Cathedral (45 page)

"Stop using that imperial we. I'm talking about you. You have a surprise coming."

Schroeder sat up quickly, and his eyes became more alert. "What do you mean by that? What does that mean? Listen, everything should be aboveboard if we're going to bargain in good faith-"

"Is Bellini acting in good faith?"

Schroeder hesitated. This use of names by these people was unsettling.

These references to him personally were not in the script.

Hickey continued, "Where is Bellini now? Huddled around a chalk board with his Gestapo? Finding sneaky little ways to kill us all? Well, fuck Bellini and fuck you."

Schroeder shook his head in silent frustration, then said, "How are the hostages?"

Hickey said, "Did you find Stillway yet?"

"Do you need a doctor in there?"

"Did you dig up my grave yet?"

"Can I send food, medicine-?"

"Where's Major Martin?"

Burke lay on the couch with his eyes closed and listened to the dialogue deteriorate into two monologues. As unproductive as the dialogue had been, it hadn't been as bizarre as what he was listening to now. He knew now, beyond any doubt, that it was finished.

Schroeder said, "What surprises does Flynn have planned for me?"

Hickey laughed again. "If I tell you, it won't be a sur-378

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prise. I'll bet when you were a child you were an insufferable brat, Schroeder. Always trying to find out what people bought you for Christmas, sneaking around closets and all that."

Schroeder didn't respond and again heard the laughter from the next room.

Hickey said, "Don't initiate any calls to us unless it's to say we've won. I'll call you back every hour on the hour until 6:00 A.m. At 6:03

it's over."

Schroeder heard the phone go dead. He looked at Burke's still form on the couch, then shut off all the speakers and dialed again. "Hickey?"

"What?"

Schroeder took a deep breath and said through his clenched jaw, "You're a dead motherfucker." He put the phone down and steadied his hands against the desk. There was a taste of blood in his mouth, and he realized that he was biting into his lower lip.

Burke turned his head and looked at Schroeder. Their eyes met, and Schroeder turned away.

Burke said, "It's okay."

Schroeder didn't answer, and Burke could see his shoulders shaking.

379

Colonel Dennis Logan rode in the rear of a staff car up the deserted section of Fifth Avenue, toward the Cathedral. He turned to his adjutant, Major Cole. "Didn't think I'd be passing this way again today."

"Yes, sir. It's actually March eighteenth."

Colonel Logan overlooked the correction and listened to the bells play

"I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen," then said, "Do you believe in miracles?"

"No, sir."

"Well, see that green line?"

"Yes, sir, the long one in the middle of the Avenue that we followed." He yawned.

"Right. Well, some years ago, Mayor Beame was marching in the parade with the Sixty-ninth. Police Commissioner Codd and the Commissioner for Public Events, Neil Walsh, were with him. Before your time."

Major Cole wished that this parade had been before his time. "Yes, sir."

"Anyway, it rained that morning after the line machine went by, and the fresh green paint washed away-all the way from Forty-fourth to Eighty-sixth Street. But later that morning Walsh bought some paint and had his men handpaint the line right in front of the Cathedral."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, when we marched past with the city delegation, Walsh turns to Codd and says, 'Look! It's a miracle, Commissioner! The line's still here in front of the Cathedral!"'

Colonel Logan laughed at the happier memory and went on. "So Codd says,

'You're right, Walsh!' and he winks at

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him, then looks at Beame. 'Oh my gosh!' said the little Mayor. 'I always wanted to see a miracle. I never saw a miracle before!' " Logan laughed but refrained from slapping his or Cole's knee. The driver laughed, too.

Major Cole smiled. He said, "Sir, I think we've mustered most of the officers and at least half the men."

Logan lit a cigar. "Right. . . . Do they look sober to you?"

"It's hard to say, sir."

Logan nodded, then said, "We're not really needed here, are we?"

"That's difficult to determine, Colonel."

"I think the Governor is looking for high marks in leadership and courage, don't you?"

Major Cole replied, "The regiment is well trained in crowd and riot control, sir."

"So are twenty-five thousand New York police."

"Yes, sir."

"I hope to God he doesn't get us involved in an assault on the Cathedral."

