Cathedral

he had no time for Jack Ferguson. Ferguson understood that—and understood, he hoped, that he was in danger. Burke moved to the center of the room and addressed the remaining people. “I’ve dealt a few cards from the bottom of the deck myself over the years, but never have I seen a card game as stacked as this one. And since I’m the one who almost got his head blown off this afternoon, I think you’ll understand why I’m a little pissed off.” He looked at Kruger and Hogan. “You two have some explaining to do.” Burke took a long pull on his cigarette and continued. “Consider this—we have here a well-planned, well-financed operation. Too much so, from what we know of the IRA, domestic and foreign. I see here the hand of not so much the revolutionary but the counterrevolutionary—the government man.” He looked at Kruger and Hogan.

No one spoke.

“Brian Flynn has told me that Major Batholomew Martin suggested an American operation to him and provided the necessary resources to carry it out. And if that is true, then I don’t think Martin could have pulled it off without the help of some of your people—or at least without your well-known talent for looking the other way when it suits you.”

Langley stood. “Careful.”

Burke turned. “Come off it, Langley. You had your suspicions, too.” He turned back to the people in front of him. “This whole thing has been a staged performance, but I think it got out of control because Brian Flynn wasn’t playing his part as written. Maybe he was supposed to knock over an armory or blow a bank. But he got a better idea, and now we’re all up to our asses in the consequences.”

Kruger stood. “I’ve never heard such paranoid nonsense—”

Hogan reached out and put his hand on Kruger’s arm, then sat forward. “Listen, Burke, what you say is not altogether untrue.” He paused, then went on. “The FBI did stand to gain from this incident. Sure, when this is over they’ll fire some people at the top, but then the analysis will show how powerless we were to stop it. And maybe we’ll become the beneficiaries of a little power and money.” He leaned farther forward and put an aggrieved tone in his voice. “But to even hint that we—”

Burke waved his arm to cut off the disclaimers. “I have no real evidence, and I don’t want any. All I want you to know is that Patrick Burke knows. And I almost got my fucking head blown off finding out. And if Flynn starts making public statements, people will tend to believe him, and your two outfits will be in trouble—again.”

Hogan shook his head. “He won’t make any public charges about outside help, because he’s not going to admit to the Irish people that he worked with British Intelligence—”

Kruger looked at him sharply. “Shut up, Hogan.”

Douglas Hogan waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Kruger, there’s no use trying to play it coy.” He looked at the four policemen in the room. “We had some knowledge of this, but, as you say, it got out of control. I can promise you, though, that no matter what happens, we will cover you … so long as you do the same. What’s happened is past. Now we have to work at making sure we come out of this not only blameless but looking good.” Douglas Hogan spread his hands out in front of him and said coaxingly, “We have been handed a unique opportunity to make some important changes in intelligence procedures in this country. A chance to improve our image.”

Commissioner Rourke stood. “You people are … crazy.”

Langley turned to the Commissioner. “Sir, I think we have no choice but to keep to the problem at hand. We can’t change the series of events that brought us here, but we can try to ensure that the outcome won’t be disastrous … as long as we work together.”

The Commissioner looked at the FBI man, the CIA man, then at his two intelligence officers. He understood very clearly that their logic was not his logic, their world not his world. He understood, also, that anyone who could do what Kruger and Hogan had apparently done were dangerous and desperate men. He looked at Roberta Spiegel. She nodded to him, and he sat down.

Burke glanced around the room and said, “It’s important that you all understand that Bartholomew Martin is a danger to any negotiated settlement. He means to see that the Cathedral is destroyed and that blood is shed.” He looked at Rourke and Schroeder. “He is not your good friend.” He stared at Kruger and Hogan. “The most Martin hoped for was an arms steal or a bank heist, but Flynn presented him with a unique opportunity to influence public opinion in America the way the IRA murder of Lord Mountbatten did in the British Isles. However, if Flynn walks out of the Cathedral with no blood shed and the IRA prisoners are released, he’ll be a hero to a large segment of the Irish population, and no one will ever believe he meant to harm anyone or destroy the Cathedral—and Major Martin cannot allow that to happen.” Burke turned again to Kruger and Hogan. “I want him neutralized—no, that’s not like one of your famous euphemisms for murder. Don’t look so uncomfortable. Neutralized—inoperative. Watched. I want a regular Foreign Office man representing the British government in New York, not Martin. I’ve given you a unique opportunity to save your own asses.”

Kruger stared at Burke, unconcealed hostility in his eyes.

Hogan nodded; “I’ll do what I can.”

Roberta Spiegel said, “End of discussion.” She looked at Schroeder. “Captain, you’re on.”

Schroeder nodded and turned on the speakers in the rectory offices and in the Cardinal’s residence. He placed the call through the switchboard and looked around the room while he waited. New ball game for them, he thought. But his ball game hadn’t changed substantially. His only concern was the personality of Brian Flynn. His whole world was reduced to the electronic impulses between himself and Flynn. Washington, London, and Dublin could make it easier for him by capitulating, but they couldn’t make it any more difficult than it already was. A voice in the earphone made him sit up. “Hello, Mr. Flynn? This is Captain Schroeder.”

CHAPTER 31

Brian Flynn stood at the chancel organ and lit a cigarette as he cradled the receiver on his shoulder. “Schroeder, the corned beef was stringy. You didn’t butcher the horse now, did you?”

The negotiator’s voice came back with a contrived laugh in it. “No, sir. If there’s anything else you want, please let us know.”

“I’m about to do that. First of all, I’m glad you know my name. Now you know you’re dealing with Ireland’s greatest living patriot. Right?”

“Yes, sir….”

“There’ll be a monument erected to me someday in Dublin and in a free Belfast. No one will remember you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flynn laughed suddenly. “I hear you writing, Schroeder. What are you writing? ‘Megalomania’?”

“No, sir. Just keeping notes.”

“Good. Now just listen and take notes on this. First …” Flynn leafed through Schroeder’s autobiography as he spoke. “…. make certain you leave the Cathedral’s floodlights on. It looks so grand bathed in blue light. Also, that will make it difficult for your ESD men to climb up the sides. I’ve people in skyscrapers with field glasses. If they see anything moving outside, they’ll signal the towers or call me directly. Which brings me to point two. Don’t interfere with my outside telephone lines. Point three, if the lights in here so much as flicker, I’ll shoot everyone. Point four, no psy-warfare, such as your usual prank of running that silly armored car you own around the Cathedral. My men in the towers have M-72 rockets. Anyway, we’ve seen more armored cars than you’ve seen taxis, Schroeder, and they don’t frighten us. Point five, no helicopters. If my men in the towers see one, they’ll fire on it. Point six, tell your ESD people that we’ve planned this for a long time, and an attack would cost them dearly. Don’t waste them. You’ll need them next time.” Flynn wiped a line of sweat from his forehead. “Point seven, I say again, no extensions. Plan to wrap it up by dawn, Schroeder. Point eight, I want a nice twenty-one-inch color television set. I’ll tell you when I want Burke to bring it. Point nine, I want to see continuous news coverage until dawn. Point ten, I want to hold a news conference in the press room below the sacristy. Prime time, 10:00 P.M., live. Got all that?”

After a long silence Schroeder’s voice came through, sounding strained. “Yes, sir. We’ll try to accommodate you on all those points.”

“You will accommodate me. What have you heard from Dublin, London, and