The Celtic Conspiracy (23 page)

“Damn it all to hell!”

Ryan gritted his teeth, pulled himself up with a groan, and ran to one of the piles. Carefully he climbed over the fortification, took a wild leap, and landed on a platform where he could get at the ladder. His pursuers were still behind him. The helicopter flew level with the bridge. Shots ricocheted off the cement. He climbed down the pile with as much speed as care, out of range of the shooters. More shots followed. Then he heard the helicopter turn around, obviously unable to fly under the bridge.

Ryan stepped on the last rung of the ladder. As he reached the bottom, he was alone. His pursuers seemed to have disappeared, and there was only one lone policeman who looked down from the bridge as he got to the valley floor and ran away.

“Damn it, what good will it do you to kill me?” Ryan swore in desperation. Then he ran, his face distorted with pain, alongside the river to a nearby farm, as he heard the helicopter return. He reached the other bank and hid himself behind the farm in the undergrowth.

He had to get out. But how? Ryan knew he only had a few minutes until his pursuers picked up his trail again. Not far from where he was hidden, he could see the country road that he had to follow, but he would never be able to make it, not under his own steam and not with a bevy of well-armed people pursuing him.

Desperate, he looked around, his gaze sweeping the river and the fields surrounding the farm. The only living thing he could see was a black horse, contentedly grazing near a shed. Ryan thought for only a few seconds, then he ran in the direction of the shed as another shot crossed his path from some direction or another. There was no time for saddle and halter. As a child, he had been able to win the trust of nearly every horse he met. He hoped now that he hadn’t lost this skill.

He ran to the little paddock and laid his hand on the forehead of the gelding.

“I need your strength and your help. Please let me lead you.”

Then he climbed on the horse’s back and they galloped off. Ryan heard the regular rhythm of the hooves on the stone, felt the horse’s mane blow in his face.

They reached the riverbed when Ryan heard the helicopter approaching from behind. Shots narrowly missed him again. “Faster!” Ryan shouted, encouraged by the sight of the looming forest and the rising mountains. There was a ditch that he had to get across. Another shot just under the hooves made the horse jump so high with fear that he crossed over the gap in one enormous leap, making Ryan almost lose his seat. They were almost there. The helicopter turned from its pursuit because of an approaching cliff. Once in the protection of the trees, the path up the mountain traversed boulders and spruce brush.

Ryan gave the horse a friendly pat on his sweaty neck. “You’re quite the hotshot, aren’t you?” he said, surprised at what an amazing animal he had found just standing on the wayside. They slowed down a bit, and Ryan could see, about a hundred yards away, the inn and the red camper Brian Langster had told him to look for. It was closer than he’d expected.

Relieved, he urged the horse into a gallop and rode down the side road. He could already see his contact standing and waiting for him. Langster took a nervous leap toward his car as the unknown horse came galloping at him like a huge black projectile. Ryan stopped directly in front of the little black Fiat and dismounted with an elegant sweep, landing directly in front of Langster.

He threw his arms around the neck of the horse, who was now breathing heavily, and closed his eyes. “Thank you, my friend, thank you,” Ryan said softly and gave the horse a pat on his hindquarters to get him on his way back home. “Well, sometimes one horsepower is all you need.” Ryan turned to Langster. “We have to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

“I’m going to bring you to a doctor who’s a friend of mine,” Langster said. “From there you can continue on to the States. But we’re maintaining radio silence because we can’t take any risks. As soon as you’re in the air, you can contact your friends again. Do you understand?”

“Understood.”

It would be hard for the others to go days with no word from him, but it was necessary. His bruised body needed the rest.

On the first floor of the Supreme Court Building, there is a conference room set aside for the justices. This is where decisions are made, judgments are written, and where trial votes are held on camera to decide whether the court should take a case.

Ronald was nervous. He had no idea how much his fellow justices already knew and how they would react when he brought them into the loop. Until just a few days ago, his activities in the area of Church history had been his own private affair. They weren’t looked on too kindly, but as long as he didn’t attract too much attention, they were tolerated in silence. But now he would have to explain himself. He had to stop any attempts to attack him and undermine his authority. However, bringing a case forward that hadn’t yet been heard, dismissed, or appealed in a district court was a risky business. In the end, all he could do was entrust the matter to his colleagues and wait for their reaction. Most of the justices
who had been named by the last four presidents were conservative Christians, but their duty lay with the law, with the Constitution, and not with the Vatican.

As he entered the conference room, there was only one justice there. “Good morning, Ronald,” the man said to the astonished MacClary. “I’ve just heard that Justice Courtney is ill; the session has been cancelled. Didn’t anyone tell you?” Justice Bob Johnson was a small, very thin man with gray-flecked hair and a thin mustache. At seventy-five, he was one of the oldest justices on the Supreme Court.

Dumbfounded, MacClary looked at his colleague. “No, but this isn’t good at all.” For a few seconds he stared at the huge, empty conference table, and then he had a realization. He’d been given the opportunity to talk privately with one of the most liberal justices on the court.

“Here’s the thing, Bob. I’ve been summoned to the White House for a meeting at five this evening. I don’t exactly know what’s waiting for me there, but it might have to do with certain affairs in Dublin that—”

“I think I have an idea what it’s about,” Johnson interrupted. “Did you really think that your private feud with the Catholic Church wouldn’t have any consequences?”

MacClary sat down, baffled. What had happened?

“Don’t look at me as if you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re lucky that none of the big newspapers have found out about it yet,” Johnson said as he placed an Austrian newspaper in front of MacClary that contained
an article about the suspicious interruption of MacClary’s lecture.

