“I am afraid that you are mistaken, Cardinal. As of yesterday you have been removed from office and are no longer a member of the Vatican City State. Here are your termination papers.”
“But that’s absolute insanity. Who...?”
Suddenly Lambert was struck as if by lightning. Morati’s testimony had severely incriminated him, and apparently Rome had already been aware of this testimony before the old man had appeared here. The Vatican’s strategy of getting rid of suspicious employees was backfiring on him.
“The Holy Father personally arranged for your termination, and I don’t believe that you really need an explanation for the rest. Take him away.”
Lambert could feel the cold metal of the handcuffs, along with an unambiguous shove from one of the officers.
In front of the justices’ desk, the paramedics were still fighting to save Ryan’s life. Deborah was kneeling down next to him, looking into the indifferent faces of the bishops. Disgusted by the horrible events unfolding here, a few—but only a few—had discarded their robes.
“Is this how you interpret the message of your prophet? Murder? Lies and betrayal?” she yelled at the group. “You tried to kill this man because he wanted to find his own identity, our identity, because he wanted to bring our culture back to life. I hate you, I hate you...”
Shane came over to her and took her in her arms, her sobs muffled in his jacket.
Ryan could feel the blood coming up his throat and running out of his mouth. “Hey, you heroes...” He grabbed the paramedic’s hand. “Please, just leave me alone with my friends.”
Shane, Deborah, Jennifer, Uncle O’Brian, and MacClary knelt down next to Ryan on the floor.
“Stop talking about hate, Deb. All of you. You have to forgive them. What was it their prophet supposedly said? They know not what they do. You’ll always be able to find me. In here.”
Ryan lay his hand on his heart.
“You’re not alone, do you hear me? You have these people here and you can be sure that they will help you. We’re one big family. You’ll never be alone...I...I love you all. Now bring me home.”
Ryan’s eyes looked up to the ceiling and went still. A trickle of blood spilled out of his mouth.
With a gentle motion, Shane closed Ryan’s eyes. Then he sat back down, wrapped his arms around his knees, and cried like a child. Jennifer was holding Deborah, who had completely broken down in sobs.
Hidden beneath the raw surface of a healthy friendship, a great love had grown between Thomas Ryan and Deborah Walker, unseen: in the crazy years with MacClary, with the lectures and all the conspiracy theories that they had concocted together; in the countless hours in Dublin’s pubs, where they had dauntlessly argued with everyone about the true legacy of the Celts; on the fields of the short summer in Cork; at the sacrificial stones of their ancestors, always with the feeling that there must be another way to life, one where the respect for nature was closer to that which the indigenous peoples had always had.
High above them, the justices of the Supreme Court were shocked and paralyzed with horror. Suddenly there was absolute quiet in the courtroom. Only Deborah’s sobs could still be heard. She seemed to be miles away as she gently brushed Ryan’s hair out of his face. She took her handkerchief and wiped the blood out of the corners of his mouth. The others were all kneeling down next to her.
As Shane was watching this, he was suddenly overcome with a strange feeling, almost a premonition of things to come. He stood up and waved Jennifer to the side. “Jennifer, the dismissal of Salvoni and this cardinal isn’t just a strategic move. It’s an act of desperation. I think there’s a bitter power struggle raging in the Vatican right now. A pope is elected for a life term. That means he dies in office, one way or another, do you understand? When the president showed us the limitations of her own power, I realized that this all-too-human situation applies to the pope as well. I have to get there, fast.”
“But Adam...I...I mean...we need you here.”
Shane looked around. In the middle of the courtroom, several people were gathering around Ryan’s body while the guards led Salvoni and Lambert out.
“I know. I hate to go, but I have to do it.”
“But Deborah needs you! I need you! Or maybe I’m just afraid that something will happen to you.”
“Don’t worry. I know that nothing will happen to me. It’s not about me now. Trust me. Perhaps this whole insanity will be over soon.”
“Hold me,” Jennifer said softly.
Shane nodded and held her tight. He could feel her fear. “We’ll see each other in Dublin. I promise.”
After the paramedics had laid Ryan’s body on the gurney and brought him out of the courtroom, the chief justice adjourned the hearing until the next day.
Tomorrow the decision would be made.
VATICAN CITY, ROME – APRIL 3, EVENING
International reactions to the dramatic events in Washington were not long in coming. Within the walls of Vatican City, the cardinals and priests, as well as the pope, watched in shock as the events unfolded on their screens. Three Latin American cardinals had announced their resignations and were calling for reforms.
Pope John Paul III was sitting at his enormous desk, putting the finishing touches on a letter to the secretary-general of the United Nations. It was an urgent plea for forgiveness for the actions of his subordinates, who were, after all, only human and therefore fallible. The letter hadn’t been easy for the pope to write; he had lived far too long with the idea of inviolability and infallibility. However, as news of the escalation in Washington reached the Vatican, the mood in St. Peter’s Square changed as well. People were chanting for him to make a statement, their unanimous support apparently a thing of the past, and he was devastated by reports of people around the world leaving the Church.
