Maureen came out of the confessional as Father Murphy came through the archway. Murphy nodded to Hickey. “Thank you. Later I’d like the Cardinal to hear my confession.”
Hickey’s wrinkled face broke into a mocking smile. “Now, what have you done, Father?”
He stepped very close to Hickey. “I’ll hear the confessions of your people, too, before this night is over.”
Hickey made a contemptuous sound. “No atheists in cathedrals, eh, Padre?” He stepped back from the priest and nodded. “Someone once said, ‘By night an atheist half believes in God.’ Maybe you’re right. By dawn they’ll all turn to you as they see the face of death, with his obscene gaping grin, pressed against the pretty windows. But I’ll not make a confession to any mortal man, and neither will Flynn nor that she-devil he sleeps with.”
Father Murphy’s face reddened. He went on, “I think Harold Baxter will want to make his peace as well.”
“That heathen? In a Catholic church? Don’t bet the poor-box money on it.” Hickey turned and looked up at the solitary figure sitting in the pew on the sanctuary. “This whole operation may have been worth the while just to see that Protestant bastard on his knees in front of a Catholic priest. All right, let’s get back to the corral.”
Maureen said to Hickey, “I hope I live long enough to see how
The priest nodded. As they came up to the communion rail she said, “Do you think we got through?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know Morse code?”
He reached out and opened the gate in the rail. “No, but you’ll write out those dots and dashes for me before I make my confession.” He waved her through the rail absently. As she passed him she reached out and squeezed his hand. He suddenly came alert. “Wait!”
She turned on the steps. “What is it?”
He looked at Hickey, who was standing near the confessional watching them. He reached into his vestment and handed her a set of rosary beads. “Get back here and kneel at the rail.”
She took the beads and glanced at Hickey. “Stupid of me—”
“My fault. Just pray he doesn’t suspect.” The priest walked into the sanctuary.
Maureen knelt at the rail and let the string of beads hang loosely from her hands. She turned. Her eyes rose over the Cathedral, and she peered into the dimly appreciated places. Dark figures like ravens stared down at her from the murky balconies. Megan was moving near the front doors like a shadow, and an unearthly stillness hung over the cold, gray towering stonework. She focused on John Hickey. He was staring at the confessional and smiling.
CHAPTER 27
Brian Flynn helped the Cardinal up into the bell room. The Cardinal looked at the torn copper louvers. Flynn said to Donald Mullins, “Have you formally met the Archbishop of New York?”
Mullins knelt and kissed the episcopal ring, then rose.
Flynn said, “Take a break, Donald. There’s coffee in the bookstore.”
Mullins went quickly down the ladder.
Flynn moved to the opening in the tower and looked out into the city. There was a long silence in the cold, drafty room. “That’s incredible, you know … an armed revolutionary kneels in the dust and kisses your ring.”
The Cardinal looked impatient. “Why are we up here? There can be no hidden passages up here.”
Flynn said, “Have you had many dealings with Gordon Stillway?”
The Cardinal answered, “We planned the latest renovations together.”
“And he never pointed out any curiosities to your No secret—”
“I’m not in the habit of entertaining the same question more than once.”
Flynn made an exaggerated bow. “Pardon me. I was only trying to refresh your memory, Your Eminence.”
“What exactly do you want with me, Mr. Flynn?”
“I want you to speak with the negotiator, and I want you to talk to the world. I’m going to set up a conference in that press room so conveniently located in the subbasement below the sacristy. You will go on television and radio—”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“Damn it, you’ve done enough talking on television and radio to damage our cause. You’ve used your pulpit long enough to speak out
“I spoke out against murder and mayhem. If that equals speaking out against the IRA, then—”
Flynn’s voice rose. “Have you seen a British internment camp? Do you know what they do to those poor bastards in there?”
“I’ve seen and heard reports, and I’ve condemned the British methods in Ulster along with the IRA methods.”
“No one remembers that.” He put his face close to the Cardinal’s. “You’ll announce to the world that as an Irish-American, and as a Catholic prelate, you are going to Northern Ireland to visit the camps.”
“But if you clear them out, who is there left to visit, Mr. Flynn?”
“There are hundreds in those camps.”
“And the ones to be released are the relatives of the men and women with you. Plus, I’m sure, a good number of important leaders. The rest can stay so you can still claim some moral justification for your bloody methods. I’m not as naive as you believe, and I won’t be used by you.”
Flynn let out a deep breath. “Then I won’t guarantee the safety of this church. I’ll see that it’s destroyed no matter what the outcome of the negotiations!”
The Cardinal moved near Flynn and said, “There is a price, Mr. Flynn, that each man must pay for each sin. This is not a perfect world, and the evildoers in it often escape punishment and die peacefully in their beds. But there is a higher court …”
“Don’t try to frighten me with that. And don’t be so certain that court would damn
The Cardinal didn’t reply but shook his head.
Flynn turned away from him and looked into the blue city lights. After a time he said, “Cardinal, I’m a chosen man. I know I am. Chosen to lead the people of Northern Ireland out of British bondage.”
He turned back to the Cardinal and thrust his right hand toward him. “Do you see this ring? This is the ring of Finn MacCumail. It was given me by a priest who wasn’t a priest. A man who never was, in a place that never was what it seemed to be. A place sanctified by Druids a thousand years or more before the name Jesus Christ was ever heard in Erin. Oh, don’t look so skeptical—you’re supposed to believe in miracles, damn it.”
The Cardinal looked at him sadly. “You’ve shut God’s love out of your heart and taken into your soul dark things that should never be spoken of by a Christian.” He held out his hand. “Give me the ring.”
Flynn took an involuntary step back. “No.”
“Give it to me, and we’ll see if the Christian God, your true God, is effeminate.”
Flynn shook his head and held up his hand balled into a fist.
The Cardinal dropped his outstretched arm and said, “I see my duty clearly now. I may not be able to save this church or save the lives of anyone in here. But before this night is over I’ll try to save your soul, Brian Flynn, and the souls of the people with you.”
Flynn looked down at the bronze ring, then at the Cardinal, and focused on the large cross hanging from his neck. “I wish sometimes that I’d gotten a sign from that God you believe in. But I never did. By morning one of us will know who’s won this battle.”
CHAPTER 28