MacClary breathed a bit easier. “Oh, that! No, Bob, that was irritating, but hardly a reason to reproach me. There was nothing in that lecture that hasn’t already been said by others. No, there’s another problem. I accidentally discovered that my residence had been bugged.”

“What? Who in God’s name...”

MacClary took a deep breath. As unpleasant as it was, he had to lie to one of his best friends on the court.

“We don’t know, but I can assure you that I haven’t had any conversations about our activities over the last several weeks. When I’m there, I am, as you know, in another world. I hardly even answer the telephone. The Guantanamo story came up once, but the bugs hadn’t been put in place yet, if the experts are to be believed,” MacClary said.

“Good, that’s something at least. Still, the whole matter is, at the very least, extremely unsettling. Is there any evidence to suggest who did this?”

“Unfortunately, no, we don’t have any ideas aside from the usual suspects. We may never know for sure who’s behind it. But there is something else I’d like to discuss with you, off the record. We’re apparently about to get a pretty explosive case. I’ve heard from a lawyer friend of mine that the district attorney’s office in Boston intends to bring charges up against the Vatican sometime in the next few days. I don’t know the details of the case yet, but she signaled that if it were dismissed she would appeal to the Supreme Court.”

“Really, Ronald, I don’t understand you. What kind of a parcel of goods are you trying to sell? You’re going to get into a lot of trouble if you keep up like this, especially right after this last controversy. You might even be accused of bias because of your private disputes.”

“No, I don’t think so. We don’t even know what this is really about yet. I just want to know where the justices as a whole stand if a Christian institution were to be on trial.”

“That’s a very good, very prudent question, and you can score some superficial points with that, but in actuality, it doesn’t matter in the least. I can assure you that you won’t be able to get a majority, even if—”

“Even if it concerns attempted murder, theft of cultural assets, and the destruction of evidence in a case of historical genocide?”

“What? How do you know that? You just said you don’t know the details of the case. How am I supposed to trust you if—”

“Wait a minute, Bob. I really don’t know exactly, but it might go that way. The question is whether a majority of the justices, when faced with such a magnitude of charges, would speak against the Vatican.” MacClary had stood up again. He was starting to get nervous. He was worried he might be completely overwhelming Johnson.

“Well, we swore our oath of office on the Bible, not on the Vatican. In this respect I consider our colleagues to have absolute integrity. But even if I’m right about that, what purpose will be served by the prosecution of a country
where almost all the officials have immunity? Honestly, I really don’t understand where this nonsense will lead, aside from you ruining your reputation and running the risk of losing your position.”

“Bob, we’ll have to see. I’m grateful that you haven’t lost faith in me. I don’t know where this journey will take us, but rest assured: even if I know a lot about the early Church and the crimes of the Vatican, that in no way, shape, or form makes me a biased justice.”

“Ronald, you don’t have to convince me of anything. I’m no great friend of the Vatican myself, and I consider its claim to omniscience and infallibility more than a little questionable. But there are seven other justices, and I have no idea what the majority will think. If there is enough hard and fast proof, they’ll engage in a confrontation like this. But that’s the problem, since the prosecution will falter when it comes to the examination and acknowledgment of the evidence. You shouldn’t have any illusions about that, and my advice to you is to vote, here in this room, to refuse to hear the case. Otherwise your career might be over soon.” Johnson stood up, got his briefcase, and headed toward the door. “Don’t let your obsessions control you, Ronald. The Church has less and less sway in the world, even without your judgment. Don’t you watch the news anymore?”

“Yes, I do. You’re probably right. We’ll wait and see, Bob.”

Johnson walked out of the conference room without saying another word. MacClary could hear his footsteps
fading away on the marble floor. He sat down at the conference table and rested his head heavily on his hands. The conversation had clarified several important points for him. Jennifer and her district attorney would need all the support he could muster for them. Adam and Deborah were valuable witnesses, but their testimony would be useless if Ryan didn’t make it to the US. Without him and the proof he possessed, the whole thing would be a ridiculous joke. He had to hold back one chess piece, just in case the action really did blow up in their faces. And this piece had to get to Washington as quickly and unobtrusively as possible.

* * *

Shortly after touching down in Washington, Deborah and Shane were brought, along with all the parchment, to a private institute on Walter Street belonging to an archaeologist who was an old friend of MacClary’s. It sat well camouflaged in a nice, quiet residential area with tree-lined streets and modest, single-family homes, right near the Capitol. There they waited for MacClary.

In the hall of the laboratory, Shane tried to calm himself down.

“Adam?”

Shane turned around and looked into Jennifer’s bewildered, delighted face. She had slipped in behind him and sat down. “What are you doing here?”

“Ronald asked us to come. He seems nervous. Why are you here?”

“I called Ronald earlier, after I found out that there had been an incident at the Italian border.” She handed Shane a printout of a report from Reuters.

HIGH-LEVEL IRISH TERRORIST SPOTTED IN ITALY AFTER YEARS UNDERGROUND. UNSUCCESSFUL CHASE BROKEN OFF.

Shocked, Shane looked at Jennifer. “Do you think they mean Thomas? I thought he fought
against
the IRA!”

“I’ll give you one guess who’s behind this report,” Jennifer said with astonishing composure. “Now I understand why he didn’t want us to come and get him. If he was able to get away, then he’ll be able to make it here as well.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“Thomas’s old friends are used to surviving underground. They know every trick in the book.”