The major replied, "Sir," which conveyed no meaning.

Colonel Logan looked through the window as the car passed between a set of police barriers and moved slowly past the singing crowds. "Incredible."

Cole nodded. "Yes, it is."

The staff car drew up to the rectory and stopped.

Captain Joe Bellini advised the newspeople that the press conference room might cave in if the Cathedral was blown up, and they moved with their equipment to less vulnerable places outside the Cathedral complex as Bellini moved in. He stood in the room beside a chalkboard. Around the tables and along the walls, were sixty Emergency Service Division men, armed with shotguns, M-16 rifles, and silenced pistols. In the rear of the room sat Colonel Logan, Major Cole, and a dozen staff personnel from the 69th Regiment. A cloud of gray tobacco smoke veiled the bright lights.

Bellini pointed to a crude outline of the Cathedral on the chalkboard. "So, Fifth Squad will

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attack through the sacristy gates. You'll be issued steel-cut chainsaws and bolt cutters. Okay?"

Colonel Logan stood. "If I may make a suggestion Before, you said your men had to control their fire. . . . This is your operation, and my part is secondary, but the basic rules of warfare . .

. Well, anyway, when you encounter concealed enemy positions that have a superior field of fire-like those triforia and choir loft-and you know you can't engage them with effective fire . . . then you have to lay down suppressing fire." Logan saw some signs of recognition. "In other words you flip the switches on your M-16s from semiautomatic to full automatic-rock and roll, as the men say-and put out such an intense volume of fire that the enemy has got to put his head down. Then you can safely lead the hostages back down the sacristy stairs."

No one spoke, but a few men were nodding.

Logan's voice became more intense. He was suddenly giving a prebattle pep talk. "Keep blasting those triforia, blast that choir loft, slap magazine after magazine into those rifles, raking, raking, raking those sniper perches, blasting away so long, so loud, so fast, and so hard that it sounds like Armageddon and the Apocalypse all at once, and no one-no one-in those perches is going to pick his head up if the air around him is filled with bullets and pulverized stone." He looked around the silent room and listened to his heart beating,

There was a spontaneous burst of applause from the ESD men and the military people. Captain Bellini waited until the noise died away, then said, "Yes, well, Colonel, that's sound advice, but we're a7l under the strictest orders not to blow the place apart-as you know. It's full of art treasures. . . . It's . . . well . . . you know . . ."

Logan said, "Yes, I understand." He wiped his face. "I'm not advocating air strikes. I mean, I'm only suggesting you increase your use of small-arms fire, and-"

"Such an intense degree of even small-arms fire, Colo nel, would do"-Bellini remembered the Governor's words-"irreparableirreparable damage to the Ca 382

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thedral . . . the ceiling . . . the stonework . . . statues . . ."

One of the squad leaders stood. "Look, Captain, since when are art treasures more important than people? My mother thinks I'm an art treasure-"

Several people laughed nervously.

Bellini felt the sweat collecting under his collar. He looked at Logan. "Colonel, your missionBellini paused and watched Logan stiffen.

Logan said, "My mission is to provide a tight cordon around the Cathedral during the assault. I know what I have to do."

Bellini almost smirked. "No, that's been changed. The Governor wants you to take a more active part in the assault." He savored each word as he said it. "The police will supply you with their armored personnel carrier. It's army surplus, and you'll be familiar with it." Bellini noticed that Major Cole had gone pale.

Bellini stepped closer to Logan. "You'll take the vehicle up the front steps with fifteen men inside-"

Logan's voice was barely under control. "This is insane. You can't use an armored vehicle in such a confined space. They might have armor-piercing ordnance in there. Good Lord, we couldn't maneuver, couldn't conceal the vehicle . . . These Fenians are guerrilla veterans, Captain. They know how to deal with tanks-they've seen more British armored cars than you've seen-"

"Taxis," said Burke as he walked into the press room. "That's what Flynn said to Schroeder. Taxis. Mind if Inspector Langley and I join you?"

Bellini looked tired and annoyed. He said to Logan, "Take it up with the Governor." Glancing at the wall clock, he said, "Everyone take ten. Clear out!" He sat down and lit a cigarette. The men filed out of the conference room and huddled in groups throughout the corridors.

