Cathedral (27 page)

She turned toward him. "The fact that I'm still breathing provokes her. Let me give you a piece of advice. If you get out of here alive, get as far from her as you can. She draws destruction like a lightning rod, Brian."

Flynn made no response and let go of her arm.

She went on. "And Hickey . . . that man is She shook her head. "Never mind.

I see you've fallen in with a bad lot. We hardly know each other anymore, Brian. How can we give each other advice?"

He reached out and touched her cheek. There was a long silence on the crypt landing. Then from the sacristy corridor came the sound of footsteps and the squeaking of wheels on the marble floor. Maureen said suddenly, "If Major Martin caught you, how is it that you're alive?"

Flynn walked down the stairs and stood at the gate.

She followed. "Did you make a deal with him?"

He didn't answer.

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"And you call yourself a patriot?"

He looked at her sharply. "So does Major Martin. So do you.

"I would never-"

"Oh, you'd make a deal. Popes, prime ministers, and presidents make deals like that, and it's called diplomacy and strategy. That's what this life is all about, Maureenillusion and semantics. Well, I'm making no deals today, no accommodations, no matter what names the negotiator gives me for it to make it more palatable. That should make you happy, since you don't like deals."

She didn't reply.

He went on. "If you agree that the deal I made with Major Martin wasn't so awful, I'll put Sheila's name on the list of people to be released."

She looked at him quickly. "You mean, it's not-"

"Changes things a bit, doesn't it? Looking ahead, were you, to a tearful reunion with little Sheila? Now you've nothing whatsoever to gain from this. Unless, of course, you see my point in trafficking with the enemy."

"Why is it so important to you that I tell you that?"

A voice called out, "This is Burke. Coming in."

Flynn said to Maureen, "We'll talk again later." He shouted into the sacristy, "Come on, then." He drew back his jacket and adjusted the pistol in his waistband, then said to her, "I respect your abilities as a fighter enough to treat you like a man. Don't try anything, don't make any sudden moves, don't stand behind me, and keep silent until you're spoken to."

She answered, "If that was a compliment, I'm not flattered. I've put that behind me."

"Aye, like a reformed whore puts the streets behind her, but the urge is still there, I'll wager."

She looked at him. "It is now."

He smiled.

Burke appeared from the sacristy corridor, pushing a serving cart. He rolled the cart over the marble floor and stopped at the bottom stair below the gate.

"Do you know Miss Malone?" Flynn asked.

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Burke nodded to her. "We've met."

"That's right," said Flynn. "Last evening at the Waldorf. I have a report on it. Seems so long ago, doesn't it?" He smiled. "I've brought her here to assure you we haven't butchered the hostages." He said to her, "Tell him how well you've been treated, Maureen."

She said, "No one is dead yet."

Burke replied, "Please tell the others that we are doing all we can to see that you're safely released." He put a light note in his voice. "Tell Father Murphy he can hear my confession when this is over."

She nodded and gave him a look of understanding.

Flynn was silent a moment, then asked, "Is the priest a friend of yours?"

Burke replied, "They're all friends of mine."

"Really?" He came closer to the gate. "Are you wired, Burke? Do I have to go through the debugging routine?"

"I'm clean. The cart is clean. I doWt want to be overheard either." Burke came up the seven steps and was acutely aware of the psychological disadvantage of standing on a step eight inches below Flynn. "And the food's not drugged."

Flynn nodded. "No, not with hostages. Makes all the difference in the world, doesn't it?"

Maureen suddenly grabbed the bars and spoke hurriedly. "His real name is Brian Flynn. He has only about twelve gunmen-"

Flynn pulled the pistol from his waistband and pressed it hard against her neck. "Don't be a hero, Maureen. It isn't required. Is it, Lieutenant?"

Burke kept his hands in full view. "Easy now. Nice and easy. Miss Malone, don't say anything else. That's right."

Flynn spoke to her through clenched teeth. "That's good advice, lass. You don't want to jeopardize others, such as Lieutenant Burke, who's already heard too much." He looked at Burke. "She's impulsive and hasn't learned the difference between bravery and recklessness. That's my fault, I'm afraid." He grabbed her arm with his free hand and pulled her away from the gate. "Leave."

