Bellini squatted at the door in the knee wall and listened to Flynn’s voice through the public address system. “Yeah, motherfuckers, you watch the doors and windows.” The First Squad knelt to the sides with rifles raised. Bellini put his hand to the latch, raised it, and pushed. The ESD men behind him converged on the door, and Bellini threw it open, rolling onto the floor into the dark triforium. The men poured through after him, diving and rolling over the cold floor, weapons pointing up and down the long gallery.
The triforium was empty, but on the floor lay a black morning coat, top hat, and a tricolored sash with the words Parade Marshal.
Half the squad crawled along the parapet, spacing themselves at intervals. The other half ran in a crouch to where the triforium turned at a right angle overlooking the south transept.
Bellini made his way to the corner of the right angle and raised an infrared periscope. The entire Cathedral was lit with candles and phosphorus flares and, even as he watched, the burning phosphorus caused the image to white out and disappear. He swore and lowered the periscope. Someone handed him a daylight periscope, and he focused on the long triforium across the transept. In the flickering light from below he could see a tall man in a bagpiper’s tunic leaning over the balustrade and aiming a rifle at the transept doors across the nave. He shifted the periscope and looked down toward the dark choir loft but saw nothing, then scanned right to the long triforium across the nave and caught a glimpse of what looked like a woman in overalls. He focused on her and saw that her young face looked frightened. He smiled and traversed farther right to the short triforium across the sanctuary where the chimney was. It appeared empty, and he began to wonder just how many people Flynn had used to take the Cathedral and fuck up everyone’s day.
Burke came up behind him, and Bellini whispered in his ear, “This is not going so bad.” Bellini’s field phone clicked, and he put it to his ear. The Third Squad reported to all points. “In position. One Fenian in chimney— KIA.”
A voice cut in, and Bellini heard the excited shouts of the Second Squad leader. “Attic ablaze! Fighting fire! Three ESD casualties—one Fenian dead—one still shooting. Fire helicopters in position, but they won’t come in until attic is secure. May have to abandon attic!”
Bellini looked up to the vaulted ceiling. He cupped his hand around the mouthpiece and spoke quickly. “You stay there and fight that fucking fire, you kill the fucking Fenian, and you bring those fire choppers in. You piss on that fire, you spit on that fire, but you do not leave that fire. Acknowledge.”
The squad leader seemed calmer. “Roger, Roger, okay…. ”
Bellini put down the field phone and looked at Burke. “The attic is burning.”
Burke peered up into the darkness. Somewhere above the dimly outlined ceiling, about four stories up, there was light and heat, but here it was dark and cold. Somewhere below there were explosives that could level the entire east end of the Cathedral. He looked at his watch and said, “The bombs will put the fire out.”
Bellini looked at him. “Your sense of humor sucks, you know?”
Flynn stood in the pulpit, a feeling of impotence growing in him. It was ending too quietly, no bangs, not even whimpers, at least none that he could hear. He was becoming certain that the police had finally found Gordon Stillway, compliments of Bartholomew Martin, and they weren’t going to come in through the doors and windows— Schroeder had lied or had been used by them. They were burrowing in right now, like rot in the timbers of a house, and the whole thing would fall with hardly a shot fired. He looked at his watch. 5:37. He hoped Hickey was still alive down there, waiting for the Bomb Squad in the darkness. He thought a moment, and the overwhelming conviction came over him that Hickey at least would complete his mission.
Flynn spoke in the microphone. “They’ve taken out the towers. George, Eamon, Frank, Abby, Leary, Megan— keep alert. They may have found another way in. Gallagher, watch the crypt behind you. Everyone, remember the movable blocks on the floor; watch the bronze plate on the sanctuary: scan the bride’s room, the Archbishop’s sacristy, the bookstore and the altars; keep an ear to the walls of the triforium attics—” Something made him look up to his right at the northeast triforium. “Farrell!”
No one answered.
Flynn peered into the darkness above. “Farrell!” He slammed his fist on the marble balustrade. “Damn it!” He cranked the field phone and tried again to raise the attic.
Bellini listened to the echoes of Flynn’s voice die away from the speakers. The squad leader beside him said, “We have to move—now!”
Bellini’s voice was cool. “No. Timing. It’s like trying to get laid—it’s all timing.” The phone clicked, and Bellini listened to the Third Squad leader in the attic of the opposite triforium. “Captain, do you see anyone else in this triforium?”
Bellini answered, “I guess the guy called Farrell was the only one. Move into the triforium.” He spoke to the operator. “Get me the Fourth Squad.”
The Fourth Squad leader answered, and his voice resohated from the duct he was crawling through. “We jumped off late, Captain—got lost in the duct work. I think we’re through the foundation—”
“
“Sorry—”
Bellini rubbed his throbbing temples and brought his voice under control. “Okay… okay, we make up the time you lost by moving your time of last possible withdrawal from 5:55 to 6:00. That’s fair, right?”
There was a pause before the squad leader replied, “Right.”
“Good. Now you just see if you can find the block-square crawl space. Okay? Then I’ll send the Bomb Squad in.” He hung up and looked at Burke. “Glad you came?”
“Absolutely.”
Flynn cranked the field phone. “Attic! Attic!”
Jean Kearney’s voice finally came on the line, and Flynn spoke hurriedly. “They’ve taken out the towers, and they’ll be coming through the roof hatches next—I can hear helicopters overhead. There’s no use waiting for it, Jean—light all the fires and get into the bell tower.”
Jean Kearney answered, “All right.” She stood propped against a catwalk rail, supported by two ESD men, one of whom had the big silencer of a pistol pressed to her head. She shouted into the phone, “Brian—!” One of the men pulled the phone out of her hand.
She steadied herself on the rail, feeling lightheaded and nauseous from the loss of blood. She bent over and vomited on the floor, then picked her head up and tried to stand erect, shaking off the two men beside her. Hoses hung from hovering helicopters and snaked their way through the roof hatches, discharging billows of white foam over the flickering flames. She felt defeated but relieved that it was over. She tried to think about Arthur Nulty, but her thigh was causing her such pain that all she could think about was that the pain should go away and the nausea should stop. She looked at the squad leader. “Give me a pressure bandage, damn it.”
The squad leader ignored her and watched the firemen coming through the hatches, taking over the hoses from his Assault Squad. He shouted to his men. “Move out! Into the bell tower!”
He turned back to Jean Kearney, noticing the tattered green Aer Lingus uniform; he looked at her freckled features in the subdued light and pointed at a smoldering pile of wood. “Are you
She looked him in the eye. “We’re loyal.”
The squad leader listened to the sound of his men double-timing over the catwalks toward the tower passage. As he reached for the aid kit on his belt his eyes darted around at the firemen who were occupied with the large chemical hoses.
Jean Kearney’s hand flew out and expertly snatched his pistol, put it to her heart, and fired. She back- pedaled, her arms swinging in wide circular motions until she toppled over to the dusty catwalk.
The squad leader looked at her, stunned, and then bent over and retrieved his pistol. “Crazy … crazy.”
A thick mass of foam moved across the catwalk and slid over Jean Kearney’s body; the white billowing bubbles tinged with red.
Flynn used the field phone to call the choir loft. He spoke quickly to Megan. “I think they’ve taken the attic. They’ll be coming through the side doors into the choir loft. Keep the doors covered so Leary can shoot.”
