Burke took another step backward. Schroeder had his methods, yet Burke was becoming convinced that this situation called for flexibility, originality, and even compromise. He hoped Schroeder and everyone else out there recognized that before it was too late.
He turned his back to Flynn, went down the steps past the serving cart, and moved toward the corridor opening, all the while aware of the deep, dark eyes that followed him.
CHAPTER 30
Patrick Burke made the long underground walk from the sacristy past the silent policemen in the corridors. He noticed that the Tactical Patrol Unit had been replaced by the Emergency Services Division. They wore black uniforms and black flak jackets, they carried shotguns, sniper rifles, automatic weapons, and silenced pistols, and they looked very unlike the public image of a cop, he thought. Their eyes had that unfocused look, their bodies were exaggeratedly relaxed, and cigarettes dangled from tight lips.
Burke entered the rectory’s basement and made his way upstairs to the Monsignor’s office suite, through the crowded outer office, and into the next room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Burke met the stares of the twelve people whom he had labeled in his mind the Desperate Dozen. He remained standing in the center of the room.
Schroeder finally spoke. “What took you so long?”
Burke found a chair and sat. “You told me to get the measure of the man.”
“No negotiating, Burke. That’s my job. You don’t know the procedure—”
“Anytime you want me to leave, I’m gone. I’m not looking to get on the cover of Time.”
Schroeder stood. “I’m a little tired of getting ribbed about that goddamned Time story—”
Deputy Commissioner Rourke cut in. “All right, men. It’s going to be a long night.” He turned to Schroeder. “You want Burke to leave after he briefs us?”
Schroeder shook his head. “Flynn has made him his errand boy, and we can’t upset Mr. Flynn.”
Langley broke in. “What did Flynn say, Pat?”
Burke lit a cigarette and listened to the silence for a longer time than was considered polite. “He said the Cathedral will more or less self-destruct at sunrise.”
No one spoke until Bellini said, “If I have to take that place by force, you better leave enough time for the Bomb Squad to comb every inch of it. They’ve only got two mutts now—Sally and Brandy….” He shook his head. “What a mess … damn it.”
Schroeder said, “No matter what type of devices they have rigged, they can delay them. I’ll get an extension.”
Burke looked at him. “I don’t think you understood what I said.”
Langley interjected. “What else did he say, Pat?”
Burke sat back and gave them an edited briefing, glancing at Major Martin, who stood against the fireplace in a classic pose. Burke had the impression that Martin was filling in the missing sentences.
Burke focused on Arnold Sheridan, the quintessential Wasp from State, tight smile, correct manners, cultivated voice that said nothing. He was assigned to the security section but probably found it distasteful to be even a quasi-cop. Burke realized that, as the man on the scene, Sheridan might sway the administration either way. Hard line, soft line, or line straddling. Washington could push London into an accommodation, and then, like dominoes, Dublin, Albany, and the City of New York would tumble into line. But as he looked at Sheridan he had no idea of what was going on behind those polite, vacant eyes.
Burke looked back at Schroeder as he spoke. This was a man who was an accomplished listener as well as a talker. He heard every word, remembered every word, even interpreted nuances and made analyses and conclusions but ultimately, through some incredible process in his brain, never really understood a thing that was said. Burke flipped a cigarette ash into a coffee cup. “I don’t think this guy is a textbook case. I don’t think he’s going to bend in his demands or give extensions, Schroeder.”
Schroeder said, “They all give extensions, Burke. They want to play out the drama, and they always think a concession will come in the next minute, the next hour, the next day. It’s human nature.”
Burke shook his head. “Don’t operate on the premise that you’ll get more time.”
Major Martin interrupted. “If I may say something—Lieutenant Burke’s analysis is not correct. I’ve dealt with the Irish for ten years, and they are dreadful liars, fakes, and bluffers. Flynn will give you extensions if you keep him hopeful that—”
Burke stood. “Bullshit.”
