In February 2000 I emerged from my underground bunker, a converted passage tomb near The Hill of Tara, to discover that the world had not ended and the dreaded Y2K bug had failed to wipe out our species. I was relieved but lost. Months later I discovered a novel called Angels and Demons by Dan Brown and consumed it numerous times because the lead character, Robert Langdon, shares my name, Robert Langdon. It changed my life and gave me a purpose. I have followed Robert and Dan on their adventures ever since and have penned several stories featuring my hero, my companion, my teacher…Robert Langdon. These are my stories. I am Robert Langdon.
Langdon burst into the bathroom, stormed over to a cubicle, sat down and shat hard into the jacks.
He’d just finished a mammoth eighty seven hour interrogation, an interrogation that was his first and hopefully last. His muscular body wasn’t simply expelling voluminous amounts of urine and faeces, it also felt like a spiritual cleansing.
The interrogation had begun on Sunday afternoon.He’d made all the arrangements and paid off enough people to get complete access to the man in question: Gerry Adams.
Adams holidayed in his Lanzarote villa at least six times a year so it was easy to get him out of Ireland. The hard part was paying off enough of his goons to gain total, intimate time. Detective DePlant had to pull a few strings at Interpol in order to get some of the hardened republicans to bend. Once this was completed the rest was a piece of Black Forest Gateaux.
He entered the villa at 14:45 while Adams was enjoying a San Miguel induced siesta. The rest of his travelling companions had taken a four day trip with a geologist around the various volcanoes. Langdon used to perform those very tours in his student days before the allure of symbols enraptured him so.
Langdon opened the bedroom door. Adams was snoring softly.
“Adams.” Langdon smirked out his name.
But Langdon was utterly surprised when Adams jumped out of bed in the complete nip shouting unintelligible Fenian slogans at him but his surprise was short lived as he pulled out his tranquilliser gun and popped two darts into the man’s throat.
Down came Adams.
The first thing Langdon did was shave Adams. He not only shaved off his beard (the source of his power) but he also shaved his head, his eyebrows and his body. The un-haired skin made it easier to attach the multitude of electrodes necessary.
The torture was uneventful. The usual tedious physical depravity after depravity. Adams was strong, both physically and mentally, and Langdon thought towards the end he would break before the Fenian. But Langdon had one last trick up his sleeve: shouting loudly.
“Where’s the RA gold you Fenian prick!!!?”
Adams was banjaxed.
“Where is it Adams?!!”
“….uuuuhh, God forgive…”
“What was that Adams?”
“Make peace…and then spill the Bachelor’s Beans.”
Of course the ancient monument of Sol, home of The Dagda, possible ancient civilizations’ power generator and the most rad place in Ireland. Langdon was literally salivating. He wiped at the spittle around his gob.
“Where exactly in Newgrange? Where is your RA gold?”
“The main chamber. Only accessible. Solstice. Eire’s eye.”
“Fair play Adams.”
Back in the present Langdon rose from the jax and flushed it all away. He left the airport toilet facilities and boarded his private jet (that is covered in archaic runes) and saddled up in the cockpit beside the pilot.
“Where to Langdon?”
“Ireland you pillock!!”
As they rose over the great blue beyond (the ocean) Langdon put on his Ray Bans and studied the celestial body known as the sun.
“What secrets you hold, what answers you provide, what fools are we called humankind who try to hide your treasures from each other. I will uncover the ancient RA gold, the gold of the Egyptian God Ra stolen by the Irish Republican Army to aid in the pursuit of their liberation from the great commonwealth, the greatest people to ever live, the English!”
The pilot exhaled uncomfortably.
“I’m just going to pop on the radio.”
“You do that my friend. You go ahead and do that.”
Langdon looked deadly as he peered out the window deep in thought.
Robert Langdon is a neo-transcendentalist, a Sadhu of Samhain, an historic detective and a conspiracy factualist. He lives in Drogheda with his husband, wife and a dule of red eared slider turtles.