“You mean you have no control over that?”
Flynn nodded. “Very quick-witted of you. I control my people up to a point. But at dawn each man and woman in here will act on standing orders unless our demands have been met. Without a word from me the prisoners will be shot or thrown from the bell tower, fires will be set, and other destructive devices will automatically engage.”
Burke said, “You did a damned stupid thing to relinquish that kind of control. Stupid and dangerous.”
Flynn pressed his face to the bars. “But you could do worse than dealing with me. If anything happened to me, you would have to deal with Hickey and the woman we call Grania, so don’t you or Schroeder or anyone out there try to undermine me. Work with me and no one will die.”
“Better the devil you know than the devils you don’t know.”
“Quite right, Lieutenant. Quite right. You may go.”
Burke moved backward down a step, away from the gate. He and Flynn looked at each other. Flynn made no move to turn away this time, and Burke remembered the hostage unit’s injunction against turning your back on hostage takers. “Treat them like royalty,” Schroeder liked to say on television talk shows. “Never show them your back. Never use negative words. Never use words like death, kill, die, dead. Always address them respectfully.” Schroeder would have had a stroke if he had heard this exchange.
Burke took another step backward. Schroeder had his methods, yet Burke was becoming convinced that this situation called for flexibility, originality, and even compromise. He hoped Schroeder and everyone else out there recognized that before it was too late.
He turned his back to Flynn, went down the steps past the serving cart, and moved toward the corridor opening, all the while aware of the deep, dark eyes that followed him.
CHAPTER 30
Patrick Burke made the long underground walk from the sacristy past the silent policemen in the corridors. He noticed that the Tactical Patrol Unit had been replaced by the Emergency Services Division. They wore black uniforms and black flak jackets, they carried shotguns, sniper rifles, automatic weapons, and silenced pistols, and they looked very unlike the public image of a cop, he thought. Their eyes had that unfocused look, their bodies were exaggeratedly relaxed, and cigarettes dangled from tight lips.
Burke entered the rectory’s basement and made his way upstairs to the Monsignor’s office suite, through the crowded outer office, and into the next room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Burke met the stares of the twelve people whom he had labeled in his mind the Desperate Dozen. He remained standing in the center of the room.
Schroeder finally spoke. “What took you so long?”
Burke found a chair and sat. “You told me to get the measure of the man.”
“No negotiating, Burke. That’s my job. You don’t know the procedure—”
“Anytime you want me to leave, I’m gone. I’m not looking to get on the cover of
Schroeder stood. “I’m a little tired of getting ribbed about that goddamned
Deputy Commissioner Rourke cut in. “All right, men. It’s going to be a long night.” He turned to Schroeder. “You want Burke to leave after he briefs us?”
Schroeder shook his head. “Flynn has made him his errand boy, and we can’t upset Mr. Flynn.”
Langley broke in. “What did Flynn say, Pat?”
Burke lit a cigarette and listened to the silence for a longer time than was considered polite. “He said the Cathedral will more or less self-destruct at sunrise.”
No one spoke until Bellini said, “If I have to take that place by force, you better leave enough time for the Bomb Squad to comb every inch of it. They’ve only got two mutts now—Sally and Brandy….” He shook his head. “What a mess … damn it.”
Schroeder said, “No matter what type of devices they have rigged, they can delay them. I’ll get an extension.”
Burke looked at him. “I don’t think you understood what I said.”
Langley interjected. “What else did he say, Pat?”
Burke sat back and gave them an edited briefing, glancing at Major Martin, who stood against the fireplace in a classic pose. Burke had the impression that Martin was filling in the missing sentences.
Burke focused on Arnold Sheridan, the quintessential Wasp from State, tight smile, correct manners, cultivated voice that said nothing. He was assigned to the security section but probably found it distasteful to be even a quasi-cop. Burke realized that, as the man on the scene, Sheridan might sway the administration either way. Hard line, soft line, or line straddling. Washington could push London into an accommodation, and then, like dominoes, Dublin, Albany, and the City of New York would tumble into line. But as he looked at Sheridan he had no idea of what was going on behind those polite, vacant eyes.
Burke looked back at Schroeder as he spoke. This was a man who was an accomplished listener as well as a talker. He heard every word, remembered every word, even interpreted nuances and made analyses and conclusions but ultimately, through some incredible process in his brain, never really
Schroeder said, “They all give extensions, Burke. They want to play out the drama, and they always think a concession will come in the next minute, the next hour, the next day. It’s human nature.”
Burke shook his head. “Don’t operate on the premise that you’ll get more time.”
Major Martin interrupted. “If I may say something—Lieutenant Burke’s analysis is not correct. I’ve dealt with the Irish for ten years, and they are dreadful liars, fakes, and bluffers. Flynn will give you extensions if you keep him hopeful that—”
Burke stood. “Bullshit.”
The Irish Consul General stood also and said hesitantly, “Look here, Major, I … I think it’s unfair to characterize the Irish …”
Martin forced an amiable tone into his voice. “Oh, sorry, Tomas. I was speaking only of the IRA, of course.” He looked around the room. “I didn’t mean to offend Irish Americans either. Commissioner Rourke, Mr. Hogan, Lieutenant Burke”—he looked at Schroeder and smiled—“or your better half.”
Commissioner Rourke nodded to show there were no hard feelings, and spoke. “Everyone is a little tense. Let’s take it easy. Okay?” He looked at Burke. “Lieutenant, the Major has a lot of experience in these things. He’s providing us with valuable information, not to mention insight. I know Irish affairs are your specialty, but this is not an Irish-American affair. This is different.”
Burke looked around the room. “I’d like to make it an American affair for a few minutes. Specifically, I’d like to speak to the Commissioner, Captain Schroeder, Inspector Langley, Mr. Kruger, and Mr. Hogan—alone.”
Commissioner Rourke looked around the room, unsure of what to say. Major Martin moved to the door. “I’ve got to get to the consulate.” Tomas Donahue made an excuse and followed. Monsignor Downes nodded and left. Arnold Sheridan rose and looked at his watch. “I have to call State.”
Bellini said, “You want me here, Burke?”
“It doesn’t concern you, Joe.”
Bellini said, “It better not.” He left.
The Governor’s aide suddenly looked alert. “Oh …” He stood. “I have to go….” He left.
Roberta Spiegel sat back in her rocker and lit another cigarette. “You can either go talk in the men’s room— though that’s no guarantee I won’t follow—or you can talk here.”
Burke decided he didn’t mind her presence. He took Langley to the far end of the room and said quietly, “Did we hear from Jack Ferguson yet?”
Langley said, “We got through to his wife. She’s sick in bed. She hasn’t heard from him either.”
Burke shook his head. He usually felt his first responsibility was to an informant who was in danger, but now