The pope had not yet named a successor to Cardinal State Secretary Lambert. This power vacuum was causing utter confusion in the College of Cardinals regarding the pontiff’s next step. How much would Lambert’s actions spill over from his own office and affect the fate of the Vatican?
“Holy Father?” Cardinal Catamo said from the doorway.
“Come in, Catamo, come in and sit down. But please, no more bad news.”
“I have at least a pale ray of hope to offer you, Holy Father, that in the end only Lambert, Salvoni, and of course Morati will be held accountable for this matter. But we have to be clearer in distancing ourselves from these events. We have to speak in plain words and characterize the events as what they were: a conspiracy within the Vatican that we deeply regret. Your efficiency concerning the parchments and the dismissals—”
“Don’t be naïve, Catamo. You have your finger on the pulse of public opinion. The enemies of our church are whetting their knives now, but that’s nothing new or surprising. We’ve been suppressing their voices or waiting them out for centuries now. But if we don’t tend to our own people now, the ones that live in the dioceses and parishes, then we really will lose ground. I have an open letter here that was published yesterday in newspapers all around Europe. Since then, the letter has received hundreds of thousands of supporters on the Internet. It’s like a tsunami.”
The pope gave Catamo the page from the newspaper. The open letter asked when the church would abandon its own teachings about violence, referencing St. Augustine, who hailed torture as a cure for the soul, or St. Thomas of Aquinas, who thought that unbelievers should be sent to the state executioner. It spoke at length about Emperor Constantine, who adulterated the bible and the history of Jesus Christ. Its main question, however, was this: how many people would have to die before the Church put out the fire at its stake?
The cardinal only gave a cursory glance to the opening, then handed it back. “But Holy Father, that’s not what our Church is anymore.”
“Isn’t it? As long as all Christians indirectly feel that they share responsibility for the crimes of the cardinals and even the popes, we are this old Church. People think that w
e only stopped burning at the stake under pressure from human rights movements, Catamo.”
Catamo shot a concerned look at the door. He guessed that the camerlengo was standing outside and listening. Every snippet of conversation that he managed to hear could be dangerous. “We are not alone, Holy Father.”
“So be it. In the catechism of my predecessors, it is said that for the harm that our sins cause to another we must do everything possible to make reparations. Catamo, I think it’s time that we mustered a bit more courage.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“We have to overcome the fear of change and concentrate on the spirit of our faith and its core values. We can no longer overlook reality, Catamo. I would like to call a meeting of the cardinals in the Basilica the day after tomorrow. This is the time to call for a Third Vatican Council. If we want to have a future, we must take responsibility for the past, and we must speak about it.”
The pope handed Catamo a draft for a press release. Catamo looked at the release and sat down heavily.
“Don’t look like that, Catamo, as if a council were the end.”
“When...when should I release this, Holy Father?”
“For now, just hold on to it. And have the security in front of my rooms increased.” The pope’s earlier tiredness had given way to a renewed energy, even as it was tinged with worry and sympathy for the man sitting across from him. Would Catamo stand up to the pressure and remain loyal? “Give that to the press while I am speaking with the cardinals. Not a minute before then.”
“But they haven’t even reached a decision in Washington yet.”
“Yes they have, Catamo. I am sure of it.”
Catamo took a moment to absorb this statement. “Holy Father, I have another message for you. Adam Shane would like to speak with you again.”
This caught the pope by surprise. “Adam Shane? Did he say what it was about?”
“He called me an hour ago. He said he was just following an instinct, that only in the last several days had he begun to understand many things, and he wanted to warn you about something. I found this somewhat cryptic, but that’s all I could get from him.”
“Now, Catamo, I think that could be a conciliatory gesture that would benefit us all. Tell him he should come any time. Now, if that’s all, let Perona in before his ears slip through the keyhole. Thank you, Catamo. May the Lord protect you.”
With his right hand, the pope blessed Catamo, who was already opening the door to the anteroom.
Outside the door there were only the usual guardsmen. No sign of Perona.
“Holy Father, the camerlengo is no longer here.”
“Very well. Please remember the security request.”
* * *
WASHINGTON, DC – AFTERNOON
Shane was in his hotel room packing up a few things for his trip. Deborah, Jennifer, and Ronald had driven to the forensic analysis department at the FBI. They still hadn’t clearly established the identity of the shooter, but initial evidence pointed to a former CIA agent who had moved in the circles of the so-called Legionaries of Christ and had been in contact with Victor Salvoni.
Shane sat down on the bed. His flight was in a couple of hours. He still had a little time, and he tried to reach Jennifer one last time. After the second ring, she picked up, and a mixture of relief and tenderness flowed over him.
“Jennifer, it’s me. I just wanted to hear your voice for a minute,” he said, trying to sound calm. “How is Deborah doing?”
“About as well as can be expected, which means not well at all. Have you seen the news?”
“No, why?”
“It’s unbelievable. I had thought that the violent protests would increase when it came out, but they haven’t.”
“When what came out?”
“It’s virtually certain that the majority in the United Nations will vote to rescind the recognition of the Vatican as a state. Most of them are demanding above all the surrender of the cultural artifacts that do not belong to the Vatican. Adam, this doesn’t just affect the parchments. They’re demanding that the Vatican archives be made open to exploration by a UN commission, and—”
“That’s fantastic! When?”
