Maureen Malone sat very still in the pew and watched as Hickey sent his message. She turned to Harold Baxter. “Bastard!”
Baxter looked away from Hickey. “Yes, well, that’s his prerogative, isn’t it? But, no harm done. Especially if the first message was received.”
“I don’t think you understand,” she said. “The people outside still believe we control that signal. Hickey is not sending them a rude message or something of that sort. He’s reading from our message and sending a misleading intelligence report over our signatures.”
Baxter looked at Hickey, and the comprehension of what she was saying came to him.
“And God only knows what he’s telling them. He’s mad, you know. Flynn is a paragon of rationality compared to Hickey.”
“Hickey is not mad,” said Baxter. “He’s something far more dangerous than mad.”
She looked down at the floor. “Anyway, I’ll not apologize for trying.”
“I’m not asking you to. But I think the next plan should be mine.”
“Really?” She spoke with a frigid tone in her voice. “I don’t think we have the time to wait for either your plan or your much discussed right moment.”
He answered without anger. “Just give me a few more minutes. I think I know a way out of here.”
Burke walked into the Monsignor’s inner office, followed by Inspector Langley. A uniformed officer handed them each a copy of the decoded message. Burke sat on Schroeder’s desk and read the message. He looked around at the people present— Schroeder, Commissioner Rourke, Roberta Spiegel, and Bellini—the hard core of the Desperate Dozen, with Langley and himself added or subtracted as the situation changed.
Captain Bellini looked up from his copy and spoke to Commissioner Rourke. “If this is accurate, I can take the Cathedral with an acceptable risk to my people. If the hostages are in the crypt, they have a fair chance of surviving … though I can’t guarantee that.” He looked at the message again. “They don’t seem to stand much chance with the Fenians anyway.” He stood. “I’ll need a few more hours to plan.”
Burke thought of Maureen’s statement at the sacristy gate. Twelve gunmen. Now Murphy said eight. He looked across the room at Bellini. “And if it’s not accurate?”
Bellini said, “How far off can they be? They’re heads-up people. Right? They can count. Look, I’m not real anxious to do this, but I feel a little better about it now.”
Langley said, “We can’t discount the possibility that one or both of these messages are from the Fenians.” He looked at his copy and compared it to the earlier message, which he held in his hand. “I’m a little confused. Something is wrong here.” He looked up. “Bellini, as an intelligence officer, I’d advise you not to believe either of these.”
Bellini looked distraught. “Well, where the hell does that put me? Square fucking one, that’s where.”
Roberta Spiegel said, “Whether or not we believe either of these messages, everybody in the Cardinal’s residence and in the next room is reading this last message, and they will come to their own conclusions.” She looked at Rourke. “This justifies a preemptive attack, Commissioner. That’s what’s going through their minds out there.” She turned to Bellini. “Captain, be prepared to mount an attack at very short notice.”
Bellini nodded distractedly.
The door opened, and Monsignor Downes came into the office. “Did someone want to see me?”
The five men looked at each other questioningly, then Roberta Spiegel said, “Yes, I asked to see you.”
Downes remained standing.
The Mayor’s aide thought a moment, then said, “Monsignor, neither the Mayor nor myself nor anyone wants to do anything that will harm this church or endanger the lives of the hostages. However—”
The Monsignor’s body stiffened.
“However, if the police and my office and the people in Washington decide that negotiation is no longer possible and that there is a clear and immediate danger to the hostages … will you and the diocese stand behind our decision to send in the Emergency Services Division?”
Monsignor Downes stood motionless without answering.
Spiegel said to Bellini, “Give the Monsignor a copy of that message.”
Downes took the paper and read it, then looked at Roberta Spiegel. “I’ll have to check with the Vicar General. I cannot take the responsibility for this on my own.” He turned and left the room.
Roberta Spiegel said, “Every time we uncover another layer of this problem I see how much we’ve underestimated Flynn. We’re sandbagged pretty badly all around, and as the time slips by it’s obvious that the easiest course of action is surrender— ours, not Flynn’s.”
Langley said, “Even surrender is not so easy. We may give in, but that doesn’t mean Washington, London, or Dublin will.”
Commissioner Rourke said to Bellini, “Captain, the only thing we can do unilaterally, without anyone’s permission except the Mayor’s, is to attack.”
Bellini answered, “That’s always the easiest decision, sir—it’s the execution that gets a little sticky.”
Schroeder spoke up. “I get the feeling you’ve given up on the negotiations.”
Everyone looked at him. Burke said, “Captain, you’re still the best hope we’ve got. If there’s any middle ground between our capitulation and an attack, I’m sure you’ll find it. Brian Flynn said, however, that there was no middle ground, and I think he was telling us the truth. Dawn or dead.”
Maureen watched Hickey as he spoke to the Cardinal and Father Murphy at the confessional. She said to Baxter, “He’s questioning them about the buzzer and about the first message.”
Baxter nodded, then stood. “Let’s pace a bit and stretch our legs. We’ll talk.”
They began walking across the altar sanctuary toward the throne, a distance of forty feet, then turned and walked back. As they walked, Baxter inclined his head. “Look over there—at the brass plate.”
Maureen glanced to the right of the altar. Beyond the sacristy staircase was the large brass plate through which Hickey and Megan Fitzgerald had descended with the suitcases.
Baxter looked over the length of the Cathedral. “I’ve been analyzing this building. When Hickey and Fitzgerald came up from that plate, they had earth on their hands and knees. So it must be mostly crawl space. There must be large areas that are unlit or badly lit. We have an area of almost a city block in which to disappear. If we can lift that plate quickly and drop into that space, they could never flush us out.”
As they paced back toward the right side of the altar the plate came into view again. She said, “Even if we could raise the plate and drop below before we were shot, we wouldn’t be free, and no one on the outside would know we were down there.”
“We would know we weren’t up here.”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s the point, isn’t it?” They walked in silence for a few minutes, then Maureen said, “How do you plan to do it?”
Baxter outlined his plan.
Father Murphy and the Cardinal entered the sanctuary, and both Maureen and Baxter noticed that the two priests looked very pale. Father Murphy looked from Maureen to Baxter. “Hickey knows, of course.”
The Cardinal spoke. “I would have had no objection to trying to signal the rectory.” He looked at Murphy sharply, then at Baxter and Maureen. “You must keep me informed—beforehand—of your plans.”