The Celtic Conspiracy

by Hansen, Thore D.

  “There is one thing I cannot do, Holy Father,” President Branks said sharply, her face crimson. “I cannot and will not interfere with our judiciary. If your lawyers are unable to get the case dismissed, my hands are tied. I can make sure that news of the case is not leaked to the public, for now, but that is all I can do.”

  Axton groaned inwardly. The last thing this president needed now was a dispute with the Vatican. If it should get out, it would turn a huge number of voters against the Democrats, and that would give the Republicans that much more fuel for the fire they wanted to set for her.

  “Yes, Holy Father, I promise you that I will take care of the matter personally,” the president said. There was a pause as the pope spoke. “Thank you, Holy Father.”

  After that, she hung up the phone. Her advisors, who had been unable to avoid listening in, looked at her questioningly. She looked around the room. “Everyone out. Bill, you stay here. Ask the justice to come here immediately, and find out in which court the charges are being brought. I want it on my desk by five this afternoon.”

  “Yes, Madam President, I’ll take care of it. What about your appointment in the Cabinet Room?”

  “Cancel it, and tell MacClary that he has until six tonight to show up here. Oh, and another thing. I need tomorrow’s speech by eight tonight. I’m going to need to make some changes.”

  * * *

  MACCLARY’S APARTMENT, WASHINGTON, DC – MARCH 24, AFTERNOON

  MacClary hung up the phone and looked resignedly out his window at the dome of the Capitol. As they had hoped, Boston had dismissed the case due to lack of evidence. The call he had just received from the White House hinted that the judge in Boston had acted so quickly because someone in Washington had lent a helping hand.

  The first summons to the White House had been extended in a relatively friendly fashion. This one sounded much more like a command. What in the devil had gotten into the president? He had taken her completely into his confidence. Would she crumble after all out of fear of public opinion?

  He was interrupted by the ringing of his doorbell. He stood up slowly and walked to the door.

  “Adam, Deborah, Jennifer. Come in.”

  “Guess what, Ronald?” Adam said. “The head of the institute confirmed in his report that the parchment comes from the same period as the trove we found in Austria. The pollen and radiocarbon analysis can’t lie. Exactly as we had hoped! It’s proof that it came from the cave.”

  MacClary looked at him, confused. Then he shook his head to clear it and come back to the present. “Excuse me, I was somewhere else. First off, my hearty congratulations to you both. I have to say, you both showed a great deal of courage doing this.”

  “And we needed it when they were shooting at us,” Deborah added.

  MacClary gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday? That means they know you were there! Damn it!” MacClary slammed his fist against the wall.

  “That’s unlikely,” Deborah said, “since we were only there a few seconds. We had just enough time to take some photos, grab one of the scrolls, and get out of there. If we’re lucky, they won’t notice anything missing.”

  “Well, there’s nothing to be done. We can’t waste any time.”

  Jennifer walked over to his desk, where she saw the fax from the district court in Boston. “When did you get this?”

  “A few minutes ago. I should have called you right away.”

  “But this is what you wanted,” Jennifer said in astonishment. “I’ll pass on everything to the Supreme Court tonight and then—”

  “Wait, Jennifer. I just got an unpleasant call from the White House, and I can assure you it wasn’t a casual invitation to tea. Something isn’t right there. I’ll need your help now to move forward. So I’d like to ask you all to come with me to the White House.”

  * * *

  “I hope the president is aware that you aren’t coming alone,” Axton said politely.

  “No, but she’ll soon find out,” MacClary answered with a slightly arrogant grin.

  “As you wish.”

  When they found themselves standing in front of the president a bit later, Shane could feel his hands starting to sweat.

  “Ronald, what is the meaning of this?” the president asked sharply.

  “Madam President, may I introduce you to Adam Shane and Deborah Walker, two of the three people who were involved in retrieving the artifacts in Austria,” MacClary said confidently. “And Jennifer Wilson, a lawyer friend of mine who has joined with the district attorney in Boston as a prosecutor of the case in Thomas Ryan’s name. He has been missing since the retrieval of the documents we’ve discussed in Austria and is supposedly being hunted down in Italy as a terrorist, an apparent use of targeted misinformation from the Vatican.”

  “Stop, Ronald! This can’t all be true! I personally spoke with the pope today on the telephone and—”

  “And he will have knowingly or unknowingly avoided telling you the whole truth,” MacClary said, trying to preempt an accusation.

  “The Vatican wants to ensure that they are not connected with the events in Austria. The responsibility for the so-called attack belongs with a one-time member of the Vatican police, who was relieved of duty last year and—”

  “Excuse me, Madam President, but that is impossible.” Shane heard his own voice sounding unnaturally loud in the room before he was even conscious of the fact that he had spoken. “We were able to obtain proof that certain artifacts from the Magdalensberg cave, which would cause quite a stir when viewed in the light of Church history, are being kept in a Vatican archive.”

  “Is this true, Ronald?”