The Irish Consul General stood also and said hesitantly, “Look here, Major, I … I think it’s unfair to characterize the Irish …”
Martin forced an amiable tone into his voice. “Oh, sorry, Tomas. I was speaking only of the IRA, of course.” He looked around the room. “I didn’t mean to offend Irish Americans either. Commissioner Rourke, Mr. Hogan, Lieutenant Burke”—he looked at Schroeder and smiled—“or your better half.”
Commissioner Rourke nodded to show there were no hard feelings, and spoke. “Everyone is a little tense. Let’s take it easy. Okay?” He looked at Burke. “Lieutenant, the Major has a lot of experience in these things. He’s providing us with valuable information, not to mention insight. I know Irish affairs are your specialty, but this is not an Irish-American affair. This is different.”
Burke looked around the room. “I’d like to make it an American affair for a few minutes. Specifically, I’d like to speak to the Commissioner, Captain Schroeder, Inspector Langley, Mr. Kruger, and Mr. Hogan—alone.”
Commissioner Rourke looked around the room, unsure of what to say. Major Martin moved to the door. “I’ve got to get to the consulate.” Tomas Donahue made an excuse and followed. Monsignor Downes nodded and left. Arnold Sheridan rose and looked at his watch. “I have to call State.”
Bellini said, “You want me here, Burke?”
“It doesn’t concern you, Joe.”
Bellini said, “It better not.” He left.
The Governor’s aide suddenly looked alert. “Oh …” He stood. “I have to go….” He left.
Roberta Spiegel sat back in her rocker and lit another cigarette. “You can either go talk in the men’s room—though that’s no guarantee I won’t follow—or you can talk here.”
Burke decided he didn’t mind her presence. He took Langley to the far end of the room and said quietly, “Did we hear from Jack Ferguson yet?”
Langley said, “We got through to his wife. She’s sick in bed. She hasn’t heard from him either.”
Burke shook his head. He usually felt his first responsibility was to an informant who was in danger, but now he had no time for Jack Ferguson. Ferguson understood that—and understood, he hoped, that he was in danger. Burke moved to the center of the room and addressed the remaining people. “I’ve dealt a few cards from the bottom of the deck myself over the years, but never have I seen a card game as stacked as this one. And since I’m the one who almost got his head blown off this afternoon, I think you’ll understand why I’m a little pissed off.” He looked at Kruger and Hogan. “You two have some explaining to do.” Burke took a long pull on his cigarette and continued. “Consider this—we have here a well-planned, well-financed operation. Too much so, from what we know of the IRA, domestic and foreign. I see here the hand of not so much the revolutionary but the counterrevolutionary—the government man.” He looked at Kruger and Hogan.
No one spoke.
“Brian Flynn has told me that Major Batholomew Martin suggested an American operation to him and provided the necessary resources to carry it out. And if that is true, then I don’t think Martin could have pulled it off without the help of some of your people—or at least without your well-known talent for looking the other way when it suits you.”
Langley stood. “Careful.”
Burke turned. “Come off it, Langley. You had your suspicions, too.” He turned back to the people in front of him. “This whole thing has been a staged performance, but I think it got out of control because Brian Fl
ynn wasn’t playing his part as written. Maybe he was supposed to knock over an armory or blow a bank. But he got a better idea, and now we’re all up to our asses in the consequences.”
Kruger stood. “I’ve never heard such paranoid nonsense—”
Hogan reached out and put his hand on Kruger’s arm, then sat forward. “Listen, Burke, what you say is not altogether untrue.” He paused, then went on. “The FBI did stand to gain from this incident. Sure, when this is over they’ll fire some people at the top, but then the analysis will show how powerless we were to stop it. And maybe we’ll become the beneficiaries of a little power and money.” He leaned farther forward and put an aggrieved tone in his voice. “But to even hint that we—”
Burke waved his arm to cut off the disclaimers. “I have no real evidence, and I don’t want any. All I want you to know is that Patrick Burke knows. And I almost got my fucking head blown off finding out. And if Flynn starts making public statements, people will tend to believe him, and your two outfits will be in trouble—again.”
Hogan shook his head. “He won’t make any public charges about outside help, because he’s not going to admit to the Irish people that he worked with British Intelligence—”
Kruger looked at him sharply. “Shut up, Hogan.”
