The patrolman said excitedly, “The men in the corridors heard two shots fired—”
Tezik looked at Burke. “That’s it. We’re going in.” Tezik moved quickly past Burke toward the door. Burke grabbed his shoulders and threw him back against the fireplace.
Tezik recovered his balance and shouted to the patrolman, “Arrest this man!”
The patrolman hesitated, then drew his service revolver.
The telephone rang.
Burke reached for it, but Tezik snatched the phone away and picked up the receiver. “Sergeant Tezik, NYPD.”
Flynn sat at the chancel organ bench and said, “This is Finn MacCumail.”
Tezik’s voice was excited. “What happened in there? What’s all that shooting?”
Flynn lit a cigarette. “Two shots hardly constitute ‘all that shooting,’ Sergeant. You ought to spend your next holiday in Belfast. Mothers fire two shots into the nursery just to wake the children.”
“What—”
“No one is hurt,” interrupted Flynn. “An automatic rifle discharged by accident.” He said abruptly, “We’re getting impatient, Sergeant.”
“Just stay calm.”
“The deadline for the demands I’m going to make is sunrise, and sunrise won’t come any later because you’re fucking around to find your chiefs.” He hung up and drew on his cigarette. He thought about Maureen. He ought to tie her up for her own good, and for the good of them all, but perhaps he owed it to her to leave her options open and let her arrive at her own destiny without his interference, Sometime before sunrise they would be free of each other. or if not free, then together again, one way or the other.
CHAPTER 22
Sergeant Tezik replaced the receiver and glanced at Burke. “An automatic rifle went off by accident—that’s what he said…. I don’t know.” Tezik seemed to have calmed down somewhat. “What do you think?”
Burke let out a long breath, then moved to the window overlooking the Cathedral and pulled back the drapes. “Take a look out there.”
Sergeant Tezik looked at the floodlit Cathedral.
“Have you ever seen the inside of that place, Tezik?”
He nodded. “Holy Name Society communions. Couple of … funerals.”
“Yeah. Well, remember the triforia—the balconies? The choir loft? The acre or so of pews? It’s a deathtrap in there, Sergeant, a fucking shooting gallery, and the TPU will be ducks.” Burke let the drape fall and faced Tezik. “My intelligence sources say that those people have automatic weapons and sniper rifles. Maybe rockets. What do you have, Tezik? Six-shooters? Go back to your post. Tell your men to stand fast.”
Tezik walked to a sideboard, poured a glass of brandy, drank it, then stared off at a point in space for a full minute. He looked at Burke and said, “Okay, I’m no hero.” He forced a smile. “Thought it might be a piece of cake. Couple of medals. Mayor’s commendation … media stuff. You know?”
“Yeah, I’ve been to a lot of funerals like that.”
The other TPU man holstered his revolver and left as Tezik moved sullenly toward the door.
“And no funny stuff, Sergeant.”
Tezik walked into the outer office, then called back. “They want to speak to a high-ranking police official. Hope you can find one.”
Burke moved to the desk and dialed a special number to his office in Police Plaza. After a long delay the phone rang and a woman answered. “Jackson.”
“Louise, Burke here.”
Duty Sergeant Louise Jackson, a middle-aged black woman, sounded tired. “Lieutenant! Where are you?”
“In the rectory of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. Put Langley on.”
“The Inspector’s in a helicopter with Deputy PC Rourke. They’re trying to establish a command structure, but we lost radio contact with them when they got close to the Cathedral. Jamming device there. Every telephone line in the city is overloaded except these special ones, and they’re not so good either. Everything’s pretty crazy here.”
“It’s a little messy here, too. Listen, you call the Hostage Negotiator’s office upstairs. Have them get hold of Bert Schroeder, quick. We have a hostage situation here.”
“Damn it. That’s what we thought. The BSS guarding the VIPs on the steps just called in. They lost some people in the shuffle, but they were a little vague about who and how.”
“I’ll tell you who and how in a second. Okay, call the Emergency Service office— Captain Bellini, if he’s available. Explain that the Cathedral is held by gunmen and tell them to assemble siege equipment, snipers, and whatever other personnel and equipment is necessary, in the Cardinal’s residence. Got that?”
“This one’s going to be a bitch.”
“For sure. Okay, I have a situation report and a message from the gunmen, Louise. I’ll give it to you, and you call the Commissioner’s office. They’ll call everyone on the Situation A list. Ready to copy?”
“Shoot.”
“At approximately 5:20 P.M. Saint Patrick’s Cathedral was seized by an unknown number of gunmen—” Burke finished his report. “I’m designating the rectory as the command post. Get Ma Bell on the horn and have them put extra phone lines into the rectory according to existing emergency procedures. Got that?”
“Yes…. Pat, are you authorized—?”
Burke felt the sweat collecting around his collar and loosened it. “Louise, don’t ask those kinds of questions. We’ve got to wing this one. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Do your best to contact those people. Stay cool.”
“I’m cool. But you ought to see the people here. Everybody thinks it’s some kind of
“Tell Albany and Washington that nobody in New York cares enough to start an insurrection. As far as I can make out, the Fenians provoked a disturbance to cover their seizing of the Cathedral. It got out of hand—a lot of happy citizens cutting loose. Do you have any reports from our people in the field?”
“Not a one. You’re the first.”
“One more thing. Get John Hickey’s file sent here as soon as possible. And see what we have on a Northern Irishman named Brian Flynn.” He hung up.
Burke walked into the outer office. “Monsignor?”
Monsignor Downes put down his telephone. “I can’t get through to
Burke looked into Downes’s ashen face, moved to the coffee table, and picked up a bottle of wine and a glass.
“Have some of this. The phones will be clear later. Couple of million people are trying to call home at the same time, that’s all. We’re going to have to use this rectory as a command post.”
Monsignor Downes ignored the wine. “Command post?”
“Please clear the rectory and evacuate all the office personnel and priests. Leave a switchboard operator on until I can get a police operator here.” Burke looked at his watch and considered a moment, then said, “How do I get into the corridor that connects with the sacristy?”
Monsignor Downes gave him a set of involved and disjointed instructions.
The door swung open and a tall man in a black topcoat burst in. He held up his badge case. “Lieutenant Young. Bureau of Special Services.” He looked at the Monsignor, then at Burke, and said, “Who are you?”
“Burke. ID.”
