Langley shrugged. “All of the above.”
Burke went to the sideboard and noticed there was very little left in the decanters. He said, “Why did God let the Irish invent whiskey, Langley?”
Langley knew the drill. “To keep them from ruling the world.”
Burke laughed. “Right.” His voice became contemplative. “I’ll bet no Fenian has had a drink in forty-eight hours. Do you know a woman named Terri O’Neal?”
Langley concentrated on the name, then said, “No. I don’t make it at all.” He immediately regretted the common cop jargon and said, “I can’t identify the name. Call the office.”
“I called from downstairs. Negative. But they’re rechecking. How about Dan Morgan?”
“No. Irish?”
“Probably Northern Irish. Louise is going to call back.”
“Who are these people?”
“That’s what I asked you.” He poured the remainder of the brandy and thought a moment. “Terri O’Neal … I think I have a face and a voice, but I just can’t remember… ?”
Langley said, “Flynn’s asked for a television in there. In fact, you’re supposed to deliver it to him.” Langley looked at Burke out of the corner of his eye. “You two get along real well.”
Burke considered the statement for a few seconds. In spite of the circumstances of their meeting, he admitted that Flynn was the type of man he could have liked— if Flynn were a cop, or if he, Burke, were IRA.
Langley said, “Call Flynn now.”
Burke went to the phone. “Flynn can wait.” He made certain the speakers in the other rooms were not on, then turned on the voice box on the desk so that Langley could monitor. He dialed the Midtown North Precinct. “Gonzalez? Lieutenant Burke here. Do you have my man?” There was a long silence during which Burke found he was holding his breath.
“He’s a prick,” said Gonzalez. “Keeps screaming about police-state tactics and all that crap. Says he’s going to sue us for false arrest. I thought you said he needed protection.”
“Is he still there?”
“Yeah. He wants a ride to the Port Authority Terminal. I can’t hold him a minute longer. If I get hit with a false arrest rap, I’m dragging you in with me—”
“Put him on.”
“My pleasure. Wait.”
Burke turned to Langley while he waited. “Ferguson. He’s onto something. Terri O’Neal—Dan Morgan. Now he wants to run.”
Langley moved beside Burke. “Well, offer him some money to stick around.”
“You haven’t paid him for today yet. Anyway, there’s not enough money around to keep him from running.”
Burke spoke into the telephone. “Jack—”
Ferguson’s voice came into the room, high-pitched and agitated. “What the hell are you
“Cut it. Listen, put me on to the people you spoke to about O’Neal and Morgan.”
“Not a chance. My sources are confidential. I don’t treat friends the way you do. The intelligence establishment in this country—”
“Save it for your May Day speech. Listen, Martin has double-crossed all of us. He was the force behind the Fenians. This whole thing is a ploy to make the Irish look bad—to turn American public opinion against the Irish struggle.”
Ferguson didn’t speak for a while, then said, “I figured that out.”
Burke pressed on. “Look, I don’t know how much information Martin fed you, or how much information about the police and the Fenians you had to give him in return, but I’m telling you now he’s at the stage where he’s covering his tracks. Understand?”
“I understand that I’m on three hitlists—the Fenians’, the Provos’, and Martin’s. That’s why I’m leaving town.”
“You have to stick. Who is Terri O’Neal? Why was she kidnapped by a man named Morgan? Whose show was it? Where is she being held?”
“That’s your problem.”
“We’re working on it, Jack, but you’re closer to it. And we don’t have much time. If you told us your sources —”
“No.”
Burke went on. “Also, while you’re at it, see if you can get a line on Gordon Stillway, the resident architect of Saint Pat’s. He’s missing, too.”
“Lot of that going around. I’m missing, too. Good-bye.”
“No! Stick with it.”
“Why? Why should I risk my life any further?”
“For the same reasons you risked it all along—peace.”
Ferguson sighed but said nothing.
Langley whispered, “Offer him a thousand dollars—no, make it fifteen hundred. We’ll hold a benefit dance.”
Burke said into the phone, “We’d like to exonerate all the Irish who had nothing to do with this, including your Officials and even the Provos. We’ll work with you after this mess is over and see that the government and the press don’t crucify all of you.” Burke paused, then said, “You and I as Irishmen”—he remembered Flynn’s attempt to claim kinship—“you mad I want to be able to hold our heads up after this.” Burke glanced at Langley, who nodded appreciatively. Burke turned away.
Ferguson said, “Hold on.” There was a long silence, then Ferguson spoke. “How can I reach you later?”
Burke let out a breath. “Try to call the rectory. The lines should be clear later. Give the password … leprechaun…. They’ll put you through.”
“Leper is more like it, Burke. Make it leper. All right. If I can’t get through on the phone, I won’t come to the rectory—the cordon is being watched by all sorts of people. If you don’t hear from me, let’s have a standing rendezvous. Let’s say the zoo at one.”
Burke said, “Closer to the Cathedral.”
“All right. But no bars or public places.” He thought. “Okay, that small park on Fifty-first—it’s not far from you.”
“It’s closed after dark.”
“Climb the gate!”
Burke smiled. “Someday I’m going to get a key for every park in this town.”
Ferguson said, “Join the Parks Department. They’ll issue one with your broom.”
“Luck.” Burke spoke to Gonzalez. “Let him go.” He hung up and took a deep breath.
Langley said, “Do you think this O’Neal thing is important enough to risk his life?”
Burke drained off the glass of brandy and grimaced. “How do people drink this stuff?”
“Pat?”
Burke walked to the window and looked out.
Langley said, “I’m not making any moral judgments. I only want to know if it’s
Burke spoke as if to himself. “A kidnapping is a subtle sort of thing, more complicated than a hit, more sinister in many ways—like hostage taking.” He considered. “Hostage taking—that’s a form of kidnapping. Terri O’Neal is a
“Whose hostage?”
Burke turned and faced Langley. “I don’t know.”
“Who has to do what for whom to secure her release? No one has made any demands yet.”
“Strange,” agreed Burke.
“Really,” said Langley.
Burke looked at Schroeder’s empty chair. Schroeder’s presence, in spite of everything, had been reassuring.
