Cathedral

you goddamned bastard.” He pounded his fist into Baxter’s face, then crawled over him to the hole and pointed the barrel of the gun down into the opening. He steadied himself and fired two long, deafening bursts into the darkness.

Baxter was dimly aware of a warm wetness seeping over the cold floor beneath him. His eyes tried to focus on the vaulted ceiling ten stories above his face, but all he saw were the blurry red spots of the Cardinals’ hanging hats. He heard footsteps running toward the altar, coming up the stairs, then saw faces hovering over him— Hickey, then a few seconds later Flynn and Megan Fitzgerald.

Baxter turned his head and saw Father Murphy lying near the stairs, his hands pressed to his face and blood running between his fingers. He heard Megan’s voice. “Pedar! Are you hit? Pedar?”

Baxter tried to raise his head to look for the Cardinal. Suddenly he saw Megan’s shoe flying into his face, and a red flash passed in front of his eyes, followed by blackness.

Flynn knelt beside Pedar Fitzgerald and pulled the barrel of the gun out of the hole. He touched Fitzgerald’s bloody neck wound. “Just grazed you, lad.” He called to Megan. “Take him back to his post. Quickly.”

Flynn lay prone at the edge of the opening and called down. “Maureen! Are you all right? Are you hit?”

Maureen knelt a few yards from the opening. Her body was trembling, and she took long breaths to steady herself. Her hands ran over her body, feeling for a wound.

Flynn called down again. “Are you hit?” His voice became anxious. “For God’s sake, answer me.”

She drew a deep breath and surprised herself by answering, “No.”

Flynn’s voice sounded more controlled. “Come back.”

“Go to hell.”

“Come back, Maureen, or we’ll shoot Baxter. We’ll shoot him and throw him down there where you can see him.”

“They’re all dead anyway.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Let Baxter speak to me.”

There was a pause, then Flynn said, “He’s unconscious.”

“Bloody murdering bastards. Let me speak to Father Murphy.”

“He’s … hurt. Wait. I’ll get the Cardinal—”

“Go to hell.” She knew she didn’t want to hear any of their voices; she just wanted to run. She called back, “Give it up, Brian. Before more people are killed, give it up.” Hesitantly she called, “Good-bye.”

She drew away from the opening until her back came into contact with the base of a column. She stared at the ladder that descended from the opening. She heard someone speaking in half-whispered tones, and she had a feeling someone was ready to come down.

Flynn’s voice called out again, “Maureen—you’re not the kind who would run out on your friends. Their lives depend on you.”

She felt a cold sweat break out over her body. She thought to herself, Brian, you make everything so damned hard. She stepped toward the opening but then hesitated. A new thought came into her mind. What would Brian do? He’d run. He always ran. And not out of cowardice but because he and all of them had long ago agreed that escape was the morally correct response to tight situations. Yet … he’d stayed with her when she was wounded. She vacillated between the column and the opening.

Flynn’s voice cut into the dark basement. “You’re a damned coward, Maureen. All right, then, Baxter’s gone.”

A shot rang out on the sacristy.

After the report died away he called out again. “Murphy is next.”

Maureen instinctively moved back against the column. She put her face in her hands. “Bastards!”

Flynn yelled, “The priest is next!”

She picked up her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. She peered into the darkness. Her eyes adjusted to the half-light, and she forced herself to evaulate the situation calmly. To her right was the outer wall of the sacristy staircase. If she followed it she’d find the foundation wall, beyond which was freedom. That was the way she had to go.

She looked quickly back and saw a pair of legs dropping from the opening. More of the body was revealed as it descended the ladder—Hickey. Above Hickey’s head another pair of legs appeared. Megan. Both of them held flashlights and pistols by their sides. Hickey turned his head and squinted into the blackness as he climbed down. Maureen crouched down beside the column.

Hickey’s voice rolled through the black, damp air. He spoke as to a child. “Coming for you, darlin’. Coming to get you. Come to old John, now. Don’t let the wicked Megan find you. Run to Mr. Hickey. Come on, then.” He laughed and jumped down the last few steps, switched on the flashlight, and turned toward her.

Megan was right behind him, her fiery red features looking sinister in the overhead light.

Maureen drew a long breath and held it.

CHAPTER 37

Schroeder stood tensed with the phone to his ear. He looked up at Langley, the only person left in the office. “Goddamn it—they’re not answering.”

Langley stood at the window, staring intently at the Cathedral. On the other side of the double doors phones were ringing and people were shouting.

One of the doors burst open, and Bellini ran in looking more agitated than when he had last left. He shouted, “I have orders from fucking Kline to go in if you can’t raise them!”

Schroeder looked up at him. “Get in here and close the door!” He yelled at the police operator, “Of course I want you to keep trying, you stupid ass!”

Bellini closed the door, walked to a chair, and fell into it. Sweat streamed down his pale face. “I … I’m not ready to go in….”

Schroeder said to Bellini impatiently, “How fucking long does it take to kill four hostages, Bellini? If they’re dead already, Kline can damned well wait until you have at least a half-assed idea of how to hit the place.”

Suddenly Flynn’s voice came over the speaker. “Schroeder?”

Schroeder answered quickly, “Yes—” He controlled his voice. “Yes, sir. Is everything all right?”

“Yes.”

Schroeder cleared his throat and spoke into the phone. “What is happening in there?”

Flynn’s voice sounded composed. “An ill-advised attempt to escape.”

Schroeder sounded incredulous. “Escape?”

“That’s what I said.”

“No one is hurt?”

There was a long pause, then Flynn said, “Baxter and Murphy are wounded. Not badly.”

Schroeder looked at Langley and Bellini. He steadied his voice. “We’re sending in a doctor.”

“If they needed one, I’d tell you.”

“I’m sending in a doctor.”

“All right, but tell him before you send him that I’ll blow his brains out.”

Schroeder’s voice became angry, but it was a controlled anger, contrived almost, designed to show that shooting was the one thing he wouldn’t tolerate. “Damn you, Flynn, you said there’d be no shooting. You said —”

“It couldn’t be helped, really.”

Schroeder made his tone ominous. “Flynn, if you kill anyone—so help me God, if you hurt anyone, then we’re beyond the let’s-make-a-deal stage.”

“I understand the rules. Calm down, Schroeder.”

“Let me speak to each of the hostages. Now.”

“Hold on.” There was silence, then the Cardinal’s voice filled the room. “Captain, do you recognize my voice?”