toward the blazing carrier, spread-eagled like a sky diver, and disappeared in clouds of black smoke and orange flame.
The First and Third ESD squads in the triforia were firing into the candlelit Cathedral, the operating mechanisms of their rifles slapping back and forth as the silencers wheezed, and spent brass piled up on the stone floors.
Abby Boland stood rigid for a split second as the scream died in her throat. She got off a single shot, then felt something rip the rifle from her hands, and the butt rammed her face. She fell to the floor, picked up a rocket, and stood again.
Sullivan fired a long automatic burst into Farrell’s triforium and heard a scream. He shifted his fire to the triforium where Gallagher had been, but a single bullet hit him squarely in the chest. He tumbled to the floor, landing on his bagpipes, which emitted a sad wail that pierced the noises in the Cathedral.
Abby Boland saw him go down as she fired the rocket across the Cathedral.
Bellini watched the trail of red fire illuminating the darkness. It came toward him with a noise that sounded like a rushing freight train. “Duck!”
The rocket went high and exploded on the stonework above the triforium. The triforium shook, and the window above blew out of its stone mullions, sending thousands of pieces of colored glass raining down in sheets past the triforium to the sanctuary and pulpit below.
Bellini’s squad rose quickly and poured automatic fire onto the source of the rocket.
Abby Boland held a pistol extended in both hands and fired at the orange flashes as the stonework around her began to shatter. The loud pop of a grenade launcher rolled across the Cathedral, and the top of the balustrade in front of her exploded. Her arms flew up and splattered blood and pistol fragments across her face. She fell forward, half blinded, and her mangled hands clutched at the protruding staff of the Papal flag. In her disorientation she found herself hanging out over the floor below. A burst of fire tore into her arms, and she released her grip. Her body tumbled head over heels and crashed into the pews below with a sharp splintering sound.
Pedar Fitzgerald’s dead body took a half-dozen hits and lurched to and fro, then fell against the keyboard and produced a thundering dissonant chord that continued uninterrupted amid the shouting and gunfire.
Flynn crouched in the pulpit, fired long bursts at Farrell’s triforium, then shifted his fire toward the vestibules where the men of the 69th Regiment had retreated from the burning carrier. Suddenly the carrier’s gasoline exploded. Flames shot up to the choir loft, and huge clouds of black smoke rose and curled around the loft. The National Guardsmen retreated back farther through the mangled doors onto the steps.
Bellini leaned out of the triforium and sighted his rifle almost straight down and fired three shots in quick succession through the bronze pulpit canopy.
Flynn’s body lurched, and he fell to his knees, then rolled over the pulpit floor. Bellini could see his body dangling across the spiral stairs. He took aim at the twitching form. Burke hit Bellini’s shoulder and deflected his shot. “No! Leave him.”
Bellini glared at Burke for a second, then turned his attention to the choir loft. He saw a barely perceptible flash of light, the kind of muzzle fire that came from a combination silencer/flash suppressor and that could only be seen from head on. The light flashed again, but this time in a different place several yards away. Bellini sensed that whoever was in there was very good, and he had a very good perch, a vast sloping area completely darkened and obscured by rising smoke. Even as he watched he heard a scream from the end of the triforium, and one of his men fell back. He heard another moan coming from the opposite triforium. In a short time everyone was on the floor as bullets skimmed across the ledge of the balustrade a few feet above their heads. Burke sat with his back against the wall and lit a cigarette as the wood above him splintered. “That guy is good.”
Bellini crouched across from him and nodded. “And he’s got the best seat in the house. This is going to be a bitch.” He looked at his watch. The whole thing, from the time Logan had hit the doors to this moment, had taken just under two minutes. But Logan was dead now, the National Guardsmen were nowhere to be seen, and he had lost some good people. The hostages might be dead, the people in the crawl space weren’t reporting, and someone in the choir loft was having a good day.
Bellini picked up the field phone and called Fifth Squad in the corridor off the sacristy. “All the bastards are dead except one or two in the choir loft. You have to go for the Cardinal and the two hostages under the pews.”
The squad leader answered, “How the hell do we rush that gate with the Cardinal hanging there?”
“Very carefully. Move out!” He hung up and said to Burke, “The sniper in the choir loft isn’t going to be easy.”
The ESD men from the Fifth Assault Squad moved out of the octagon rooms on both sides of the sacristy gate and slid quickly along the walls, converging on the Cardinal.
The squad leader kept his back to the wall and peered carefully around the opening. His eyes met the Cardinal’s, and both men gave a start; then the squad leader saw a man kneeling at the Cardinal’s feet. Gallagher let out a surprised yell, and the squad leader did the same as he fired twice from the hip.
Gallagher rocked back on his haunches and then fell forward. His smashed face struck the bars, and he rolled sideways, sliding down the Cardinal’s legs.
The Cardinal stared down at Gallagher lying in a heap at his feet, blood rushing from his head over the steps. He looked at the squad leader, who was staring at Gallagher. The squad leader turned and looked up at the top landing, saw no one, and gave a signal. ESD men with bolt cutters swarmed around the gates and severed the chain that tied them together. One of the men snapped the Cardinal’s handcuffs while another one opened the gate lock with a key. So far no one had spoken a word.
The assault squad slid open the gates, and ten men ran up the stairs toward the crypt door.
The Cardinal knelt beside Gallagher’s body, and a medic rushed out of a side corridor and took the Cardinal’s arm. “Are you okay?” The Cardinal nodded. The medic stared down at Gallagher’s face. “This guy don’t look so good, though. Come on, Your Eminence.” He tugged at the Cardinal’s arm as two uniformed policemen lifted the Cardinal, steering him toward the corridor that led back to his residence.
One of the ESD men stood to the side of the crypt door and lobbed a gas canister down into the crypt. The canister popped, and two men wearing gas masks rushed in through the smoke. After a few seconds one of them yelled back, “No one here.”
The squad leader took the field phone and reported, “Captain, sacristy gate and crypt secured. No ESD casualties, one Fenian KIA, Cardinal rescued.” He added impulsively, “Piece of cake.”
Bellini replied, “Tell me that after you get up those stairs. There’s a motherfucker in the choir loft that can circumcise you with two shots and never touch your nuts.”
The squad leader heard the phone click off. “Okay. Hostages under the pews— let’s move.” The squad split into two fire teams and began crawling up the opposite staircases toward the sanctuary.
Maureen and Baxter stayed motionless beneath the clergy pews. Maureen listened to the sounds of striking bullets echoing through the Cathedral. She pressed her face close to Baxter’s and said, “Leary—maybe Megan—is still in the loft. I can’t tell who else is still firing.”
Baxter held her arm tightly. “It doesn’t matter as long as Leary is still there.” He took her wrist and looked at her watch. “It’s 5:36. At 6:00 we run for it.”
She smiled weakly. “Harry, John Hickey is a man who literally would not give you the right time of day. For all we know it’s 6:03 right now. Then again, my watch may be correct, but the bombs may be set for right now. Hickey does not play fair—not with us nor with Brian Flynn.”
“Why am I so bloody naive?”
She pressed his arm. “That’s all right. People like Hickey, Flynn … me … we’re treacherous…. It’s as natural as breathing….”
Baxter peered under the pews, then said, “Let’s run for it.”
“Where? This whole end of the Cathedral will collapse. The doors are mined. Leary’s in the loft, and Gallagher is at the gate.”
He thought a moment. “Gallagher owes you….”
