The Celtic Conspiracy Read Free Page A

another lecture doesn’t mean that he’s discovered something.”
    “The subject matter concerns me, Salvoni. He’s drawing conclusions that would require evidence to prove.”
    “When is the lecture?” interrupted the cardinal, now audibly nervous.
    “This Friday, at eight p.m. in the old lecture hall.”
    “Thank you, Padre. Just to be on the safe side, we’ll send someone to listen to his unbearable lies. May the good Lord reward you for your unrelenting vigilance and let you remain with us for a long time to come.”
    The cardinal hung up without another word.
    Morati sank down into his chair, his hands covering his face. Within seconds, his body was shaking with sobs.
    For more than forty years Morati had served as vice prefect of the Vatican archives. As such, he was one of the few people allowed to see the priceless cultural objects and the written records and testimonies that the missionaries had stolen during their campaigns against those with different beliefs. He was also allowed into the library outside of Vatican City that contained material that could be dated back to the eighth century. The Vatican’s real secret archive was also one of the best-protected places and only known to certain selected members of the Roman Curia. To make sure that the conservationists and researchers who worked there couldn’t steal or destroy anything, they had to undergo an extensive procedure at the beginning of every work day. After they had been searched for cameras, recording equipment, radio equipment, knives, matches, or anything else that could be destructive in any way, they were driven from the Sistine Chapel to a place outside of Rome in a car with darkened windows. They were only allowed out of the car in a dark garage and then were taken to work where they were constantly observed in rooms protected from light and germs. At the end of the day, they went through the whole procedure again as they were escorted back to Rome.
    Only once had Morati seen the area immediately outside of the library. He was the only one who had ever lived to tell the tale, and he was never allowed to return.
    Some of the artifacts Morati had seen in the archive contained unbelievable beauty and wisdom. There were writings here from prophets and spiritual leaders whodisseminated very different tenets from those of the Church and whose effect threatened the power of the Church so much that a large portion of affiliated doctrines had already been destroyed. If humankind could see these tenets, the fate of the Church would be sealed. It would be put on trial for the greatest crime in history.
    Since Morati had spent half his life reconstructing the evidence of the history of the Celtic Druids and other pagan scholars, he had asked to be transferred back home. He had been retired for twenty years now. Of course, that didn’t stop him from acting as protector of knowledge by keeping an eye on the MacClary family, particularly Ronald. The father had attracted enough attention, and, in Rome, people were afraid Ronald might discover something that could cause an uproar in an ever-more-critical Christian world.
    Now MacClary’s son was creeping closer to a revelation. A revelation the Church could never allow him to experience.

DUBLIN – MARCH 13, PRESENT DAY
    Ronald MacClary sat in his office, staring out into the morning light. Dublin in the spring was a mixture of sun, clouds, and rain that teased you with unpredictability. The sun pierced his dark brown eyes, lighting them up like amber and highlighting his three-day growth of beard and his gray-flecked hair.
    Ronald MacClary had had a good life. He had been born in Boston just after the outbreak of World War II. His father had met his mother in the early 1930s on a trip to New York, and they were married soon after. After the United States joined the war, they moved to Dublin, where Sean MacClary was soon called to serve as a major in the Eighth British Army Division. His son Ronald,