Schroeder stiffened. He glared at Burke and said, “Please repeat the exchange, and also tell us how he seemed—his state of mind. That sort of thing.”
Burke repeated what he had said earlier, and added, “He seemed very self-assured. And it wasn’t bravado. He seemed intelligent, too.”
“He didn’t seem unbalanced?” asked Schroeder.
“His whole manner seemed normal—except for what he was saying, of course.”
“Drugs—alcohol?” asked Schroeder.
“Probably had less to drink today than anyone here.”
Someone laughed.
Schroeder turned to Langley. “We can’t get an angle on this guy unless we know his real name. Right?”
Langley glanced at Burke, then at the Acting Commissioner. “Actually, I know who he is.”
The room became quiet.
Burke stole a look at Major Martin, who seemed impassive.
Langley continued. “His name is Brian Flynn. The British will certainly have a file on him—psy-profile, that sort of thing. Maybe the CIA has something, too. His lieutenant is a man named John Hickey, thought to have died some years ago. You may have heard of him. He’s a naturalized American citizen. We and the FBI have an extensive file on Hickey.”
The FBI man, Hogan, said, “I’ll check.”
Kruger said, “I’ll check on Flynn.”
Major Martin added, “Both names seem familiar. I’ll wire London.”
Schroeder looked a bit happier. “Good. Good work. That makes my job—our jobs—a lot easier. Right?” He turned to Burke. “One more thing—did you get the impression that the woman who fired at you was shooting to kill?”
Burke said, “I had the impression she was aiming for the horse. They probably have some discipline of firepower, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
The policemen in the room nodded. Commissioner Rourke said, “Does anybody know anything about this group—the Fenians?” He looked at Kruger and Hogan.
Kruger glanced at Major Martin, then replied, “We have almost no funds to maintain a liaison section on Northern Irish affairs. It has been determined, you see, that the IRA poses no immediate threat to the United States, and preventive measures were not thought to be justified. Unfortunately, we are paying for that frugality now.”
Douglas Hogan added, “The FBI thought it was the Provisional IRA until Major Martin suggested otherwise. My section, which specializes in Irish organizations in America, is understaffed and partly dependent on British Intelligence for information.”
Burke nodded to himself. He was beginning to catch the drift. Kruger and Hogan were being petulant, taking an I-told-you-so line. They were also covering themselves, rehearsing for later testimony, and laying the groundwork for the future. Nicely done, too.
Commissioner Rourke looked at Major Martin. “Then you are … I mean … you are not …”
Major Martin smiled and stood. “Yes, I’m not actually
Langley said dryly, “Yes, the Major has been very helpful, as have the CIA and FBI. My own division did admirably too; and actually missed averting this act by only minutes. Lieutenant Burke should be commended for his resourcefulness and bravery.”
There was a silence during which, Burke noticed, no one yelled “Hooray for Burke.” It occurred to him that each of them was identifying his own objectives, his own exposure, looking for allies, scapegoats, enemies, and trying to figure how to use this crisis to his advantage. “I told Flynn we wouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Schroeder said, “I won’t begin a dialogue until I clarify our position.” He looked at Bill Voight, the Governor’s aide. “Has the Governor indicated that he is willing to grant immunity from prosecution?”
Voight shook his head. “Not at this time.”
Schroeder looked at Roberta Spiegel. “What is the Mayor’s position regarding the use of police?”
Roberta Spiegel lit a cigarette. “No matter what kind of deal is concluded with London or Washington or anyone, the Mayor will enforce the law and order the arrest of anyone coming out of that Cathedral. If they don’t come out, the Mayor reserves the right to send the police in to get them.”
Schroeder nodded thoughtfully, then looked at Arnold Sheridan.
The State Department man said, “I can’t speak for the administration or State at this time, and I don’t know what the Attorney General’s position will be regarding immunity from federal prosecution. But you can assume nobody in Washington is going along with any of those demands.”
Schroeder looked at Tomas Donahue.
The Irish Consul General glanced at Major Martin, then said, “The Irish Republican Army is outlawed in the Irish Republic, and my government will not accept members of the IRA or offer them sanctuary in the unlikely event the British government decides to release these people.”
Major Martin added, “Although I do not represent Her Majesty’s government, I can assure you the government’s position is as always regarding the IRA or whatever they’re calling themselves today: Never negotiate, and if you do negotiate, never concede a single point, and if you do concede a point, never tell them you’ve conceded it.”
Roberta Spiegel said, “Now that we know what uncompromising bastards we are, let’s negotiate.”
Commissioner Rourke said to Schroeder, “Yes, now all you have to do is talk them out, Bert. They’ve involved the Red Cross and Amnesty, so we can’t easily lie to them. You’ve got to be very … very …” He couldn’t come up with the word he wanted and turned to Captain Bellini, who had said nothing so far. “Captain, in the unlikely event Bert can’t do it, is the Emergency Services Division ready to mount an … assault?”
Bellini shifted his massive frame in his small chair. The blue-black stubble on his face gave him a hard appearance, but the area under his eyes had gone very pale. “Yeah … yes, sir. When the time comes, we’ll be ready.”
Schroeder reached for the telephone. “Okay. I know where everyone’s coming from. Right?”
Monsignor Downes spoke. “May I say something?”
Everyone looked at him. Schroeder took his hand off the receiver, smiled, and nodded.
Downes said softly, “No one has said anything about the hostages yet. Or about the Cathedral.” There was a silence in the room and Monsignor Downes went on. “If, as I assume, your first responsibility is to the hostages, and if you make this clear to your superiors and to the people inside the Cathedral, then I don’t see why a compromise can’t be worked out.” He looked around the room.
No one took it upon himself to explain the realities of international diplomacy to the Monsignor.
Schroeder said, “I haven’t lost a hostage—or for that matter a building—yet, Monsignor. It’s often possible to get what you want without giving anything in return.”
“Oh … I didn’t know that,” said Monsignor Downes quietly.
“In fact,” continued Schroeder assuringly, “the tack I am going to take is pretty much as you suggested. Stick around, you’ll see how it’s done.” He picked up the telephone and waited for the police operator at the switchboard. He looked around the room and said, “Don’t be disturbed if he seems to be winning a few rounds. You have to give them the impression they’re scoring. By sunrise he’ll tire—you ever go shark fishing? You let them run out the line until you’re ready to reel them in.” He said to the police operator, “Yes, get me the extension at the chancel organ.” He put his elbows on the desk and waited. No one in the room moved.
CHAPTER 25
Governor Doyle put down the telephone and looked around the crowded outer office. People were jockeying for the newly installed phones, and a cloud of blue smoke hung over the elegant furnishings, reminding him of a hotel suite on election night, and that reminded him of the next election. He spotted Mayor Kline talking to a group of city and police officials and came up behind the Mayor, taking his arm in a firm grip. “Murray, I have to speak to
