Flynn went on. “Because, you see, if you know you’re not involved on that level, then subconsciously you’ll not see things you should see, you’ll not say things you should say out there. And you’ll not live so easily with yourself afterward. You know what I mean.”
Burke felt his mouth becoming dry. He thought of Schroeder’s foolishness. It was a bad night for rearechelon people. The front line was moving closer. He looked up at Flynn and nodded almost imperceptibly.
Flynn acknowledged the agreement without speaking. He looked away from Burke and said, “Don’t leave the rectory again.”
Burke didn’t reply.
“Stay close. Stay close especially as the dawn approaches.”
“I will.”
Flynn looked past Burke into the sacristy and focused on the priests’ altar in the small chapel at the rear that was directly below the Lady Chapel altar. There were arched Gothic windows behind this altar also, but these subterranean windows with soft artificial lighting behind them, eastward-facing windows, were suffused with a perpetual false dawn. He kept staring at them and spoke softly, “I’ve spent a good deal of my life working in the hours of darkness, but I’ve never been so frightened of seeing the sunrise.”
“I know how you feel.”
“Good…. Are they frightened out there?”
“I think they are.”
Flynn nodded slowly. “I’m glad. It’s not good to be frightened alone.”
“No.”
Flynn said, “Someday—if there’s a day after this one—I’ll tell you a story about Whitehorn Abbey—and this ring.” He tapped it against the bars.
Burke looked at the ring; he suspected it was some sort of talisman. There always seemed to be magic involved when he dealt with people who lived so close to death, especially the Irish.
Flynn looked down at the floor. “I may see you later.”
Burke nodded and walked down the steps.
CHAPTER 43
Brian Flynn stood beside the curtain entrance to the confessional and looked at the small white button on the jamb.
Hickey stopped and looked at his watch. “Time to meet the press, Brian.”
He looked at Hickey. “Tell me about this buzzer.”
Hickey glanced at the confessional. “Oh, that. There’s nothing to tell. I caught Murphy trying to send a signal on it while he was confessing—can you imagine such a thing from a
Flynn forced a smile in return, but Hickey’s explanation raised more questions than it answered.
“Ah, Brian, the burdens of command are so heavy that you can’t be bothered with every small detail.”
“Just the same—” He looked at Hickey’s chalk-white face and saw the genial twinkle in his eyes turn to a steady burning stare of unmistakable meaning. He imagined he even heard a voice:
Hickey smiled and tapped his watch. “Time to go give them hell, lad.”
Flynn made no move toward the elevator. He knew he had reached a turning point in his relationship with John Hickey. A tremor passed down his spine, and a sense of fear came over him unlike any normal fear he had ever felt.
Hickey turned into the archway beside the confessional, passing into the hallway of the bride’s room. He stopped in front of the oak elevator door and turned off the alarm. Slowly he began to deactivate the mine.
Flynn came up behind him.
Hickey neutralized the mine. “There we are…. I’ll set it again after you’ve gone down.” He opened the oak door, revealing the sliding doors of the elevator.
Flynn moved closer.
Hickey said, “When you come back, knock on the oak door. Three long, two short. I’ll know it’s you, and I’ll defuse the mine again.” He looked up at Flynn. “Good luck.”
Flynn stepped closer and stared at the gray elevator doors, then at the mine hanging from the half-opened oak door.
Inspector Langley and Roberta Spiegel waited in the brightly lit hallway of the subbasement. With them were Emergency Service police and three intelligence officers. Langley checked his watch. Past ten. He put his ear to the elevator doors. He heard nothing and straightened up.
Roberta Spiegel said, “This bastard has all three networks and every local station waiting for him. Mussolini complex—keep them waiting until they’re delirious with anticipation.”
Langley nodded, realizing that was exactly how he felt waiting for Brian Flynn to step out of the gray doors.
Suddenly the noise of the elevator motor broke into the stillness of the corridor. The elevator grew louder as it descended from the hallway of the bride’s room into the subbasement. The doors began to slide open.
Langley, the three ID men, and the police unconsciously straightened their postures. Roberta Spiegel put her hand to her hair. She felt her heart in her chest.
The door opened, revealing not Brian Flynn but John Hickey. He stepped into the hall and smiled. “Finn MacCumail, Chief of the Fenians, sends his respects and regrets.” Hickey looked around, then continued. “My chief is a suspicious man— which is why he’s stayed alive so long. He had, I believe, a premonition about exposing himself to the dangers inherent in such a situation.” He looked at Langley. “He is a thoughtful man who didn’t want to place such temptation in front of you— or your British allies. So he sent me, his loyal lieutenant.”
Langley found it hard to believe that Flynn was afraid of a trap—not with four hostages to guarantee his safety. Langley said, “You’re John Hickey, of course.”
Hickey bowed formally. “No objections, I trust.”
Langley shrugged. “It’s your show.”
Hickey smiled. “So it is. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“Inspector Langley.”
“Ah, yes…. And the lady?” He looked at Spiegel.
Spiegel said, “My name is Roberta Spiegel. I’m with the Mayor’s office.”
Hickey bowed again and took her hand. “Yes. I heard you on the radio once. You’re much more beautiful than I pictured you from your voice.” He made a gesture of apology. “Please don’t take that the wrong way.”
Spiegel withdrew her hand and stood silent. She had the unfamiliar experience of being at a loss for a reply.
Langley said, “Let’s go.”
Hickey ignored him and called down the corridor, “And these gentlemen?” He walked up to a tall ESD man and read his name tag. “Gilhooly.” He took the man’s hand and pumped it. “I love the melody of the Gaelic names with the softer sounds. I knew Gilhoolys in Tullamore.”
The patrolman looked uncomfortable. Hickey walked up and down the hallway shaking each man’s hand and calling him by name.
Langley exchanged looks with Spiegel. Langley whispered, “He makes Mussolini look like a tongue-tied schoolboy.”
Hickey shook the hand of the last man, a big flak-jacketed ESD man with a shotgun. “God be with you