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Maureen looked at Burke and said, "I've made a confession to Father Murphy, and I'm not afraid to die. We'll all make our confessions soon.

Don't give in to these bastards."

Burke looked at her and nodded. "I understand."

She smiled, turned, and mounted the steps to the altar.

Flynn held the pistol at his side and watched her go. He seemed to be thinking, then said, "All right, how much do I owe you?"

Burke slowly handed a bill to Flynn.

Flynn looked at it. "Five hundred sixty-one dollars and twelve cents. Not cheap to feed an army in New York, is it?" Flynn slipped the pistol into his waistband and counted out the money. "Here. Come closer."

Burke moved nearer the gate and took the bills and change.

Flynn said, "I deducted the sales tax on principle." He laughed. "Make certain you report that to the press, Lieutenant. They love that sort of nonsense."

Burke nodded. Brian Flynn, he decided, was not a complete lunatic. He had the uneasy feeling that Flynn was sharper than Schroeder, and a better performer.

Flynn looked down at the cart laden with covered metal dishes. "It wouldn't be Saint Paddy's Day without the corned beef, would it, Burke?

Had yours?"

"No. Been busy."

"Well, come in and join us, then. Everyone would enjoy your company."

"I can't."

"Can't?" Flynn made a pretense of remembering something. "Ali, yes.

Hostages will neither be given nor exchanged under any circumstances.

Police will not take the place of hostages. But I'll not keep you prisoner."

"You seem to know a lot about this."

Flynn thrust his face between the bars, close to Burke's. I know enough not to do anything stupid. I hope you know as much."

"I'm sure we've had more experience with hostage situations than you-see that you don't make any mistakes."

Flynn lit a cigarette and said abruptly, "So, I should for-234

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mally introduce myself now that Miss Malone was thoughtful enough to tell you my name. I am as the lady said-as you might have known from other sources-Brian Flynn. Ring any bells?"

"A few. Back in the late seventies. Over there."

"Yes, over there. Over here now. Unlike John Hickey, I'm not officially dead, only unofficially missing. All right, let's talk about our favorite subject. Is Major Martin present at your war councils?"

"Yes.

"Get him out of there."

"He's representing the British consulate for now."

Flynn forced a laugh. "Sir Harry will be distressed to hear that. Let me tell you that Martin will double-cross his own Foreign Office, too. His only loyalty is to his sick obsession with the Irish. Get him the hell away from the decision-making process."

"Maybe I'd rather have him close where I can see him."

Flynn shook his bead. "You never see a man like that no matter how close he is. Get him out of the rectory, away from your commanders."

Burke said softly, "So your people on the outside can kill him?"

A slow smile passed over Flynn's face. "Oh, Lieutenant, you are the sharp one. Yes, indeed."

"Please don't do anything without talking to me first."

Flynn nodded. "Yes, I'll have to be straight with you. We may still be able to work together."

"Maybe.,,

Flynn said, "Look here, there's a lot of double-dealing going on, Burke.

Only the New York police, as far as I can tell, have no ulterior motives.

I'll count on you, Lieutenant, to do your job. You must play the honest broker and avert a bloodbath. Dawn tomorrow or-I promise you-this Cathedral will burn. That's as inevitable as the sunrise itself."

"You mean you have no control over that?"

Flynn nodded. "Very quick-witted of you. I control my people up to a point. But at dawn each man and woman in here will act on standing orders unless our demands have

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been met. Without a word from me the prisoners will be shot or thrown from the bell tower, fires will be set, and other destructive devices will automatically engage."

Burke said, "You did a damned stupid thing to relinquish that kind of control. Stupid and dangerous."

Flynn pressed his face to the bars. "But you could do worse than dealing with me. If anything happened to me, you would have to deal with Hickey and the woman we call Grania, so don't you or Schroeder or anyone out there try to undermine me. Work with me and no one will die."