  MacClary hesitated for a moment. “Yes, Madam President, and that means that the Vatican is quite definitely behind this. They didn’t have all the facts in Boston and were apparently not all that concerned with motive.”

  “How do you know they have all the facts in Rome? Do you think I always know what my ministers, my party, or the CIA are fighting out behind my back? Do you know how often I have to back a decision that I know nothing about and that I still have to accede to? So much for the power of my office, Ronald.”

  Ronald was well aware of the exposed position Diana was in, and it almost made him sorry that this had all come up during her tenure. On the other hand, she had the fighting spirit the situation needed.

  “Diana, that’s not the whole story. I’d like to ask for your trust. Let us explain everything to you now.”

  The president balled up her fists. Then she went to her desk and pressed the speaker button of her telephone. “Bill? I’m not to be disturbed for the next half hour,” she said before turning back to her visitors with a sigh.

  NIZZANI COUNTRY HOUSE, ITALY – MARCH 24, AFTERNOON

  Ryan sat on the terrace, a glass of red wine in his hand, as he looked at the gorgeous Italian Alps. In the midday light, enveloped in fog, they looked like giant watchmen, millions of years old. How small and insignificant these couple of thousand years had been when humankind, in its egocentric way, believed it could rule the planet, instead of living in natural harmony with the earth. He needed to keep reminding himself that an increasing number of people were becoming aware of this. Langster had brought him to a friend, a very wealthy doctor, who had treated his wounds and given him a place to stay where he could recover for at least a bit. The whole time he was plagued by thoughts about what had happened. How was he going to explain to the others why he had been labeled a terrorist? Langster had forbidden him to pick up the phone, but he couldn’t wait anymore.

  “Well, how does it feel to be a member of one of the oldest families in the world?” Langster joked as he sat across from him.

  “Oh, better, much better. But it doesn’t seem to be sitting all that well with other people.”

  “I’m sorry, but I need a couple more days to get you back to Washington safely. You’re still on the Italian police’s wanted list. The doctor has said he’s willing to take you to Washington i
n his private jet as soon as it’s possible, and then—”

  The thought of more time out of contact made Ryan’s heart lurch. “Brian, I can’t wait that long. There’s too much at stake. I have to at least let them know that I’m alive.”

  Langster said nothing for a second and then locked eyes with Ryan. “Of course. Here, here’s my cell phone. Try to keep it under a minute.” In Ireland, he had always had a reputation for being exceedingly cautious. His successes spoke for themselves; no one had yet been able to track him down.

  “Thank you, Brian, I’ll be brief.”

  * * *

  WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC – MARCH 24, EVENING

  After a good hour, Shane, Deborah, Jennifer, and Ronald left the president’s office. All of them were beaming. Even MacClary’s relief was written all over his face.

  “Ronald, you can depend on my people,” the president had said. “We’ll find Thomas Ryan and bring him safely home as soon as he gets to the airport.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about this before?” Jennifer asked when they got into the corridor. She was still completely bewildered by the information that Ronald had kept to himself until now.

  “Quite simply, I promised. And please, Jennifer, not a word to Ms. Copendale. She knows him and has no idea about his past. That goes for you two as well.”

  Deborah nodded obediently. Shane didn’t say anything. In the last hour, the president had honestly and bluntly admitted how limited their options really were and how powerful Rome’s influence still was. Even in the United States, elections were still won based on religious faith.

  But what had impressed Shane the most was the president’s idea of a shift in economic policy. She’d had several books open on her desk written by the most renowned scientific philosophers and alternative economic theorists. It all boiled down to a complete renunciation of an economy based on growth. The president’s ideas about a new worldwide ethic were a revelation to Shane, a revelation that he had given up believing could be possible.

  Ronald and Shane had been able to convince her to play along, but the game was a long way from being won. Ryan was still missing, maybe even dead. They had no idea what Rome had up its sleeve to make it look like its hands were clean. That left only Ronald’s secret source—and even that was unpredictable.

  “If she gives this speech in front of the United Nations, she’ll be out of the game,” Ronald commented, a bit too coldly for Shane’s taste.

  “You will be too, Ronald,” Shane replied.

  “What? Yes, that’s possible, but I’m assuming that the president will be giving one justice after the other a good talking to and that she will insist on them following their juristic obligations and not their beliefs. What was that text you gave her that helped changed her mind?”

  “In the last few days I have felt so completely overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, and after I was shot at for the first time in my life, I could suddenly sense Ryan. Now don’t look at me like that. I really did sense him, as if he were right there next to me. It was eerie, but I was stomping around in his past...” Shane trailed off for a moment before continuing. “I was thinking about the symbol in the chamber again, the spiral of life, and about what Ryan had told me about the field of memories, in which everything that has ever happened is stored in what amounts to an enormous databank. If I correctly understand the parchment of the Druids that deals with space and time, each one of us can travel in this spiral of time. We can use our experiences if we seize the information and if we are open to the possibility of understanding history not in a linear path, but as the sum of all experiences. The more people who do this, the more this experience will escalate, until it has reached a critical mass that is prepared to develop a new consciousness from the sum of these experiences.”