Burke and Langley sat across from Bellini. Bellini said softly, "That fucking war hero is spooking my men."

Burke thought, They should be spooked. They're going to get creamed. "He means well."

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Bellini drew on his cigarette. "Why are those parade soldiers in on this?"

Langley looked around, then said quietly, "Tbe Governor needs a boost."

Bellini sipped on a cup of cold coffee. "You know I discussed a lot of options for this attack with the Mayor and Governor.

Ever notice how people who don't know shit about warfare all of a sudden become generals?" Bellini chain-lit another cigarette and went on in a voice that was becoming overwrought. "So Kline takes my hand and squeezes it-Christ, I should've squeezed his and broken his fucking fingers.

Anyway, be says, 'Joe, you know what's expected of you.' Christ Almighty, by this time I don't even know if I'm allowed to take my gun in there. But my adrenaline is really pumping by now, and I say to him, 'Your Honor, we have to attack now, while the bells are ringing.' Right? And he says-check this-be says, 'Captain, we have an obligation'-a moral something or other-'to explore every possible avenue of negotiation'blah, blah, blah----~political considerations~-blah, blah'the Vatican'-blah, blah..

So I say . . . no, I didn't say it, but I should have . . . I should have said, 'Kline, you schmuck, do you want to rescue the hostages and save the fucking Cathedral, or do you want to make time with the White House and the VaticanT "

He paused and breathed hard. "But maybe then I would have sounded like an asshole, too, because I don't really care about a pile of stone or four people I don't even know. My responsibility is-to a hundred of my men who I do know and to their families and to myself and my wife and kids. Right?"

No one spoke for some time, then the telephone rang. Bellini grabbed it, listened, then handed it to Burke. "Some guy called the Leper. You hang out with classy people."

Burke took the receiver and heard Ferguson's voice. "Burke, Leper here."

Burke said, "How are you?"

"Cold, scared shitless, tired, hungry, and broke. But otherwise, well.

Is this line secure?"

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'No.

"Okay, I have to speak to you face to face."

Burke thought a moment. "Do you want to come here?"

Ferguson hesitated. "No . . . I saw people hanging around the checkpoints who shouldn't see me. I'm very close to our rendezvous point. See you there."

Burke put down the receiver and said to Langley, "Ferguson's on to something."

Bellini looked up quickly. "Anything that can help me?"

Burke wanted to say, "Frankly, nothing can help you," but said instead,

"I think so."

Bellini seemed to sense the lie and slumped lower in his chair. "Christ, we've never gone up against trained guerrillas. . . ." He looked up suddenly. "Do I sound scared? Do I look scared?"

Burke replied, "You look and sound like a man who fully appreciates the problems."

Bellini laughed. "Yeah. I appreciate the hell out of the problems."

Langley seemed suddenly annoyed. "Look, you must have known a day like this would come. You've trained for this-"

"Trained?" Bellini turned on him. "Big fucking deal trained. In the army I was trained on how to take cover in a nuclear attack. The only instructor who made any sense was the one who told us to hold our helmets, put our heads between our legs, and kiss our asses good-bye."

He laughed again. "Fuck trained." Bellini stubbed out his cigarette and breathed deeply. "Oh, well. Maybe Schroeder will pull it off." He smiled thinly. "He's got more incentive now." He pointed to a black bulletproof vest and a dark pullover sweater at the end of the table. "That's his."

Langley said, "Why don't you let him off the hook?"

Bellini shook his head, then looked at Burke. "How about you? What are you doing later?"

Burke said, "I'll be with you."

Bellini's eyes widened.

Langley looked at Burke quickly. "Like hell."

Burke said nothing.

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Bellini said, "Let the man do what he wants."

Langley changed the subject and said to, Bellini, "I have more psy-profiles for you."

Bellini lit a cigarette. "Put a light coat of oil on them and shove them up your ass."

Langley stiffened.

Beffini went on, enjoying the fact that no one could pull rank on him any longer. "Where's the architect, Langley? Where are the blueprints?"

Langley said, "Working on it."