“It won’t happen that fast. Don’t forget that Italy still stands in the way. It will probably be weeks before all of this is formalized, and that’s being optimistic.”
“Yes, I understand, but still, it’s a devastating sign. And I can’t imagine, especially after Morati’s testimony, that anyone will cause any more trouble.”
“Yes, devastating is a good word for it. In any case, it will put more pressure on the justices not to view this as just the acts of Salvoni and Lambert. Still, don’t forget that Morati was shielding the pope. So please, Adam, if you really think you have to go there, take care of yourself. I have a very bad feeling.”
“Where will you be after the court makes its decision?”
“We’ll be flying straight to Dublin. Ronald wants to talk with Ms. Copendale. She’s probably completely beside herself.”
“I still don’t understand what she has to do with this.”
“I don’t either. Will you come to meet us when you leave Rome?”
“I’ll be there. You couldn’t keep me away.”
Shane hung up and leaned back. Suddenly, he could feel Thomas’s presence. He caught sight of the parchment that Deborah had secretly snuck out of the laboratory. It had the same symbol on it as the stone where Shane had had his last vision.
That feeling of clarity and pain overwhelmed him again as he thought of how many generations had been betrayed, murdered, and banished. Incredibly, the older scholars and Druids had apparently accepted their fate with stoic calm. He could feel them as they wandered through Europe, harassed and hunted down, never able to settle anywhere. They simply kept moving westward, finally finding safety on the island where all paths ended. But how was it possible that these family trees had been passed down for so long? Why were they only now being discovered? It couldn’t be a coincidence. Something was missing from the puzzle. Maybe he would learn more, or understand more, when he was in Rome.
WASHINGTON, DC – APRIL 4, MORNING
Waking up was horrible the next morning. MacClary had hardly been able to shut his eyes, still feeling intensely guilty about Ryan, even though Deborah had tried to assure him the night before that Ryan was solely responsible for his decisions and that she didn’t blame anyone for his death. MacClary managed to struggle out of bed and hoped that he would get back to Dublin in time to help Ruth Copendale understand what had happened. She rarely watched television, but she must have read the newspapers by now.
The streets were full and he was so late that he nearly missed the last meeting. In front of the Supreme Court there was dead silence. After the assassination the day before, the buffer zone had been enlarged. Security had been increased and armed security officers could be seen everywhere. When the first busses with the cardinals and bishops arrived, the atmosphere seemed even more haunting. In their red-and-black robes, they went up the steps to the main hall.
* * *
Jennifer and Deborah had ridden in a bus with most of the Irish families. A depressive mood lay over them. O’Brian and Sarah had been talking with Jennifer about why the court might still dismiss the case. The pressure on the justices was too intense. No one knew for sure if they would rule according to the facts of the case or if they would still take the political situation into account. Since the pope himself had gotten involved by dismissing Salvoni and Lambert and handing over the parchments, the uncertainty had only increased.
Sarah was the first to get out of the bus, waiting for Deborah at the bottom of the stairs. She gave her a concerned look. “Do you think you’ll make it?”
“I have to, Sarah. I owe it to Thomas. I owe it to myself. I just hope this is over fast. Then I just want to go home with all of you.”
As Jennifer was getting out of the bus, she was suddenly afraid. Shane was going
to meet with the pope shortly after the pronouncement. She looked up into the clear, cloudless sky.
Deborah was standing next to her, looking searchingly into her worried face, and folded her arms around her for a brief instant.
* * *
When MacClary arrived at the court through a back entrance, Chief Justice Barbara Andrews was already in front of the conference room, waiting for him.
“Good morning, Ronald.”
“Good morning, Barbara. I hope you got some sleep, at least.”
“Not really. But we did arrive at a decision. We have decided to approve the motion. Only Faster was against it at the beginning, but he finally changed his mind after we made it clear to him the importance of a unanimous decision. Not counting your abstention, of course.”
MacClary looked at the ruling. They had all followed his lead. This exceeded even his wildest expectations, but at that moment he could only feel profound exhaustion. There was simply no room for joy.
“Good. Then let’s get this over with,” he said, heading toward the conference room to put on his robe, most likely for the last time in his life.
“Ronald.” The chief justice looked at him reflectively. “We would like you to be the one to read the decision aloud. We think you’ve more than earned it,” she said.
* * *
The marshal announced the justices for the last time in this hearing. The chief justice announced that the decision would be read by Ronald MacClary.
The tension in the courtroom was palpable.
“I will now read the decision,” MacClary said. Suddenly he could feel his emotions. The grief at the horrible loss of a friend. The relief that this tension would soon be behind him. The joy of victory. The appreciation for everything that had happened in the last several days and weeks. And the deep bond with his father. Today the history of the world would be changed, and an era of lies and crimes in the name of faith would finally end.
MacClary looked at the back wall of the courtroom and took a deep breath before beginning to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, I abstained from voting on the motion made by the district attorney’s office in Boston because of my personal involvement in the case.”
The Celtic Conspiracy Page 29
