The Celtic Conspiracy

by Hansen, Thore D.

  “So my father was right all along.”

  “About what?”

  “If the philosophers, and I include the Druids among them, had managed to secure the favor of the emperor in this small window of time in the fourth century, the Enlightenment would most likely have come much earlier. The Christians, with their systematic persecution of educated people, pressed the cultural stop button.”

  “‘What if,’ Ronald, is one question that historians never ask,” Pascal remarked with a twinkle in his eyes as he started to get ready to leave. “At least not if there’s the slightest chance of anyone overhearing them. Anyhow, what holds for Christian texts would also have to hold for these scrolls. They were written for the people of their time.”

  MacClary nodded his head. “They make statements about the events of their time, Joseph, but that doesn’t tell us the slightest thing about their intended audience. I’m not sure who they were written for. Perhaps the writers knew far more about the concept of time and space than we can imagine. Perhaps they were expecting us.”

  With that, MacClary took his coat, cast a last thoughtful look at the documents, and headed back to his apartment.

  UNITED NATIONS BUILDING, NEW YORK – APRIL 3, MORNING

  It was cold in New York. It had even snowed the night before. In front of the United Nations Building, dozens of journalists were gathered to present live coverage of the first major speech by the relatively new president in front of the United Nations.

  This day would either change the world or Diana Branks would no longer be in office that evening, or both, she had told her advisors, who left the room shaking their heads after they found out what she was planning.

  A special General Assembly of all member states was an exceedingly rare event. The fact that the United Nations Security Council would be meeting two days later heightened the drama even more, as did the fact that the diplomats of the Vatican were no longer being admitted into the assembly.

  Diana Branks felt like a racehorse at the starting gate. She gave a last look at her wristwatch. “Bill, do you have everything?”

  “Yes, of course. And this just came from Rome.”

  “From Rome? Give it here.”

  “The pope requests that we await the results of the hearing before taking further steps that would harm the Church and the state of world peace and—”

  “Oh good, nothing new, then. If you’ve run fresh out of ideas, just lump the well-being of the Church with world peace. I think I can read this later, Bill. Thanks anyhow.”

  “Understood. Good luck, Madam President.”

  Although Bill had experienced quite a lot in his time at the White House, he seemed exceedingly nervous, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

  “What’s wrong, Bill? Still worried about losing your job?” The president gave an ironic smile. “Then we have something in common. But that’s the risk you take, if you’re going to put an end to lies and illusions.”

  * * *

  More than ten thousand demonstrators had gathered in front of the United Nations building. There were fierce confrontations between outraged Christians and opponents of the Vatican. At the same time, throughout the world, more and more influential members of the Church were joining with atheists and Muslims in calling for profound reforms and the avoidance of all violence. The World Council of Churches in Geneva called on Rome to open up a historical debate.

  * * *

  The president entered the hall where three hundred heads of state and diplomats from all over the world were gathered and went to the lectern.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, nations of the world, as I was thinking once again about recent events and the position we will be taking with respect to the claim of the Republic of Ireland, I remembered a statement made by one of our senators during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He said then that it was God’s decision when we die and not that of the president. He was trying to question the ability of the president to make such a monumental and assuredly fateful decision to engage in nuclear war.

  “I would not like to live in a world where I was no longer able or allowed to make profound decisions on my own in my capacity as the president of the United States or in my capacity as a citizen of this planet. I would like to live in a world in which every human being possesses the maturity to take responsibility for their own decisions. I would like a world in which we understand that it is an act of our will, and not divine providence, when we wipe each other off the face of the earth in a war or in reckless acts.

  “If we miss this opportunity to make central decisions about which common values and visions we want to use to construct our future, then we, and our children, no longer have a peaceful future worth living, and that is more certain than a church’s amen. I cannot and will not leave our destiny to a fatalistic belief in God. If we remain on this low level of consciousness, one that only serves our egocentric interests, our questionable needs, then...”

  * * *

  People around the world watched their televisions and computer screens in astonishment over what was unfolding in New York. There were few who didn’t have strong feelings about what was happening here. The president of the United States was dropping the Vatican and calling, in all seriousness, for a new world order.

  In Israel, Jewish and Christian children were sitting and praying together. In Jordan, Muslims were staring at the television and discussing their own faith. And in Austria, the son of an innkeeper started to feel uneasy as he began to understand that, without knowing it, he had been a participant in dramatic events. Yes, they had helped this man who had come from the cave badly injured. They may even have saved his life. Who knew? But when they realized that the Church was mixed up in the case, they had denied everything to the police.

  “We should have told them everything,” he said now to his father, who was raising his hands defensively. “We should never have lied to protect the Church.”

