Cathedral

marks she had made when she had to crawl through the earth.

Gallagher’s light swung up and focused on the column footing, then probed the space where she was hiding. He crawled closer and poked the light between the column and the wall.

For a long second the light rested directly on her face, and they stared at each other from less than a yard away. Gallagher’s face registered complete surprise, she noticed. A stupid man.

She brought her hand down with the half brick in it and drove it between his eyes. The light fell to the floor, and she sprang out of her niche and wrapped the nylon garrote around his neck.

Gallagher thrashed over the earth floor like a wounded animal. Maureen hooked her legs around his torso and rode his back, holding the garrote like a set of reins, drawing it tightly around his neck with all the strength she could summon.

Gallagher weakened and fell forward on his chest, pinning her legs beneath hem. She pulled harder on the nylon, but there was too much give in it. She knew she was strangling him too slowly, causing him unnecessary suffering. She heard the gurgling coming from deep in his throat.

Gallagher’s head twisted around at an unbelievable angle, and his face stared up at her. The fallen flashlight cast a yellow beam over his face, and she saw his bulging eyes and thick protruding tongue. His skin was split where she had hit him with the brick, and his nose was broken and bleeding. Their eyes met for a brief second.

Gallagher’s body went limp and lay motionless. Maureen sat on his back trying to catch her breath. She still felt life in his body, the shallow breathing, the twitching muscles and flesh against her buttocks. She began tightening the garrote, then suddenly pulled it from his neck and buried her face in her hands.

She heard voices coming around the crypt, then saw two lights not forty feet away. She quickly shut off the flashlight and threw it aside. Maureen felt her heart beating wildly again as she groped for the fallen pistol.

The beam rose and searched the ceiling. A voice—Megan’s—said, “Here’s another missing bulb. Clever little bitch.”

The other flashlight examined the ground. Hickey said, “Here are their tracks.”

Maureen’s hands touched Gallagher’s body, and she felt him moving. She backed off.

Hickey called out, “Frank? Are you there?” His approaching light found Gallagher’s body and rested on it.

Maureen crawled backward until she made contact with the base of the column. She turned and clawed at the plastic explosive, trying to pull it loose from the footing, feeling for the detonator that she knew was embedded somewhere.

The two beams of light came closer. Hickey shouted, “Maureen! You’ve done well, lass. But as you see, the hounds are onto the scent. We’re going to begin probing fire if you don’t give yourself up.”

Maureen kept pulling at the plastic. She knew there would be no probing fire with plastic so close.

The sound of the two crawling people got closer. She looked back and saw two pools of light converging on Gallagher’s body. Hickey and Megan were hovering over Gallagher now. Gallagher was trying to raise himself on all fours.

Megan said, “Here, I’ve found his light.”

Hickey said, “Look for his gun.”

Maureen gave one last pull at the plastic, then moved around the column until she ran into the foundation wall that separated her from the sacristy.

She put her right shoulder against the wall and crawled along it, feeling for an opening. Pipes and ducts penetrated the wall, but there was no space for her to pass through.

Hickey’s voice called out again. “Maureen, my love, Frank is feeling a bit better. All is forgiven, darlin’. We owe you, lass. You’ve a good heart. Come on, now. Let’s all go back upstairs and have a nice wash and a cup of tea.”

Maureen watched as one, then two, then three flashlights started to reach out toward her.

Hickey said, “Maureen, we’ve found Frank’s gun, so we know you’re not armed. The game is over. You’ve done well. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. Frank owes you his life, and there’ll be no retributions, Maureen. Just call out to us and we’ll come take you back. You’ve our word you won’t be harmed.”

Maureen huddled against the foundation wall. She knew Hickey was speaking the truth. Gallagher owed her. They wouldn’t harm her while Gallagher was still alive; that was one of the rules. The old rules, Hickey’s rules, her rules. She wondered about someone like Megan, though.

Her instincts told her that it was over—that she should give up while the offered amnesty was still in effect. She was tired, cold, aching. The flashlights came closer. She opened her mouth to speak.

CHAPTER 39

Inspector Langley was reading Monsignor Downes’s appointment book. “I think the good Rector entertained the Fenians on more than one occasion…. Unwittingly, of course.”

Schroeder looked at Langley. It would never have occurred to him to snoop through another man’s papers. That’s why he had been such a bad detective. Langley, on the other hand, would pick the Mayor’s pocket out of idle curiosity. Schroeder said acidly, “You mean you don’t suspect Monsignor Downes?”

Langley smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

Bellini turned from the window and looked at Schroeder. “You didn’t have to eat so much shit, did you? I mean that business about rolling over and all that other stuff.”

Schroeder felt his fright turning to anger. “For Christ’s sake, it’s only a ploy. You’ve heard me use it a dozen times.”

“Yeah, but this time you meant it.”

“Go to hell.”

Bellini seemed to be struggling with something. He leaned forward with his hands on Schroeder’s desk and spoke softly. “I’m scared, too. Do you think I want to send my men in there? Christ Almighty, Bert, I’m going in, too. I have a wife and kids. But Jesus, man, every hour that you bullshit with them is another hour for them to get their defenses tightened. Every hour shortens the time until dawn, when I have to attack. And I won’t hit them at dawn in a last desperate move to save the hostages and the Cathedral, because they know I have to move at dawn if they don’t have what they want.”

Schroeder kept his eyes fixed on Bellini’s but didn’t reply.

Bellini went on, his voice becoming more strident. “As long as you keep telling the big shots you can do it, they’re going to jerk me around. Admit you’re not going to pull it off and let me … let me know in my own mind … that I have to go in.” He said almost in a whisper, “I don’t like sweating it out like this, Bert…. My men don’t like this…. I have to know.”

Schroeder spoke mechanically. “I’m taking it a step at a time. Standard procedures. Stabilize the situation, keep them talking, calm them down, get an extension of the deadline—”

Bellini slammed his hand on the desk, and everyone sat up quickly. “Even if you could get an extension of the deadline, how long would it be for? An hour? Two hours? Then I have to move in the daylight—while you stand here at the window smoking a cigar, watching us get massacred!”

Schroeder stood and his face twitched. He tried to stop himself from speaking, but the words came out. “If you have to go in, I’ll be right next to you, Bellini.”

A twisted smile passed over Bellini’s face. He turned to Langley and Spiegel, then looked back at Schroeder. “You’re on, Captain.” He turned and walked out of the room.

Langley watched the door close, then said, “That was stupid, Bert.”

Schroeder found his hands and legs were shaking, and he sat down, then rose abruptly. He spoke in a husky voice. “Watch the phone. I have to go out for a minute—men’s room.” He walked quickly to the door.

Spiegel said, “I took some cheap shots at him, too.”

Langley looked away.

She said, “Tell me what a bitch I am.”

He walked to the sideboard and poured a glass of sherry.