Cathedral (66 page)

She shouted as she took aim at the clergy pews. "I want to see her die-before I die. I'm going to flush them. You nail them. Ready?"

Leary stared down at Megan, her silhouette visible against the candlelight and flares below. He spoke in a low, contemplative voice.

"Everyone's dead, Megan, except Hickey and, I guess, Malone and Baxter.

They'll all die in the explosion. That leaves only you and me."

She spun around and peered up into the blackness toward the place from which his voice had come.

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He said, "You understand, I'm a professional. It's like I said, I only do what I'm told-never more, never less-and Flynn told me to make especially sure of you and Hickey."

She shook her head. "Jack . . . you can't . . . . Not after we . . ." She laughed. "Yes, of course . . . . I don't want to be taken. . . . Brian knew that. . . . He did it for me. Go on, then. Quickly!" I He raised a pistol, aimed at the dark outline, and put two bullets in rapid succession through her head. Megan's body toppled back, and she rolled down the aisle, coming to rest beside the Guard sergeant she had killed.

Burke stood in his stocking feet with his back to the wall just inside the tower door, a short, fat grenade launcher nestled in the bend of his elbow.

He closed his eyes against the glare of the lights coming through the broken windows and steadied his breathing. The men in the tower room were completely still, watching him. Burke listened to the distant sound of a man and woman talking, followed by two pistol shots. He spun rapidly into the doorway and raced up the side aisle along the wall, then flattened himself in the sloping aisle about halfway up the loft. From farther back near the organ pipes came the sound of breathing. The breathing stopped abruptly, and a man's voice said, "I know you're there."

Burke remained motionless.

The man said, "I see in the dark, I smell what you can't smell, I hear everything. You're dead."

Burke knew that the man was trying to draw him into a panic shot, and he was not doing a bad job of it. The man was good. Even in a close-in-situation like this he was very cool.

Burke rolled onto his back, lifted his bead, and looked out over the rail into the Cathedral. The cable that held the chandelier nearest the choir loft swayed slightly as it was being drawn up by the winch in the attic.

The chandelier rose level with the loft, and Burke saw the Guardsman sitting on it, his rifle pointed into the loft. He looked, 544

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Burke thought, like live bait. Live ones, he wanted live ones. Burke's muscles tensed.

Leary fired, and the body on the chandelier jerked.

Burke jumped to his feet, pointed the grenade launcher at the direction of the sound, and fired its single beehive round. The dozens of needle darts buzzed across the quiet loft, spreading as they traveled. There was a sharp cry, followed immediately by the flash of a rifle that Burke saw out of the corner of his eyes as he turned and dove for the floor. A powerful blow on the back of his flak jacket propelled him headfirst into the wall, and he staggered, then collapsed into the aisle. Another shot ripped through the pews and passed inches over his head.

Burke lay still, aware of a pain in the center of his spine that began to spread to his arms and legs. Several more shots struck around him. The firing shifted to the doors, and Burke tried to crawl to another position but found that he couldn't move. He tried to reach the pistol in his belt, but his arm responded in short, spastic motions.

The firing shifted back toward him, and a round grazed his hand. His forehead was bleeding where he had crashed into the wall, and throbbing pains ran from his eyes to the back of his skull. He felt himself losing consciousness, but he could hear distinctly the sound of the man reloading his rifle. Then the voice said, "Are you dead, or do you just wish you were?"

Leary raised his rifle, but the persistent stabbing pain in his right leg made him lower it. He sat down in the center aisle, rolled back his trouser leg, and ran his fingers over his shin, feeling the tiny entry hole where the dart had hit him. He brought his hand around to his calf and touched the exit wound, slightly larger, with a splinter of bone protruding from the flesh. "Ah . . . shit . . . shit . . ."

He rose to his knee and emptied his rifle toward the doors and the side aisle, then ripped off his rubber mask and pulled the gas mask from around his neck. He tore off the long robe, using it to wipe his sniper rifle from end to end as he crawled down the center aisle. Leary placed the

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rifle in Megan's warm hands, reached into the front pew, and retrieved another rifle. He rose and steadied himself on the edge of the pew and

-slid onto the bench. Leary called out, "Martinl You out there?"