  * * *

  “I have here in front of me, as do you all, the draft of a reform of international law, about which we will have to make a decision in the coming days. In this draft, the experts come to the conclusion that the Vatican is no longer entitled to its old status, independent of the many international lawsuits currently pending against it. But I also see all the important contributions performed by many organizations that are supported by the Vatican and other Christian churches, for peacekeeping missions and humanitarian relief for example.

  “Therefore, I am charging the United States to rescind the Vatican’s recognition as a state under international law and to give every individual organization the status already accorded to other relief organizations within the structures of the United Nations. This will create more parity moving forward. The period in which the Vatican was able to exert direct political influence here and in nations throughout the world is, in our viewpoint, a relic of the past. But it is important that Christian relief organizations and bodies such as the World Council of Churches in Geneva be allowed to continue their work, unimpeded, as nongovernmental organizations.

  “Any and all clerical influence that goes beyond this is to be rejected. The world community should unambiguously unite in rejecting any further religiously motivated politics, and the United States of America will support such a unification.”

  * * *

  After the president had concluded her speech, the Secretary-General was hard-pressed to keep the heated emotions of the pro-Vatican representatives under control before he could turn the floor over to the next speaker.

  Diana Branks sat down in her chair, her knees weak and trembling. She had pushed her luck. Whatever might happen in the days to come, though, she had said what had to be said.

  * * *

  Outside an apartment building near the United Nations building, two passersby were arguing about the position of the Vatican. A poor soul sat on the stairs begging.

  One of the men interrupted the argument and stopped on the stairs.

  “What are you doin
g?” the other asked.

  The first man pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet, went over to the man on the stairs, and placed it in his hat.

  “God provides, God provides,” the beggar said. “Thank you, sir.”

  The man who had given the money turned back to the man he’d been talking with. “What was I doing?”

  “A good deed? Well, yes, that’s brotherly love and sympathy, but—”

  “Do you need a pope for that? A podium for dogma? St. Peter’s Basilica? Do you need thick books, the Bible, showy bishops’ palaces? In short, do you need the Vatican for that?”

  The other man looked at the homeless man who was still enjoying his good fortune as he headed off to get something to eat, and most likely to drink.

  “No.”

  “Now you’ve understood the most important of Jesus’s teachings.”

  * * *

  VIENNA – APRIL 3, MORNING

  In the Austrian Foreign Ministry, State Secretary Anton Schick was looking out of his office window at the Minoritenkirche, one of the oldest churches in Vienna and the center of the Italian-speaking community. For hours his telephone hadn’t stopped ringing since the American embassy had asked for administrative assistance with a rather explosive matter.

  “Who called you?” Schick asked Josef Angerer, who had headed up the group of Austrian archaeologists at the Magdalensberg that discovered nothing but charred remains in a sooty cave.

  “A Mr. Rudolf, Mr. Secretary.”

  “What time was it?”

  “It was one in the morning, and the sun hadn’t yet risen when we got there,” Angerer replied. Ministry staff had been questioning him for hours, trying to figure out why he and his people had gotten to the Magdalensberg so late. All signs pointed to the fact that an official had intentionally waited to pass on the necessary information.

  “And what did you find there?”

  “We could only rescue a couple of artifacts. Shields, swords, some decorative pieces. And one scroll.”

  Schick was quickly checking who had been on duty that night.

  “Good. Wait here, please.”

  The state secretary motioned to two police officers to follow him.

  * * *

  In his office, Alfred Steiber was feverishly busy erasing information from his computer when suddenly, without notice, the door opened and a furious state secretary came into the room. The police officers stood outside the door.

  “Why did you wait four hours before passing on the information to the Archeological Institute?” Schick questioned him threateningly. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  “I don’t understand...”

  “Steiber, don’t make things worse than they already are! I know you have connections with the Vatican. I need you to tell me who instructed you to sit on this information.”

  “Mr. Secretary, I have no idea what instructions you’re referring to. I could see no urgency in the matter. Only after I got a second call from your office did I understand the seriousness of the situation.”

  “I am going to ask you one more time. Who gave you instructions to hold off? I’m warning you, either you tell me immediately who in the Vatican convinced you to do this or I’ll have you arrested on the spot.”

  As if on cue, the two police officers entered the room. When he saw them, Steiber again started frantically pressing the delete button on his computer, but one of the police officers intervened, yanking his hands away from the keyboard.

  “Let go of me, you bastards, I have—aaah!”

  After the police officers had secured the flailing man with handcuffs, Schick sat down in Steiber’s chair. “Now I think we’ll take a closer look at that recycle bin.”

  Minutes passed, during which Schick sat there furiously muttering, occasionally letting an “I can’t believe this!” escape his lips. Then he nodded to the officers. “You can take him away.”

  Hearing all the commotion, the head of the press department came into the room.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Ah, just in time. We have something to do.”

  Completely confused, the department head followed the clearly enraged state secretary to his office.