  “Not necessarily a new consciousness, Adam,” Deborah added, “but in any case one that is bound with a life characterized by balance and harmony with the land and the earth. The end of all the bedlam.”

  Shane nodded vigorously. “Exactly. There would come a moment when a high official, an ideal ruler, in an historic or mystical instant would grab the world’s attention by initiating a noble and benevolent government. This government would escape the confines of time and space because of its experience and love for creation. It will find itself at a point of intersection where it will have to act with integrity and authenticity.”

  Ronald looked at him, astonished. “That’s what Thomas has been talking about for years.”

  “But what does that have to do with the president?” Deborah asked.

  “She is standing at the point of intersection. Her willingness to act, without thinking about her own ego, for the benefit of all life, is what the Druids called the King of Worlds.”

  “And the Christians called him the Messiah,” Deborah added.

  “Yes. It’s just that the Church has completely distorted this, and in so doing, has actually prevented the coming of the Messiah. We’re not talking about a person or even a form, but about the coming of a new consciousness that can realize its potential in each one of us. It doesn’t matter which religion you look at: the Messiah, the Savior, or the good ruler, they’re all really just synonyms for humankind’s longing for a higher consciousness. That means that the president herself is no shining light; she is just the point of intersection where everything connects. Just like in set theory.”

  Shane felt as though he could suddenly understand everything. That’s what the return of the Druids meant: a state of consciousness that made it impossible to go against the laws of nature and balance. People had to take responsibility for their own salvation.

  “She will give the speech,” Ronald said, “I’m sure of it. Now I understand why she finds the impending conflict with Rome so useful.”

  “But Adam, why do you think the president is this person?” Jennifer asked.

  Shane shrugged. “I just know. I can’t give you any other reason. That’s the vision I had. And to get back to your earlier question, that’s why I greeted her with the short, inspirational greeting of our ancestors.”

  * * *

  Just then Ronald’s cell phone rang.

  “MacClary.”

  “Ronald, it’s Thomas.”

  “My God, Thomas! Where in the devil are you? Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been? The latest news reports were a shock for all of us, and—”

  “Ronald, I’m so sorry. I hadn’t counted on anything like that either and—”

  “How can they simply label you an IRA terrorist when you were fighting against them? The Italian police can’t be manipulated that easily!”

  “I’ll explain everything when I’m back in Washington. It’ll be another couple of days, though, because I’m still on the wanted list. I’m getting some papers and I’ll be flown to Washington on a private jet.”

  “Take care of yourself, Thomas! And remember, you have to come see me first. We’ve already gotten quite a few things rolling here. Right now I’m standing in front of the White House. They’ll help you in any way they can when you’ve landed, and hopefully you’ll soon be standing in front of the Supreme Court.” Normally no witnesses were heard in a case tried before the Supreme Court, but in this case, the justices would hardly be able to object. They had made too many mistakes in Boston.

  “Understood. I’ll contact you again when I have more specific info. How are Adam and Deborah? Did they get everything back safely?”

  “Not only that, Thomas, but Adam has blossomed into a real Irishman. If you knew what the two of them have been up to...”

  “That’s good, but I didn’t really expect anything less. I rarely make mistakes with people, Ronald. I have to get off now. I’ll call again tomorrow. Thanks for everything.”

  “I’ll take care of—” Ryan had already hung up.

  Relieved, the justice looked around at the present company. “Now let the old men in Rome play their games. We’ll do what we discussed with the president
. Jennifer, have you finished the documents?”

  “Of course. They’re already at the court. You just have to set a hearing.”

  SUPREME COURT, WASHINGTON, DC – MARCH 26, MORNING

  MacClary had spent the whole morning thinking about how he could create some confusion in Rome. What did they already know? What were they afraid of, and what was their next move?

  Suddenly he jumped up and scrambled through his notebook for the telephone number for Edonardo Vasaci, a journalist in a Roman news agency. He’d been combing his memory for the name.

  The phone rang for quite a while before Vasaci finally picked up.

  “Hello, Signore Vasaci, I hope you still remember me.”

  “Honorable Justice! I’d recognize your voice anywhere! Tell me you have another story for me. I still owe you for the last one.”

  “No, no,” MacClary said, smiling. “This time you can pay me back for the last time.” Several years ago, MacClary had passed on some sensational information to Vasaci about the government of Andreotti.

  MacClary could hear a vacuum cleaner outside the door of his apartment. The cleaning service was making its weekly rounds. This was one of those moments when he longed for Dublin. He was sick of the noises in this town; it never rested. “I would be incredibly grateful if you could float a story for me. It won’t be long. I’ll call you back when you can retract it as a hoax.”

  “Understood, Justice. I’ll do anything for the story, even thumb my nose at my job.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  MacClary knew he could depend on Vasaci. When they’d finished talking, it was time to meet with the other justices. The president should have had the chance by now to exert her influence on them. He picked up the phone again.

  “Mr. Carrington, I’ll need a ride in twenty minutes.”