Burke moved into view of the stairway and saw a young man, a boy really, kneeling on the landing in front of the crypt door. Burke mounted the steps slowly and put his hands on the brass gate.
Pedar Fitzgerald pointed the submachine gun down the stairs. “Stand fast!” he called back up the stairs. “Get Finn! There’s a fellow here wants a word with him!”
Burke studied the young man for a moment, then shifted his attention to the layout. The stairs split to the left and right at the crypt door landing. Above the crypt door was the rear of the altar, from which rose a huge cross of gold silhouetted against the towering ceiling of the Cathedral. It didn’t look to him as if anyone could get through the gates and up those stairs without being cut to pieces by overhead fire.
He heard footsteps on the left-hand stairs, and a tall figure emerged and stood outlined against the eerie yellow light coming from the glass-paneled crypt doors. The figure passed beside the kneeling man and moved deliberately down the dimly lit marble stairs. Burke could not clearly see his features, but saw now that the man was wearing a white collarless shirt and black pants, the remains of a priest’s suit. Burke said evenly, “Finn MacCumail?” To an Irishman familiar with Gaelic history, as he was, it sounded as preposterous as calling someone Robin Hood.
“That’s right.” The tall man kept coming. “Chief of the Fenians.”
Burke almost smiled at this pomposity, but something in the man’s eyes held him riveted.
Flynn stopped close to the gates and stared at Burke. “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“Chief Inspector Burke, NYPD, Commissioner’s office.” He met the stare of the man’s deep, dark eyes, then looked down at his right hand and saw the large bronze ring.
Brian Flynn said, “I know who you are …
Burke remembered with some chagrin the first rule of hostage negotiating— never get caught in a lie. He spoke in a slow, measured cadence. “I said that only to expedite matters.”
“Admirable reason to lie.”
The two men were only inches apart, but the gates had the effect of lessening the intrusion into their zones of protected territory. Still, Burke felt uncomfortable but kept his hands on the brass bars. “Are the hostages all right?”
“For the time being.”
“Let me speak with them.”
Flynn shook his head.
“There were shots fired. Who’s dead?”
“No one.”
“What is it you want?” Burke asked, though it didn’t matter what the Fenians wanted, he thought, since they were not going to get it.
Flynn ignored the question. “Are you armed?”
“Of course. But I won’t go against that Thompson.”
“Some people would. Like Sergeant Tezik.”
“He’s been taken care of.” Burke wondered how Flynn knew Tezik was crazy. He imagined that kindred spirits could recognize each other by the tone of their voices.
Flynn looked over Burke’s shoulder at the sacristy corridors.
Burke said, “I’ve pulled them back.”
Flynn nodded.
Burke said, “If you’ll tell me what you want, I will see that your demands are passed directly to the top.” He knew he was operating off his beat, but he knew also that he had to stabilize the situation until the Hostage Negotiator, Bert Schroeder, took over.
Flynn tapped his fingers on the bars, his bronze ring clanging against the brass in a nervous and, at the same time, unnerving way. “Why can’t I speak directly to someone of higher rank?”
Burke thought he heard a mocking tone in his voice. “They are all out of communication. If you turn off the jamming device—”
Flynn laughed, then said abruptly, “Has anyone been killed?”
Burke felt his hands getting sticky on the bars. “Maybe in the riot … Police Commissioner Dwyer … died of a heart attack.” He added, “You won’t be implicated in that—if you surrender now. You’ve made your point.”
“I haven’t even begun to make my point. Were those people on the horse injured?”
“No. Your men saw the policewoman from the towers. The man was me.”
Flynn laughed. “Was it, now?” He thought a moment. “Well, that makes a difference.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say that it makes it less likely that you are working for a certain English gentleman of my acquaintance.” Flynn considered, then said, “Are you wearing a transmitter? Are there listening devices in the corridors?”
“I’m not wearing a wire. I don’t know about the corridors.”
Flynn took a pencil-shaped microphone detector from his pocket and passed it over Burke’s body. “I think I can trust you, even if you are an intelligence officer specializing in hunting Irish patriots like myself.”
“I do my job.”
“Yes. Too well.” He looked at Burke with some interest. “The universal bloodhound. Dogged, nosy, sniffing about. Always wanting to know things. I’ve known the likes of you in London, Belfast, and Dublin.” He stared at Burke, then reached into his pocket and pushed a piece of paper through the gate. “You’re as good as anyone, I suppose. Here is a list of one hundred and thirty-seven men and women held by the British in internment camps in Northern Ireland and England. I want these people released by sunrise. That’s 6:03 A.M.—New York time. I want them flown to Dublin and granted amnesty by the British and Irish governments plus asylum in the south if they want it. The transfer will be supervised by the International Red Cross and Amnesty International. When I receive word from these two organizations that this is accomplished, we will give you back your Cathedral and release the hostages. If this is not done by sunrise, I will throw Sir Harold Baxter from the bell tower, followed by, in random order, the Cardinal, Father Murphy, and Maureen Malone. Then I will burn the Cathedral. Do you believe me, Lieutenant Burke?”
“I believe you.”
“Good. It’s important that you know that each of my Fenians has at least one relative in internment. It’s also important you know that nothing is sacred to us, not church or priests, not human life or humanity in general.”
“I believe you will do what you say you will do.”
“Good. And you’ll deliver not only the message but also the essence and spirit of what I’m saying. Do you understand that?”
“I understand.”
“Yes, I think you do. Now, for ourselves, our purpose is to be reunited with our kin, so we’ll not trade their imprisonment for ours. We want immunity from prosecution. We will walk out of here, motor to Kennedy Airport by means of our own conveyances, and leave New York for various destinations. We have passports and money and want nothing from you or your government except a laissez-passer. Understood?”
“Yes.”
Flynn leaned nearer the bars so that his face was very close to Burke’s. “I know what’s going through your mind, Lieutenant Burke—can we talk them out, or do we have to blow them out? I know that your government—and the NYPD—has a shining history of never having given in to demands made at gunpoint. That history will be rewritten before sunrise. You see, we hold all the cards, as you say—Jack, Queen, King, Ace, and Cathedral.”
Burke said, “I was thinking of the British government—”
“That, for a change, is Washington’s problem, not mine.”
“So it is.”
“From now on, communicate with me only through the telephone extension on the chancel organ. I don’t want to see anyone moving down here.”
Burke nodded.
“And you’d better get your command structure established before some of your cowboys try
