she whispered. “Now we have to figure out where our late-night supplicants were headed.”

  A quarter of an hour passed as they stood in the dark watching the parked car. Then the priests came out again and drove away. At the same time, the light from the ventilation shaft went out and they stood in complete darkness.

  “This is our only chance, I think,” Adam said as he started to use a crowbar to remove the grate from its frame.

  “Stop! Are you crazy?”

  Deborah took several instruments out of her bag and lit up the shaft. “There’s nothing there. We must not be in the right place. And if there’s no security here...wait a minute...there is something...”

  Deborah shook some fine ash from a small container into the shaft, making it possible to see two moving laser beams. She then lit up the shaft until she could see an electrical circuit behind a casing.

  “Is that it?” Adam asked.

  “Well, I don’t see anything else. It would be far too easy if it were, wouldn’t it? But I’ll test it anyhow.” She took a small netbook out of her bag and placed several firm clamps on the cord. “This is no big deal for Thomas’s program.”

  “Thomas’s program?”

  “Yes, of course. Did you think I wrote it during my free time while I was studying at the university? Still, the security seems flimsy to me. We should be careful.”

  “No, I can see it. We have to go down here, I’m sure.”