Cathedral

Washington?”

“They’re tied into their representatives, who are here in the Cardinal’s residence. They’re making progress.”

“It’s good to see allies working so well together. I hope they’re all keeping their tempers as we are doing, Captain. What have you heard from Amnesty and the Red Cross?”

“They are willing to cooperate in any way possible.”

“Good for them. Good people. Always there to lend a hand. How about immunity from prosecution for my people in here?”

Schroeder cleared his throat. “The U.S. Attorney General and the State Attorney General are discussing it. So far, all I can promise you is—”

“A fair trial,” interrupted Flynn. “Wonderful country. But I don’t want any trial at all, Schroeder.”

“I can’t make that promise at this time.”

“Let me make something clear—at the same time you tell me those prisoners are being released, you’d better have a guarantee of immunity for us or it’s no deal. I’ll shoot the hostages and blow this place apart.” Flynn could hear Schroeder’s breathing in the earpiece.

Schroeder said softly, “Everything you ask for is being considered very carefully, but these things take time. All I’m concerned with at the moment is the safety—”

“Schroeder, stop talking to me as though I were some sort of criminal lunatic. Save that for your next case, if you have one. I’m a soldier, and I want to be spoken to as a soldier. The prisoners in here are being treated correctly. And your tone is very patronizing.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m only trying to assure you of our good intentions. My job is to negotiate a settlement we can all live with, and—”

Flynn suddenly stood and said, “How do you call it negotiation if you don’t intend to give anything?”

Schroeder didn’t reply.

“Have you ever made any real concessions in all of your career as a hostage negotiator, Schroeder? Never. You’re not even listening to me, for Christ’s sake. Well, you’d damn well better listen, because when this Cathedral is in ruins and the dead are lying everywhere, you’ll wish to God you paid more attention, and that you’d acted in better faith.” “

I am listening. I am acting—”

“You’ll be known, Captain Bert Schroeder, as the man who failed to save Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and who has innocent blood on his hands. You’ll never hold your head up again, and you’ll not accept many talk-show invitations, I think.”

Schroeder’s voice came back, agitated for the first time that anyone who was listening could remember. “I haven’t lied to you, have I? We haven’t tried to use force, have we? You asked for food, we gave you food. You asked—”

“I paid for the fucking food! Now listen to me closely. I know you’re only a middleman for a lot of bastards, but …” Flynn looked at Schroeder’s picture on the cover of his book. It was an action shot, taken during a bank robbery that had turned into a hostage situation. Schroeder, unlike his predecessor, who always wore a baseball cap and Windbreaker, was dressed nattily in a three-piece pinstripe. The face and massive body suggested was more the baseball-cap type, but Schroeder was reaching for his own style. Flynn studied the face on the cover. Good profile, firm jaw, erect carriage. But the eyes were unmistakably frightened. A bad picture. Flynn continued, “But I trust you, Schroeder—trust you to use your influence and your good offices. I want you to keep talking to me all night, Captain. I want you to carry my message to the people around you.”

Schroeder’s voice sounded surprised at the sudden expression of confidence. “Yes, sir. I’ll do that. You can talk to me.” Both men remained silent for a time, then Schroeder said, “Now I’d like to ask two favors of you.”

Flynn smiled and flipped absently through the autobiography in front of him. “Go on.”

“Well, for one thing, the jamming device is causing confusion in command and control, and we don’t want an incident to occur because of a lack of communication. Also, it’s causing interference with commercial radio and the sound portions of television broadcasts.”

Flynn threw aside the book. “Can’t have that. I’ll think about it. What else?”

“I’d like to say a few words to each of the hostages.”

“Maybe after the press conference.”

“All right. That’s fair. There is one other thing.”

“There always is.”

“Yes, well, since you and I are building a rapport—building confidence in each other—and I’m the only one talking to you, I wonder if you’d do the same for me. I mean, I spoke to Mr. Hickey before, and—”

Flynn laughed and looked around, but Hickey wasn’t in sight. “John gave you a bit of a rough time, did he, Captain? He enjoys making unpleasant jokes. Well, just play along with him. He loves to talk—Irish, you know.”

“Yes, but there could be a misunderstanding. You are the boss, and I want to keep my lines of communication open to you, and—”

Flynn dropped the receiver into its cradle and looked through a book of sheet music. He wanted to find something unchurchly that would take his mind away from the Cathedral. Of all the godforsaken places he’d ever found himself in, no place seemed more oddly forsaken than the Cathedral at this moment. Yet others, he knew, felt the presence of a divine spirit here, and he understood that the emptiness he felt was totally within himself. He found “The Rose of Tralee,” turned the key into the organ, and played as he sang very softly. “The pale moon was rising aboveThe green mountains,The sun was declining beneathThe blue sea,As I strayed with my love to thePure crystal fountain,That stands in the beauitful valeof Tralee….”

Bert Schroeder looked for a long time at the dead speaker, folded his hands on the desk, and thought. Flynn talked about immunity, which showed he thought of a future, and by implication his desire to keep his crime from being compounded was strong. He had no intention of killing anyone, least of all himself. More importantly, Flynn was beginning to depend on him. That always happened. It was inevitable as he came to realize that Schroeder’s voice was the only one that mattered. Schroeder looked up. “I think I’m getting an angle on this guy.”

Burke said, “It sounds like he has an angle on you.”

Schroeder’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded reluctantly. “Yes, he seems to know something of my methods. I’m afraid the media has given my bureau too much coverage.” He added, “I never sought publicity.”

“You mean your autobiography was unauthorized? Christ, you should have at least waited until you retired before you released it.” Burke smiled. “And now you’ve missed the big chapter. Catch it on the second printing. Talk to your agent about it.” Burke put a conciliatory tone in his voice. “Look, Bert, I don’t have all the answers, but —”

Schroeder stood. “No, you don’t. And I’m tired of your sideline quarterbacking!”

No one spoke. Burke stood and moved toward the door.

Schroeder said, “Don’t go far. Flynn may want coffee later.”

Burke turned and said, “Up to this point we’ve had double-crosses, incompetence, and some ordinary stupidity. And we’ve been damned lucky in spite of it. But if we don’t get our act together by dawn, we’re going to have a massacre, a desecration, and a lot of explaining to do.”

Schroeder stared ahead and spoke placidly. “Just leave it to me.”

CHAPTER 32

Father Murphy walked across the sanctuary and stood before the Cardinal’s throne. “Your Eminence, I would like to make my confession.”

The Cardinal nodded. “Take my hands.”

Murphy felt the scrap of paper sticking to his palm. “No … I would like to go into the confessional.”

The Cardinal stood. “We’ll go into the Archbishop’s sacristy.”

“No …” Murphy felt a line of sweat collect on his brow. “They won’t let us. We can go into the confessional