passages. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.”
“No, it doesn’t. Because I suspect that there are. Now, think of when you were first shown your new cathedral by the Vicar General. Surely there must be an escape route in the event of insurrection. A priest’s hole such as we have in Ireland and England.”
“I don’t believe the architect considered such a thing. This is America.”
“That has less meaning with each passing year. Think, Your Eminence. Lives will be saved if you can remember.”
The Cardinal sat back and looked over the vast church. Yes, there were hollow walls with staircases that went somewhere, passages that were never used, but he could not honestly say that he remembered them or knew if they led from or to an area not controlled by these people. He looked out over the marble floor in front of him. The crypt lay below and, around the crypt, a low-ceilinged basement. But they knew that. He’d seen Hickey and Megan Fitzgerald descend through the bronze plate beside the altar.
Two thirds of the basement was little more than crawl space, a darkness where rats could scurry beneath the marble floor above. And above that darkness six million people passed every year to worship God, to meditate, or just to look. But the darkness below their feet stayed the same, until now—now it was seeping into the Cathedral and into the consciousness and souls of the people in the Cathedral. The dark places became important, not the sanctified places of light.
The Cardinal looked up at the figures standing tensely in the triforia and the choir loft, like sentinels on dark, craggy cliffs, guards on city walls. The eternal watchman, frightened, isolated, whispering, “
The Cardinal turned to Flynn. “I can think of no way in and, by the same token, no way out for you.”
“The way out for me will be through the front doors.” He questioned the Cardinal closely about the suspected basement beneath the nave, passages between the basements outside the Cathedral, and the crawl space below.
The Cardinal kept shaking his head. “Nonsense. Typical nonsense about the church. This is a house of God, not a pyramid. There are no secrets here, only the mysteries of the faith.”
Flynn smiled. “And no hoards of gold, Cardinal?”
“Yes, there is a hoard of gold. The body and blood of Christ that rests in the Tabernacle, the joy and goodwill and the peace and love that resides with us here— that is our hoard of gold. You’re welcome to take some of that with you.”
“And perhaps a few odd chalices and the gold on the altars.”
“You’re welcome to all of that.”
Flynn shook his head. “No, I’ll take nothing out of here but ourselves. Keep your gold and your love.” He looked around the Cathedral and said, “I hope it survives.” He looked at the Cardinal. “Well, perhaps a tour will refresh your memory. Come with me, please.”
The Cardinal rose, and both men descended the steps of the sanctuary and walked toward the front of the Cathedral.
Father Murphy watched the Cardinal walk off with Flynn. Megan wasn’t in sight, Baxter was sitting at the end of the pew, and John Hickey was at the chancel organ, speaking on the field phone. Murphy turned to Maureen. “You want desperately to do something, don’t you?”
She looked at him. The catharsis of an escape from death made her feel strangely relaxed, almost serene, but the impulse for action still lay within her. She nodded slowly.
Father Murphy seemed to consider for a long time, then said, “Do you know any code—such as Morse code?”
“Yes. Morse code. Why?”
“You’re in mortal danger, and I think you should make a confession, in the event something happens … suddenly….”
Maureen looked at the priest but didn’t answer.
“Trust me.”
“All right.”
Murphy waited until Hickey put down the field phone and called out, “Mr. Hickey, could I have a word with you?”
Hickey looked over the sanctuary rail. “Use the one in the bride’s room—wipe the seat.”
“Miss Malone would like to make a confession.”
“Oh,” Hickey laughed. “That would take a week.”
“This is not a joking matter. She feels her life is in mortal danger, and—”
“That it is. All right. No one’s stopping you.”
Father Murphy rose, followed by Maureen.
Hickey watched them move toward the side in the rail. “Can’t you do it there?”
Murphy answered. “Not in front of everyone. In the confessional.”
Hickey looked annoyed. “Be quick about it.”
They descended the side steps and walked across the ambulatory to the confessional booth beside the bride’s room. Hickey raised his hand to the snipers in the perches and called out to the two retreating figures. “No funny business. You’re in the cross hairs.”
Father Murphy showed Maureen into a curtained booth, then entered the archway beside it. He went through the priest’s entrance to the confessional and sat in the small, dark enclosure, then pulled the cord to open the black screen.
Maureen Malone knelt and stared through the curtain at the dim shadow of the priest’s profile. “It’s been so long, I don’t know how to begin.”
Father Murphy said in the low, intimate whisper cultivated for the confessional, “You can begin by locating the button on the door frame.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s a button there. If you press it, it buzzes in the upstairs hall of the rectory. It’s to call a priest when confessions are not normally held, in case you have a need for instant forgiveness.” He laughed softly at what Maureen thought must be an occupational joke in the rectory.
She said excitedly, “Do you mean we can communicate—”
“We can’t get any signal back, and in any case we wouldn’t want one. And I don’t know if anyone will hear us. Quickly, now, signal a message—something useful to the people outside.”
Maureen drew the curtain farther to cover her hand, then ran her fingers over the oak frame and found the button. She pressed it several times to attract someone’s attention, then began in halting Morse code. THIS IS MALONE. WITH FR. MURPHY.
What should she say? She thought back to her training—
She stopped and thought of the snatches of conversation she’d overheard, then continued in a faster, more confident signal.VOTIVE CANDLES PILED IN ATTIC. BOMB? UNDER SANCTUARY.
She stopped again and tried desperately to think—
“Stop!” Murphy’s voice came urgently through the screen.
She pulled her hand away from the buzzer.
Murphy said somewhat loudly, “Do you repent all your sins?”
“I do.”
The priest replied, “Say the rosary once.”
Hickey’s voice cut into the confessional. “
