Cathedral

Langley ran his hand over his mouth, and Burke thought he was hiding a smile. Langley regained his composure and said caustically, “That was very stupid— don’t you agree?”

Burke shrugged.

Roberta Spiegel walked unnoticed through the crowd on the steps and came under the portal, stopping beside Langley. She looked at the two men, then said to Burke, “Christ Almighty, right in front of about forty policemen and National Guardsmen. Are you crazy?”

Langley said, “I just asked him if he was stupid, but that’s a good question, too.” He turned to Burke. “Well, are you stupid or crazy?”

Burke sat down with his back to the stone wall and watched the smoke rise from his cigarette. He yawned twice.

Spiegel’s voice was ominous. “They’re going to arrest you for murder. I’m surprised they haven’t grabbed you yet.”

Burke raised his eyes toward Spiegel. “They haven’t grabbed me because you told them not to. Because you want to see if Pat Burke is going to go peacefully or if he’s going to kick and scream.”

Spiegel didn’t answer.

Burke glared at her, then at Langley. “Okay, let me see if I know how to play this game. A file on Bartholomew Martin—right? He suffered from vertigo and fear of heights. Or how about this?—twenty police witnesses in the loft sign sworn affidavits saying Martin took a swat at a fly and toppled—No, no, I’ve got it—”

Spiegel cut him off. “The man was a consulate official—”

“Bullshit.”

Spiegel shook her head. “No one can fix this one, Lieutenant.”

Burke leaned back and yawned again. “You’re Ms. Fixit in this town, lady, so you fix it. And fix me up with a commendation and captain’s pay while you’re about it. By tomorrow.”

Spiegel’s face reddened. “Are you threatening me?” Their eyes met, and neither turned away. She said, “And who’s going to believe your version of anything that was discussed tonight?”

Burke stubbed out his cigarette. “Schroeder, who is a hero, will corroborate anything I say.”

Spiegel laughed. “That’s absurd.”

Langley cleared his throat and said to Spiegel. “Actually, that’s true. It’s a long story…. I think Lieutenant Burke deserves … well, whatever he says he deserves.”

Spiegel looked at Langley closely, then turned back to Burke. “You’ve got something on Schroeder—right? Okay, I don’t have to know what it is. I’m not looking to hang you, Burke. I’ll do what I can—”

Burke interrupted. “Art Forgery Squad. It would be a really good idea if I was in Paris by this time tomorrow.”

Spiegel laughed. “Art Forgery? What the hell do you know about art?”

“I know what I like.”

“That true,” said Langley. “He does.” He stuck his hand out toward Burke, “You did an outstanding job tonight, Lieutenant. The Division is very proud of you.”

Burke took his hand and used it to pull himself up. “Thank you, Chief Inspector. I shall be clean of sin. Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”

Langley said, “Well … we’ll just get you a commendation or something….”

Spiegel lit a cigarette. “How the hell did I ever get involved with cops and politicians? God, I’d rather be on the stroll in Times Square.”

Burke said, “I thought you looked familiar.”

She ignored him and surveyed the steps and the Avenue. “Where’s Schroeder, anyway? I see lots of news cameras, but smiling Bert isn’t in front of any of them. Or is he at a television studio already?”

Burke said, “He’s in the Cathedral. Praying.”

Spiegel seemed taken aback, then nodded. “That’s damned good press. Yes, yes. Everyone’s out here sucking up on the coverage, and he’s in there praying. They’ll eat it up. Wow … I could run that bastard for councilman in Bensonhurst …”

Stretcher-bearers began bringing the bodies out of the Cathedral, a long, silent procession, through the doors of the south vestibule, down the steps. The litters carrying the police and Guardsmen passed through a hastily assembled honor guard; the stretchers of the Fenians passed behind the guard. Everyone on the steps fell silent, police and army chaplains walked beside the stretchers, and a uniformed police inspector in gold braid directed the bearers to designated ambulances. The litters holding the Fenians were placed on the sidewalk.

Burke moved among the stretchers and found the tag marked Bellini, He drew the cover back and looked into the face, wiped of greasepaint—a very white face with that hard jaw and black stubble. He dropped the cover back and quickly walked a few steps off, his hands on his hips, staring down at his feet.

The bells had ended the Te Deum and began to play a slow dirge. Governor Doyle stood with his retinue, his hat in his hand. Major Cole stood beside him holding a salute. The Governor leaned toward Cole and spoke as he lowered his head in respect. “How many did the Sixty-ninth lose, Major?”

Cole looked at him out of the corner of his eye, certain that he had detected an expectant tone in the Governor’s voice. “Five killed, sir, including Colonel Logan, of course. Three wounded.”

“Out of how many?”

Cole lowered his salute and stared at the Governor. “Out of a total of eighteen men who directly participated in the attack.”

“The rescue … yes …” The Governor nodded thoughtfully. “Terrible. Fifty percent casualties.”

“Well, not quite fif—”

“But you rescued two hostages.”

“Actually, they saved themselves—”

“The Sixty-ninth Regiment will be needing a new commander, Cole.”

“Yes … that’s true.”

The last of the police and Guardsmen were placed in ambulances, and the line of vehicles began moving away, escorted by motorcycle police. A black police van pulled up to the curb, and a group of stretcher-bearers on the sidewalk picked up the litters holding the dead Fenians and headed toward the van.

An Intelligence officer standing beside the van saluted Langley as he approached and handed him a small stack of folded papers. The man said, “Almost every one of them had an identifying personal note on him, Inspector. And here’s a preliminary report on each one.” The man added, “We also found pages of the ESD attack plan in there. How the hell—?”

Langley took the loose pages and shoved them in his pocket. “That doesn’t go in your report.”

“Yes, sir.”

Langley came up beside Burke sitting under the portal again, with Spiegel standing in front of him.

Burke said, “Where are Malone and Baxter?”

Spiegel answered, “Malone and Baxter are still in the Cathedral for their own protection—there may still be snipers out there. Baxter’s in the Archbishop’s sacristy until we release him to his people. Malone’s in the bride’s room. The FBI will take charge of her.”

Burke said, “Where’s Flynn’s body?”

No one answered, then Spiegel knelt on the step beside Burke. “He’s not dead yet. He’s in the bookstore.”

Burke said, “Is that the Bellevue annex?”

Spiegel hesitated, then spoke. “The doctor said be was within minutes of death… so we didn’t … have him moved.”

Burke said, “You’re murdering him—so don’t give me this shit about not being able to move him.”

Spiegel looked him in the eye. “Everybody on both sides of the Atlantic wants him dead, Burke. Just like everyone wanted Martin dead. Don’t start moralizing to me….”

Burke said, “Get him to Bellevue.”