Douglas Hogan waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Kruger, there’s no use trying to play it coy.” He looked at the four policemen in the room. “We had some knowledge of this, but, as you say, it got out of control. I can promise you, though, that no matter what happens, we will cover you … so long as you do the same. What’s happened is past. Now we have to work at making sure we come out of this not only blameless but looking good.” Douglas Hogan spread his hands out in front of him and said coaxingly, “We have been handed a unique opportunity to make some important changes in intelligence procedures in this country. A chance to improve our image.”
Commissioner Rourke stood. “You people are … crazy.”
Langley turned to the Commissioner. “Sir, I think we have no choice but to keep to the problem at hand. We can’t change the series of events that brought us here, but we can try to ensure that the outcome won’t be disastrous … as long as we work together.”
The Commissioner looked at the FBI man, the CIA man, then at his two intelligence officers. He understood very clearly that their logic was not his logic, their world not his world. He understood, also, that anyone who could do what Kruger and Hogan had apparently done were dangerous and desperate men. He looked at Roberta Spiegel. She nodded to him, and he sat down.
Burke glanced around the room and said, “It’s important that you all understand that Bartholomew Martin is a danger to any negotiated settlement. He means to see that the Cathedral is destroyed and that blood is shed.” He looked at Rourke and Schroeder. “He is not your good friend.” He stared at Kruger and Hogan. “The most Martin hoped for was an arms steal or a bank heist, but Flynn presented him with a unique opportunity to influence public opinion in America the way the IRA murder of Lord Mountbatten did in the British Isles. However, if Flynn walks out of the Cathedral with no blood shed and the IRA prisoners are released, he’ll be a hero to a large segment of the Irish population, and no one will ever believe he meant to harm anyone or destroy the Cathedral—and Major Martin cannot allow that to happen.” Burke turned again to Kruger and Hogan. “I want him neutralized—no, that’s not like one of your famous euphemisms for murder. Don’t look so uncomfortable. Neutralized—inoperative. Watched. I want a regular Foreign Office man representing the British government in New York, not Martin. I’ve given you a unique opportunity to save your own asses.”
Kruger stared at Burke, unconcealed hostility in his eyes.
Hogan nodded; “I’ll do what I can.”
Roberta Spiegel said, “End of discussion.” She looked at Schroeder. “Captain, you’re on.”
Schroeder nodded and turned on the speakers in the rectory offices and in the Cardinal’s residence. He placed the call through the switchboard and looked around the room while he waited. New ball game for them, he thought. But his ball game hadn’t changed substantially. His only concern was the personality of Brian Flynn. His whole world was reduced to the electronic impulses between himself and Flynn. Washington, London, and Dublin could make it easier for him by capitulating, but they couldn’t make it any more difficult than it already was. A voice in the earphone made him sit up. “Hello, Mr. Flynn? This is Captain Schroeder.”
CHAPTER 31
Brian Flynn stood at the chancel organ and lit a cigarette as he cradled the receiver on his shoulder. “Schroeder, the corned beef was stringy. You didn’t butcher the horse now, did you?”
The negotiator’s voice came back with a contrived laugh in it. “No, sir. If there’s anything else you want, please let us know.”
“I’m about to do that. First of all, I’m glad you know my name. Now you know you’re dealing with Ireland’s greatest living patriot. Right?”
“Yes, sir….”
“There’ll be a monument erected to me someday in Dublin and in a free Belfast. No one will remember you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Flynn laughed suddenly. “I hear you writing, Schroeder. What are you writing? ‘Megalomania’?”
“No, sir. Just keeping notes.”
