that unless he gets the blueprints and the architect….”
Martin smiled. “Very good. It’s hereditary, I see—I mean the ability to manufacture heaps of malarkey at the drop of a hat.”
“If we don’t have the architect, we won’t attack. At 6:03 Flynn will call a time out, wait until the city is full of people and the morning TV shows are rolling, then magnanimously spare the Cathedral and hostages. No funerals, no bangs, not even a broken stained-glass window.”
“At 6:03 something more dreadful will happen.”
“One gambles.”
Martin shook his head. “I don’t know…. Now you’ve got me worried, Lieutenant. It would be just like that bastard to double-cross me….” He smiled. “Well, double-cross may not be the word…. These people are so erratic … you never know, do you? I mean, historically they always opt for the most reckless—”
Burke said, “You’ve got these Micks pretty well figured out, don’t you, Major?”
“Well … no racial generalities intended, to be sure, but … I don’t know …” He seemed to be weighing the possibilities. “The question is—do I gamble on an explosion at 6:03 or settle for a good battle before then … ?”
Burke came closer to Martin. “Let me put it this way….” He breathed a long stream of cold fog in Martin’s face. “If the Cathedral goes down”—he pulled his pistol, cocked it, and pressed it to Martin’s temple—“then you’re what we call a dead motherfucker.”
Martin faced Burke. “If anything happened to me, you’d be killed.”
“I know the rules.” He tapped Martin on the forehead with the muzzle of the revolver, then holstered it.
Martin flipped his cigarette away and spoke in a businesslike tone. “In exchange for Stillway I want your word that you’ll do everything you can to see that the assault is carried out before Flynn makes any overtures toward a compromise. You have his confidence, I know, so use that in any way you can—with him or with your superiors. And no matter what happens, you’ll make certain that Flynn is not captured alive. Understood?”
Burke nodded.
Martin added, “You’ll have Stillway and the blueprints in ample time, and to show you what a good sport I am, I’ll give all this to you personally. As I said yesterday morning, you can look good with your superiors. God knows, Lieutenant, you need the boost.”
Martin moved away from Burke and looked down at Ferguson’s frozen body. He lit another cigarette and dropped the match carelessly on Ferguson’s face. He looked at Burke. “You’re thinking, of course, that like our late friend here, you know too much. But it’s all right. I’m willing—obligated—to make an exception in your case. You’re one of us—a professional, not an amateur busybody like Mr. Ferguson or a dangerous insurgent like Mr. Flynn. So act like a professional, Lieutenant, and you’ll be treated like one.”
Burke said, “Thank you for setting me straight. I’ll do my best.”
Martin laughed. “You can do your worst, if you like. I’m not counting only on you to see that things go my way. Lieutenant, there are more surprises inside and outside that Cathedral than even you suspect. And at first light, it will all unfold.” He nodded his head. “Good evening.” He turned and walked away at a leisurely pace.
Burke looked down at Ferguson. He bent over and picked the match from his face. “Sorry, Jack.”
CHAPTER 50
The clock in the rear of the choir loft struck 3:00A.M. Brian Flynn tolled the hour, then stood and looked at Leary sitting on the parapet, his legs swinging out into space three stories above the main floor. Flynn said, “If you nod off, you’ll fall.”
Leary answered without turning. “That’s right.”
Flynn looked around for Megan but didn’t see her. He moved around the organ, picked up a rifle, and walked toward Leary.
Leary suddenly spun around and swung his legs into the choir loft. He said, “That’s an old trick.”
Flynn felt his body tense.
Leary continued. “Learned it in the army. You perch in a position that will get you hurt or killed if you fall asleep. Keeps you awake … usually.”
“Interesting.” He moved past Leary and entered the bell tower, then took the elevator down to the vestibule. He walked up the center aisle, his footsteps echoing in the quiet Cathedral. Sullivan, Boland, and Farrell were leaning out over the triforia. Hickey was asleep at the chancel organ. Flynn passed through the open gate of the communion rail and mounted the steps. The four hostages slept in pairs on opposite sides of the sanctuary. He glanced over at Baxter beside Maureen and watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, then looked up at where the Cardinal and Father Murphy lay cuffed to the throne, sleeping. Flynn knelt beside Maureen and stared down at her bruised face. He sensed that eyes were watching him from the high places, that Megan was watching from the dark, and that Leary’s scope was centered on his lips. Flynn leaned over, his back to Leary, and positioned himself to block Leary’s view of Maureen. He stroked her cheek.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “What time is it?”
“Late.”
She said, “You’ve let it become late.”
He said quietly, “I’m sorry … I couldn’t help you …”
She turned her face away. Neither one spoke, then Maureen said, “This standoff with the police is like one of those games of nerve with autos racing toward each other, each driver hypnotized by the other’s approach—and at one minute to dawn… is anyone going to veer off?”
“Bloody nonsense. This is war. Bloody stupid women, you think men play games of ego—”
“War?” She grabbed his shirt and her voice rose. “Let me tell
Flynn stood and looked at Baxter. “Do you like this man?”
She nodded. “He’s a good man.”
Flynn stared off at some point in the distance. “A good man,” he repeated. “Someone meeting me for the first time might say that—as long as my history wasn’t known.” He stared down at her. “You don’t like me much right now, but it’s all right. I hope you survive, I even hope Baxter survives, and I hope you get on well together.”
She lay on her back looking up at him. “Again, neither you nor I believe a word of that.”
Flynn stepped away from her. “I have to go….” He looked over the sanctuary rail at Hickey and said suddenly, “Tell me about him. What’s the old man been saying? What about the confessional buzzer?”
Maureen cleared her throat and spoke in a businesslike voice, relating what she had discovered about John Hickey. She added her conclusions. “Even if you win, he’ll somehow make certain everyone dies.” She added, “All four of us believe that, or we wouldn’t have risked so much to escape.”
Flynn’s eyes drifted back to Hickey, then he looked around the sanctuary at the hostages, the bouquets of nowwilting green carnations, and the bloodstains on the marble below the high altar. He had the feeling he had seen this all before, experienced something similar in a dream or vision, and he remembered that he
Flynn knelt suddenly and unlocked the handcuff. “Come with me.” He helped her up and supported her as he walked toward the sacristy stairs.
He was aware that Hickey was watching from the chancel organ, and that Leary and Megan were watching also, from the shadows of the choir loft. He knew that they were thinking he was going to let Maureen go. And this, he understood, as everyone who was watching understood, was a critical juncture, a test of his position as leader. Would those three in any way try to restrict his movements? A few hours before they wouldn’t have dared.
He reached the sacristy stairs and paused, not hesitantly but defiantly, and looked up into the loft, then back at the chancel organ. No one made a sound or a movement, and he waited purposely, staring into the Cathedral, then descended the steps. He stopped on the landing beside Gallagher. “Take a break, Frank.”
Gallagher looked at him and at Maureen, and Flynn could see in Gallagher’s expression a look of
