There was some laughter from the adjoining office. No one in the inner office laughed. Schroeder bit his cigar. “Mr. Hickey—”
“What do you have for February 12, 1979? Read it to me, Schaeffer.”
Schroeder turned to the last page and read. “Died of natural causes, at home, Newark, New Jersey. Buried … buried in Jersey City Cemetery….”
Hickey laughed again, a high, piercing laugh. Neither man spoke for a few seconds, then Schroeder said, “Mr. Hickey, first I want to ask you if the hostages are all right.”
“That’s a stupid question. If they weren’t, would I tell you?”
“But they are all right?”
“There you go again. Same stupid question,” Hickey said impatiently. “They’re fine. What did you call for?”
Schroeder said, “Lieutenant Burke is ready to bring the food you ordered. Where—?”
“Through the sacristy.”
“He’ll be alone, unarmed—”
Hickey’s voice was suddenly ill-tempered. “You don’t have to reassure me. For my part I’d like you to try something, because quicker than you can make it up those stairs with a chaincutter or ram, the Cardinal’s brains would be running over the altar, followed by a great fucking explosion that they’d hear in the Vatican, and a fire so hot it’d melt the brass balls off Atlas. Do you understand, Schroeder?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And stop calling me sir, you candy-assed flatfoot. When I was a lad, if you looked at a constable cross-eyed he’d knock you into next week. Now you’re all going round calling murderers sir. No wonder they picked New York for this. Fucking cops would rather bat softballs with a bunch of slum brats than bat heads. Also, while I’m on the subject, I don’t like your voice, Schroeder. You sound mealy-mouthed. How the hell did you get picked for this job? Your voice is all wrong.”
“Yes, sir … Mr. Hickey…. What would you like me to call you … ?”
“Call me a son of a bitch, Schroeder, because that’s what I am. Go on, you’ll feel better.”
Schroeder cleared his throat. “Okay … you’re a son of a bitch.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’d rather be a son of a bitch than an asshole like you.” He laughed and hung up.
Schroeder put down the receiver, took a long breath, and turned off the speakers. “Well … I think …” He looked down at Hickey’s file. “Very unstable. Maybe a little senile.” He looked at Burke. “You don’t have to go if you …”
“Yeah. I have to go. I damn well have to go. Where’s the fucking food?” He stood.
Langley spoke. “I didn’t like that part about the explosion.”
Major Martin said, “I’d have been surprised if they hadn’t set it up with explosives. That’s their specialty.”
Burke moved toward the door. “The Irish specialty is bullshit.” He looked at Martin. “Not subtle or sophisticated bullshit, of course, Major. Just bullshit. And if they had as much gelignite and plastic as they have bullshit, they could have blown up the solar system.” He opened the door and looked back over his shoulder. “Forty-five meals. Shit, I wouldn’t want to have to eat every meal over the number of people they have in there.”
Bellini called out at Burke’s retreating figure. “I hope you’re right, Burke. I hope to Christ you’re right.” He turned back to the people in the room. “He doesn’t have to shoot his way in there.”
Schroeder looked at Monsignor Downes, who appeared pale, then turned to Bellini and said irritably, “Damn it, Joe, stop that. No one is going to have to shoot his way into that Cathedral.”
Major Martin was examining some curios on the mantelpiece. He said, as though to himself but loud enough for everyone to hear him, “I wonder.”
CHAPTER 29
Flynn stood with Maureen on the landing in front of the crypt entrance. He found a key on the ring and opened the green, glass-paneled door. Inside, a set of stairs descended into the white-marbled burial chamber. He turned to Pedar Fitzgerald. “Somewhere in there may be a hidden passage. I’ll be along shortly.”
Fitzgerald cradled his submachine gun under his arm and moved down the stairs. Flynn shut the door and looked at the inscription in the bronze. Requiescant In Pace. “May they rest in peace,” he said. Below the inscriptions were plaques bearing the names of the former archbishops of New York who were buried in the crypt. He turned to Maureen. “You remember how frightened we were to go down into Whitehorn Abbey’s crypt?”
She nodded. “There have been too many graves in our lives, Brian, and too much running. God, look at you. You look ten years older than your age.”
“Do I? Well … that’s not just from the running. That’s partly from not running fast enough.” He paused, then added, “I was caught.”
She turned her head toward him. “Oh … I didn’t know.”
“It was kept quiet. Major Martin. Remember the name?”
“Of course. He contacted me once, right after I’d gone to Dublin. He wanted to know where you were. He said it would go easier on Sheila … and he said they would cancel the warrant for my arrest … Pleasant sort of chap, actually, but you knew he’d pull your fingernails out if he had you in Belfast.”
Flynn smiled. “And what did you tell this pleasant chap?”
“I would have told him to go to hell except I thought he might actually go and find you there. So I told him to fuck off.”
Flynn smiled again, but his eyes were appraising her thoughtfully.
She read the expression in his face. “I want you to understand that I never turned informer. Traitor, if you like, but never informer.”
He nodded. “I believe you. If I didn’t, I’d have killed you long ago.”
“Would you?”
He changed the subject. “You’re going to get people hurt if you try to escape again.”
She didn’t respond.
Flynn took a key from his pocket and held it out. “This is the key to the padlock on that chain. I’ll open it now, and you can go.”
“Not without the others.”
“But you’d try to escape without the others.”
“That’s different.”
He smiled and kept the key in front of her. “Ah, you’re still a street fighter, Maureen. You understand that there’s a price to pay—in advance—for a bit of freedom. Most men and women in this world would leave here quickly through the offered gate, and they wouldn’t even entertain the thought of escaping with bullets whistling about their ears. You see, your values and requirements are reversed from ordinary people’s. We changed you forever in those years we had you.”
She remembered the way he had of interpreting for her all of her motives and actions, and how he had once had her so confused about who and what she was that she’d fallen into his power, willingly and gladly. She looked at him. “Shut up.”
Flynn hesitated, then pocketed the key and shifted to another topic. “I chatted with the Cardinal. He believes in the ring, you know. You didn’t believe because you thought that as a halfhearted Christian you shouldn’t. But His Eminence is about as good a Christian as they make, you’ll agree, and for that reason he believes.”
She looked at the crypt door. “I never said I didn’t believe in such things. I told you in Whitehorn Abbey on the evening I left that I couldn’t understand why any power—good or evil—would pick you as their mortal emissary.”
He laughed. “That’s a terrible thing to say. You’re a master of the low blow, Maureen. You’d be a bitch except you’ve got a good heart.” He moved closer to her. “How do you explain the fact of Father Donnelly’s disappearance? I’ve searched for that man—if man he was—over these past years, and no one has even heard of him.”
She stared through a glass pane into the white, luminescent crypt and shook her head.
Flynn watched her, then put a different tone in his voice and took her arm in a firm grip. “Before I forget, let me give you one good piece of advice—don’t provoke Megan.”
She tu
rned 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.
“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, Maureen—illusion 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.
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 don’t 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.”
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. “Ah, 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 formally 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 head. “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 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 hostage 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.