"Better the devil you know than the devils you don't know."

"Quite right, Lieutenant. Quite right. You may go."

Burke moved backward down a step, away from the gate. He and Flynn looked at each other. Flynn made no move to turn away this time, and Burke remembered the hostage unit's injunction against turning your back on bostage takers. "Treat them like royalty," Schroeder liked to say on television talk shows. "Never show them your back. Never use negative words. Never use words like death, kill, die, dead. Always address them respectfully." Schroeder would have had a stroke if he had heard this exchange.

Burke took another step backward. Schroeder had his methods, yet Burke was becoming convinced that this situation called for flexibility, originality, and even compromise. He hoped Schroeder and everyone else out there recognized that before it was too late.

He turned his back to Flynn, went down the steps past the serving cart, and moved toward the corridor opening, all the while aware of the deep, dark eyes that followed him.

236

Patrick Burke made the long underground walk from the sacristy past the silent policemen in the corridors. He noticed that the Tactical Patrol Unit had been replaced by the Emergency Services Division. They wore black uniforms and black flak jackets, they carried shotguns, sniper rifles, automatic weapons, and silenced pistols, and they looked very unlike the public image of a cop, he thought. Their eyes had that unfocused look, their bodies were exaggeratedly relaxed, and cigarettes dangled from tight lips.

Burke entered the rectory's basement and made his way upstairs to the Monsignor's office suite, through the crowded outer office, and into the next room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Burke met the stares of the twelve people whom he had labeled in his mind the Desperate Dozen. He remained standing in the center of the room.

Schroeder finally spoke. "What took you so long?"

Burke found a chair and sat. "You told me to get the measure of the man."

"No negotiating, Burke. That's my job. You don't know the procedure-"

"Anytime you want me to leave, I'm gone. I'm not looking to get on the cover of Time."

Schroeder stood. "I'm a little tired of getting ribbed about that goddamned Time story-"

Deputy Commissioner Rourke cut in. "All right, men. It's going to be a long night." He turned to Schroeder. "You want Burke to leave after he briefs us?"

Schroeder shook his head. "Flynn has made him his errand boy, and we can't upset Mr. Flynn."

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Langley broke in. "What did Flynn say, Pat?"

Burke lit a cigarette and listened to the silence for a longer time than was considered polite. "He said the Cathedral will more or less self-destruct at sunrise."

No one spoke until Bellini said, "If I have to take that place by force, you better leave enough time for the Bomb Squad to comb every inch of it.

They've only got two mutts now-Sally and Brandy. He shook his head. "What a mess . . . damn it."

Schroeder said, "No matter what type of devices they have rigged, they can delay them. I'll get an extension."

Burke looked at him. "I don't think you understood what I said."

Langley interjected. "What else did he say, Pat?"

Burke sat back and gave them an edited briefing, glancing at Major Martin, who stood against the fireplace in a classic pose. Burke had the impression that Martin was filling in the missing sentences.

Burke focused on Arnold Sheridan, the quintessential Wasp from State, tight smile, correct manners, cultivated voice that said nothing. He was assigned to the security section but probably found it distasteful to be even a quasicop. Burke realized that, as the man on the scene, Sheridan might sway the administration either way. Hard line, soft line, or line straddling. Washington could push London into an accommodation, and then, like dominoes, Dublin, Albany, and the City of New York would tumble into line. But as he looked at Sheridan he had no idea of what was going on behind those polite, vacant eyes.

Burke looked back at Schroeder as he spoke. This was a man who was an accomplished listener as well as a talker. He heard every word, remembered every word, even interpreted nuances and made analyses and conclusions but ultimately, through some incredible process in his brain, never really understood a thing that was said. Burke flipped a cigarette ash into a coffee cup. "I don't think this guy is a textbook case. I don't think he's going to bend in his demands or give extensions, Schroeder."

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Schroeder said, "They all give extensions, Burke. They want to play out the drama, and they always think a concession will come in the next minute, the next hour, the next day. It's human nature."

Burke shook his head. "Don't operate on the premise that you'll get more time."