There was a silence, then a voice called back from the choir practice room. "Right here, Jack. Are you alone?"

"Yeah."

"Tell the police you're surrendering."

"Right. Come out here-alone."

Martin walked briskly into the choir loft, turned on a flashlight, and made his way through the dark into the center aisle. He stepped over Megan's body. "Hello, Jack." He approached Leary and edged into the pew.

"Here, let's have that. That's a good lad." He took Leary's rifle and pistol, then called out, "He's disarmed."

ESD men began to move cautiously from both towers into the choir loft.

Martin called to them. "It's all rightthis man is an agent of mine."

Martin turned to Leary and gave him a look of annoyance. "A bit early, aren't you, Jack?"

Leary spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm hit."

"Really? You look fine."

Leary swore. "Fitzgerald was starting to become a problem, and I had to do her when I had the chance. Then someone got into the loft, and I took a needle dart in the shin. Okay?"

"That's dreadful but I don't see anyone in here. . . . You really should have waited."

"Fuck you."

Martin shone his light on Leary's shin. Like so many killers, he thought, Leary couldn't stand much pain. "Yes, that looks like it might hurt." He reached out and touched Leary's wound.

Leary let out a cry of pain. "Hey! God . . . that feels like there's still a needle in there."

"Might well be." Mar-tin looked down at the sanctuary. "Malone and Baxter

. . . T'

A policeman shouted from the side of the loft. "Stand up!,, 546

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Leary placed his hands on the pew in front of him and stood. He said to Martin, "They're both under the sanctuary pews there-"

The lights in the loft went on, illuminating the sloping expanse of ripped pews, bullet-pocked walls, burnt lockers, and scarred aisles. The towering organ pipes shone brightly where they had been hit, but above the pipes the rose window was intact. Leary looked around and made a whistling sound. "Like walking in the rain without getting wet." He smiled.

Martin waved his hand impatiently. "I don't understand about Baxter and Malone. They're dead, aren't they?"

The police stepped over the bodies in the aisle and moved up carefully into the pews, rifles and pistols raised.

Leary automatically put his hands on his head as he spoke to Martin.

"Flynn told me not to kill her-and I couldn't shoot into the pews at Baxter without taking the chance of hitting her-"

"Flynn? You're working for me, Jack."

Leary pushed past Martin and hobbled into the aisle. "You give orders, he gives orders. . . . I do only what I'm told-and what I'm paid for-P

"But Flynn's money came from me, Jack."

Leary stared at Martin. "Flynn never bullshitted me. He told me this loft would be hell, and I knew it. You said it would be-how'd that go?-relatively without risk?"

Martin's voice was peevish. "Well, as far as I'm concerned you didn't fulfill your contract. I'll have to reconsider the nature of the final payment."

"Look, you little fuck-" Two ESD men covered the remaining distance up the aisle and grabbed Leary's upraised arms, pulling them roughly behind his back, then cuffing him. They pushed him to the floor, and he yelled out in pain, then turned his head back toward Martin as the police searched him. "If they got Hickey from below, they got the bombs anyway.

If they didn't get him, you'll still get your explosion."

Martin noticed Burke moving toward him, supported by 547

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two ESD men. Martin cleared his throat. "All right, Jackthat's enough."

But Leary was obviously offended. "I lived up to my end. I mean, Christ, Martin, it's after six-and look around you-enough is enough-"

"Shut UP."

Two ESD men pulled Leary to his feet. Leary said, "This leg . . . it feels funny . . . burns . . .

Martin said nothing.

Leary stared at him. "What did you? Oh . . .

no . . ."

Martin winked at him, turned, and walked away.

An ESD man raised a bullhorn and called out into the Cathedral. "Police in the choir loft! All clear! Mr. Baxter-Miss Malone--runl Run this way!"

Baxter picked up his head and looked at Maureen. "Was that Leary?"

She forced a smile. "You're learning." She listened to the bullhom call their names again. "I don't know . . ." She pressed her face against Baxter's, and they held each other tightly.

Wendy Peterson looked around the altar and stared up into the choir loft.

It was completely lit, and she saw the police moving through the pews.

