Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

“It’s never enough. And there’s always another disaster waiting in the wings, it seems.” Loren motioned toward the stage. “Have you attended the seminar here before?”

“This is my first time, but I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“I met Mrs. McKee just a few weeks ago,” Loren said. “I wasn’t aware she was so well connected.”

“Quite so. Her husband’s environmental products have been put to good use around the world, and she has been an integral part of the success. And she works tirelessly to promote women into positions of leadership. I heard through the grapevine she even lobbied for my nomination to the World Bank, yet I barely know her.”

“Did you know her husband?”

“I’m afraid not. Frasier McKee died several years ago. He was apparently quite a brilliant man.” Brown looked across the room, then held a hand in front of her mouth. “He was also a notorious womanizer. Rumors are, he was about to divorce Evanna to marry his Colombian mistress just before he died.”

“Is that why men aren’t welcomed to the conference?” Loren grinned.

Brown nodded, then rubbed her temples and squinted. “I do wish they would tone down the light show. It’s making me dizzy.”

“I feel the same way,” Loren said. “I thought it was the champagne.”

Unknown to the guests, the flickering colored lights were more than just ambiance. Special bulbs emitted pure shades of violet, pink, and magenta, frequencies known to have a calming and submissive effect. Near the light fixtures, aerosol jets dispersed a fine mist containing chamomile, patchouli, and lavender oils that added to the effect.

The psychological inducements didn’t end there. The champagne and water glasses offered to each guest were laced with trace amounts of mescaline and scopolamine. The combined effects were designed to create an altered state in the guests, maximizing their sense of receptiveness and suggestibility. It was the groundwork for something approaching mass hypnosis.

The lights dimmed as an orchestral march was piped through the hall. The women fell silent as a spotlight illumined the stage and Evanna McKee strode into its beam. She wore a tailored white linen business suit accented by a heavy gold necklace and earrings. With her hair pulled back into a bun, and a perfect application of makeup giving her face a flawless glow, she appeared equal parts CEO and aged beauty queen.

The crowd erupted in a fury of applause.

“Ladies, friends, leaders of the world,” she said, “I welcome you to McKee Manor. We meet again in the cause of sisterhood and the fight for a new global order. I stand before you with the promise that with your help, we will bring meaningful and lasting change to the world, a world in which women will take their rightful place at the forefront of power.”

She spoke with the confident, authoritative voice of a practiced politician. And as with a charismatic politician at a rally, the crowd cheered her every phrase.

“Today,” she said, “we are facing a crisis of global leadership. For decades, for centuries, and for millennia, we have seen nothing on this earth but wars, conflict, famine, and disease. Despite the advances in knowledge and technology, we are still burdened by the same calamities. The world today is more corrupt and dangerous than ever. This has been brought about by a crisis in leadership—a crisis of male leadership.”

Shouts of support pierced the room, and McKee smiled.

“It is our role, our responsibility, dare I say our destiny, to take control of the failed institutions we hold dear, and to lead them to a better place. As women, we have been oppressed and devalued too long. It is our turn to right the wrongs of the past. It is our turn to banish mistrust, arrogance, and the provincial thinking that has shackled our society. It is our turn to lead the world to a place not of pain and suffering, but of hope, optimism, and betterment for all.”

The room erupted in cheers. Even Loren felt an odd sense of elation and an urge to support McKee. Once the applause quieted, McKee continued with a rising intensity.

“We cannot succeed in our quest alone. We must work together. Each and every one of you must lend a hand to your sisters. Grab hold, support one another every step of the way, and help each ascend to the top. Only by standing together can we reach the pinnacles of power necessary to make real and lasting change.”

Her voice grew soft, and her eyes took on a distant look.

“The world will soon be changing in our favor. For the next generation and beyond, the road will grow less arduous. But there must be no pause in our fight, no relaxing over gains made along the way. We must all keep climbing the ladder, shatter the ceiling, and take our rightful place at the top of the mountain. Together, we—the Sisterhood of Boudicca—will achieve the victory that awaits us. Thank you.”

As the spotlight faded to black, deafening applause filled the hall. Some women cheered, others swayed as if in a daze.

The hall lights were gradually turned up, and Loren glanced at Brown. The Australian woman had mascara streaks beneath her eyes as she openly cried with emotion.

Loren reached up a hand and felt her face. Without really knowing why, she found a stream of tears was flowing down her own cheeks.

39

The jetliner broke through a low layer of nimbus clouds on its final descent, exposing the earth to view. A patchwork quilt of green pastures and farm fields extended as far as the eye could see. Dirk glanced out a window at the verdant expanse and saw why Ireland was dubbed the Emerald Isle.

“Who would have thought we would be chasing an Egyptian princess to Ireland?” he said to Summer, seated next to him.

“Julian said we might be surprised at what we find here.”

The plane touched down a short time later at Shannon Airport in southwestern County Clare. Clearing customs and collecting their bags, Dirk and Summer picked up a rental car and drove to the cargo terminal.