“Good. Now just listen and take notes on this. First …” Flynn leafed through Schroeder’s autobiography as he spoke. “…. make certain you leave the Cathedral’s floodlights on. It looks so grand bathed in blue light. Also, that will make it difficult for your ESD men to climb up the sides. I’ve people in skyscrapers with field glasses. If they see anything moving outside, they’ll signal the towers or call me directly. Which brings me to point two. Don’t interfere with my outside telephone lines. Point three, if the lights in here so much as flicker, I’ll shoot everyone. Point four, no psy-warfare, such as your usual prank of running that silly armored car you own around the Cathedral. My men in the towers have M-72 rockets. Anyway, we’ve seen more armored cars than you’ve seen taxis, Schroeder, and they don’t frighten us. Point five, no helicopters. If my men in the towers see one, they’ll fire on it. Point six, tell your ESD people that we’ve planned this for a long time, and an attack would cost them dearly. Don’t waste them. You’ll need them next time.” Flynn wiped a line of sweat from his forehead. “Point seven, I say again, no extensions. Plan to wrap it up by dawn, Schroeder. Point eight, I want a nice twenty-one-inch color television set. I’ll tell you when I want Burke to bring it. Point nine, I want to see continuous news coverage until dawn. Point ten, I want to hold a news conference in the press room below the sacristy. Prime time, 10:00 P.M., live. Got all that?”
After a long silence Schroeder’s voice came through, sounding strained. “Yes, sir. We’ll try to accommodate you on all those points.”
“You will accommodate me. What have you heard from Dublin, London, and Washington?”
“They’re tied into their representatives, who are here in the Cardinal’s residence. They’re making progress.”
“It’s good to see allies working so well together. I hope they’re all keeping their tempers as we are doing, Captain. What have you heard from Amnesty and the Red Cross?”
“They are willing to cooperate in any way possible.”
“Good for them. Good people. Always there to lend a hand. How about immunity from prosecution for my people in here?”
Schroeder cleared his throat. “The U.S. Attorney General and the State Attorney General are discussing it. So far, all I can promise you is—”
“A fair trial,” interrupted Flynn. “Wonderful country. But I don’t want any trial at all, Schroeder.”
“I can’t make that promise at this time.”
“Let me make something clear—at the same time you tell me those prisoners are being released, you’d better have a guarantee of immunity for us or it’s no deal. I’ll shoot the hostages and blow this place apart.” Flynn could hear Sch
roeder’s breathing in the earpiece.
Schroeder said softly, “Everything you ask for is being considered very carefully, but these things take time. All I’m concerned with at the moment is the safety—”
“Schroeder, stop talking to me as though I were some sort of criminal lunatic. Save that for your next case, if you have one. I’m a soldier, and I want to be spoken to as a soldier. The prisoners in here are being treated correctly. And your tone is very patronizing.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m only trying to assure you of our good intentions. My job is to negotiate a settlement we can all live with, and—”
Flynn suddenly stood and said, “How do you call it negotiation if you don’t intend to give anything?”
Schroeder didn’t reply.
“Have you ever made any real concessions in all of your career as a hostage negotiator, Schroeder? Never. You’re not even listening to me, for Christ’s sake. Well, you’d damn well better listen, because when this Cathedral is in ruins and the dead are lying everywhere, you’ll wish to God you paid more attention, and that you’d acted in better faith.” “
I am listening. I am acting—”
“You’ll be known, Captain Bert Schroeder, as the man who failed to save Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and who has innocent blood on his hands. You’ll never hold your head up again, and you’ll not accept many talk-show invitations, I think.”
Schroeder’s voice came back, agitated for the first time that anyone who was listening could remember. “I haven’t lied to you, have I? We haven’t tried to use force, have we? You asked for food, we gave you food. You asked—”
“I paid for the fucking food! Now listen to me closely. I know you’re only a middleman for a lot of bastards, but …” Flynn looked at Schroeder’s picture on the cover of his book. It was an action shot, taken during a bank robbery that had turned into a hostage situation. Schroeder, unlike his predecessor, who always wore a baseball cap and Windbreaker, was dressed nattily in a three-piece pinstripe. The face and massive body suggested was more the baseball-cap type, but Schroeder was reaching for his own style. Flynn studied the face on the cover. Good profile, firm jaw, erect carriage. But the eyes were unmistakably frightened. A bad picture. Flynn continued, “But I trust you, Schroeder—trust you to use your influence and your good offices. I want you to keep talking to me all night, Captain. I want you to carry my message to the people around you.”
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