Without looking at her watch she knew there were probably not more than three minutes left-less, if the bomb were set earlier, and she didn't remember one that was set for later than the threatened time.

She ran to the bronze plate, pulling the pin on the concussion grenade as she moved and calling back to the pews. "Run! Runl" She bent over and pulled up the heavy bronze plate with one hand.

Maureen stood, looking first at Wendy Peterson and then toward the illuminated expanse at the upper end of the Cathedral as Baxter came up beside her.

A bullhorn was blaring. "Run! Run this way!"

They began to run, but Maureen suddenly veered and dashed up the pulpit stairs, grabbing Flynn's arm and drag-548

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ging him back down the steps. Baxter ran up behind her and pulled at her arm. She turned to him. "He's alive. Please . . ." He hesitated, then put Flynn over his shoulders, and they ran toward the communion rail.

Wendy Peterson watched silently until they reached a point in the center aisle where she thought they would be safe if the grenade detonated the bomb. She released the safety handle and flung the grenade into the hole with a motion that suggested What the hell. . . . She dropped the plate back and stood off several feet, holding her hands over her ears.

The grenade exploded, ripping the bronze plate from its hinges and sending it high into the air. A shock wave rolled through the Cathedral, and the sanctuary trembled beneath her feet. Everything seemed to hang in suspension as she waited for a secondary explosion, but there was nothing except the ringing in her ears. She dropped through the smoke down the ladder.

Burke moved slowly toward Martin as the echoes of the shock wave passed through the loft.

Martin said, "Well, Lieutenant Burke, this is a surprise. I thought you'd be . . . well, somewhere else. You look terrible. You're walking strangely. Where are your shoes?" Martin checked his watch. "Two minutes

. . . less, I think. Good view from here. Do you have cameras recording this? You won't see this again." He peered over Burke's shoulder at the sanctuary. "Look at all that metalwork, that marble. Magnificent. It's going to look exactly like Coventry in about three minutes." He patted the lapel of his topcoat as he turned back to Burke. "See? I've kept my carnation. Where's yours?" He looked anxiously into the sanctuary again.

"What is that crazy woman up to? Turn around, Burke. Don't miss this."

Martin brushed past Burke and drew closer to the rail. He watched Baxter and Maureen approaching, accompanied by Major Cole and four Guardsmen.

Brian Flynn's limp body was being carried on a stretcher by two of the Guardsmen. Martin said to Burke, "Governor Doyle will 549

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be pleased with his boys-Mayor Kline will be furious with you, Burke."

Martin called down. "Harry, old man? Up here!" He waved. "Nicely done, you two."

Martin turned and looked back as Leary, almost unconscious, was being carried into the choir practice room. He said to Burke, "Ballistics will show that the rifle I took from him never fired a shot that killed anyone. He did kill that young woman sniper, though, the very moment he had-what do you call W-the drop on her. Well, at least that's the way he's made it appear. He'll go free if he is tried." Martin looked back over his shoulder. "Good-bye, Jack. I'll see you later in the hospital."

He called to an ESD squad leader, "Easy with that man-he works for me."

Martin turned back to Burke as Leary disappeared into the choir room.

"Your people are in an ugly mood. Well . . . the mysteries are unfolding now . . . Burke? Are you listening to me? Burke-" Martin looked at his watch, then at the sanctuary, and continued in a new vein. "The problem with you people is no fire discipline. Shoot first and ask questions later-great tradition. That's why Father Murphy is hanging dead from a ladder in the bell tower here-oh, you didn't know that, Burke?"

Martin walked to the edge of the loft and rested his hands on the parapet, looking straight down. Baxter and Malone were standing with their backs to him now. Flynn was lying near them on the floor, a National Guard medic crouched over him, Baxter, Martin noticed, had his arm around Maureen Malone's shoulder, and she was slumped against him.

Martin said to Burke, "Come closer-look at this, Burke. They've made friends." He called down, "Harry, you old devil. Miss Malone. Get down, you twothere'll be a bit of falling debris." He turned to Burke behind him. "I feel rather bad about being the one who pushed for Baxter being on the steps. . . . If I had had any idea it would be so risky . . ."