  ROME – APRIL 3, EARLY MORNING

  The pope had just had a long conversation with the president of the Italian Republic to find out how the Italian authorities would react if the Vatican’s status under international law were to be revoked. All over the Vatican, you could sense how nervous everyone was. Even Lambert’s sly attempt to block the case in Boston wasn’t improving the mood. Meanwhile, thousands of people had gathered in St. Peter’s Square to voice their sympathy.

  John Paul III gave a quick look out the window and sighed. The support of the masses was indeed comforting, but in the last few days he had become painfully aware that the situation was far worse within the holy walls. There were only a few people he could really trust. Lambert had managed over the course of the past several years to portray him to the whole Curia as an unreliable zealot and to enflame fears that this pope would take up the reforms that his predecessors had done away with: the commitment to ecumenism, peace, and conciliation. Many of the alpha dogs who had spent decades protecting their territory were afraid, plain and simple, of losing their positions of power.

  “Holy Father, you sent for me?”

  “Yes, Perona, come in. I hope you’ve set everything in motion.”

  Perona entered the room slowly. “Yes, Holy Father. I just got off the phone with our spokesperson at the UN. It doesn’t seem that they are close to having a majority yet for Ireland’s proposal.”

  “Have you spoken with Cardinal Lambert?”

  “Yes, Holy Father. In spite of everything, he is optimistic that this will all be over tomorrow when Victor Salvoni testifies.”

  “Still, if I read the situation correctly, are we not in illegal possession of scrolls which, either way, are thought to belong to the world’s cultural heritage?”

  “Yes, Holy Father, but, officially, we only subsidized the excavation. In addition, the scrolls aren’t even here.”

  The pope nodded slowly. “Good. Let everything be brought to a central location and make sure that Lambert knows we will be turning all the parchment over to an international delegation.”

  “But how will we explain that?”

  “Quite simply. We exerted influence on the team we hired to make these scientifically important parchments accessible to the general public.” The pope knew, and he assumed Perona did as well, that this wasn’t a huge loss compared to everything else that had been made public.

  Perona seemed to be considering this, and the pope wondered what was really going on in his mind. When it became clear that Perona wasn’t going to respond, he continued. “Just one more request, Perona. I would like you to supply me with a list of all the bishops who are younger than sixty years old and who have distinguished themselves especially through their commitment to social responsibility.”

  “Holy Father, what—”

  “Please, Perona. Even you must realize that we cannot continue as we always have. Even if the situation in New York and Washington ends up resolving to our advantage, without visible and tangible reforms, we will lose more and more.”

  “But Holy Father, our office is inundated with letters expressing the people’s deep affection, hope, and admiration for you.”

  “Yes, of course, Perona! You’ve completely misunderstood me. This isn’t about my successor, it’s about the next cardinals to be named. We need to have less emphasis on politics and concentrate on giving the faithful recognizable signals that this Church doesn’t only consist of internal strife and scandal. That doesn’t remotely suggest that our world doesn’t still need to be spiritually cleansed by the Christian faith. But we need to have people at the forefront who will bring God back to the center of religious, philosophical-scientific, and political thought. You yourself must see how your work for the Pontifical Academy has brought a
renewed public awareness of the mortal sin of abortion and has created a mood of affirmation.”

  “Thank you, Holy Father.”

  “Don’t worry, Perona.” The pope smiled in a fatherly way. “I have one more thing: when Cardinal Lambert returns, tell him that you are no longer his informer.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you really think I don’t know how Lambert has been carrying out his own agenda behind the scenes?”

  “But Holy Father, I would never dream of doing that!”

  “Do you think I don’t know how many popes—both within and outside of these walls—have died a very unnatural death? I do not intend to be the next one.”

  “Understood, Holy Father.”

  * * *

  SUPREME COURT, WASHINGTON, DC – APRIL 3, MORNING

  The white van parked near East Capitol Street. From here there was a good view of the side entrance of the Supreme Court. Here, far from the main entrance, was the one used by the witnesses and justices of the court. The telescopic sight had jammed a bit, but now the weapon was ready, and from a distance of at least three hundred yards there would be enough time to slip away from the scene.

  * * *

  That morning Shane had been in the hotel café with Jennifer and Ronald discussing what lay ahead. Only now was Ronald letting them in on the significance of his secret source. It would put the Vatican lawyers in an untenable position, but MacClary would have to resign if it became necessary to use this source. He had prepared all the documents for that day’s hearing and had put them in an envelope for Jennifer to unveil if there were no other alternative. Now everything depended on whether the justices believed Thomas’s testimony and the photographic evidence from Orvieto.

  “Where’s Deborah?” Shane asked as they entered the courtroom.

  “She’s coming with Ryan,” Jennifer said, looking nervously at her watch. “It’s starting.”