Baxter nodded. “We’re about to do that, Your Eminence. We’re considering an escape plan. We want you both to come with us.”
The Cardinal shook his head and said emphatically, “My place is here.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then said, “But I’m ready to give you my blessing.” He turned to Father Murphy. “You may go if you choose.”
Murphy shook his head and addressed Maureen and Baxter. “I can’t leave without His Eminence. But I’ll help you if I can.”
Maureen looked at the three men. “Good. Let’s work out the details and the timing.” She looked at her watch. “At nine o’clock, we go.”
CHAPTER 33
Captain Bellini said to Monsignor Downes as the Rector walked into the office, “Have you found the plans to the Cathedral yet?”
The Monsignor shook his head. “The staff is looking here and at the diocese building. But I don’t believe we ever had a set on file.”
Commissioner Rourke said to Langley, “What are you doing about finding the architect, Gordon Stillway?”
Langley lit a cigarette and took his time answering. He said finally, “Detectives went to his office on East Fifty-third. It was closed, of course—”
Rourke interrupted. “Are you getting a court order to go in?”
Langley noticed that the Deputy Commissioner was becoming more assertive. By midnight he’d probably try to give an order. Langley said, “Actually, someone already got in—without the benefit of a court order. No Cathedral blueprints. The detectives are trying to find a roster of employees. That’s apparently missing also.”
Monsignor Downes cleared his throat and said, “I don’t approve of an assault … but it must be planned for, I suppose …” He looked at the bookcase and said, “Among those books you’ll find about five that are pictorial studies of the Cathedral. Some have plans in them, very sketchy plans—for tourists to follow when they walk on the main floor. The interior pictures are very good, though, and may be helpful.”
Bellini went to the bookcase and began scanning the shelves.
Burke stood. “There may be a set of blueprints in Stillway’s apartment. No one’s answering the phone, and the detective we have stationed there says no one’s answering the door. I’m going over there now.”
Schroeder stood also. “You can’t leave here. Flynn said—”
Burke turned on him. “The hell with Flynn.”
Roberta Spiegel said, “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”
Langley ripped a page from his notebook. “Here’s the address. Don’t gain entry by illegal means.”
Monsignor Downes said, “If you should find Gordon Stillway, remember he’s a very old man. Don’t excite him.”
“I don’t do anything illegal. I don’t excite people.” Burke turned and walked out into the adjoining office. A heavy cloud of blue smoke hung at face level over the crowded outer office. Burke pushed his way into the hall and went down the stairs. The rectory offices on the ground floor were filled with uniformed police commanders directing the field operations. Burke approached a captain sitting at a desk and showed his badge case. “I need a squad car and a maniac to drive it.”
The captain looked up from a map of midtown. “Do you? Well, the area on the other side of the cordon is jammed solid with people and vehicles. Where is it you’d like to go in such a hurry, Lieutenant?”
“Gramercy Park. Pronto-like.”
“Well, make your way to the IRT station on Lex.”
“Bullshit.” He grabbed a phone and went through the switchboard to the Monsignor’s office. “Langley, is the helicopter still in the Palace courtyard? Good. Call and get it revved up.”
Burke walked out of the rectory into Fifty-first Street and breathed in the cold, bracing air that made him feel better. The sleet was tapering off, but the wind was still strong. He walked into the deserted intersection of Fifty-first and Madison.
An eerie silence hung over the lamplit streets around the Cathedral, and in the distance he could see the barricades of squad cars, buses, and sanitation trucks that made up the cordon. Strands of communication wire ran over the sleet-covered streets and sidewalks. Sentries stood silhouetted against half-lit buildings, and National Guardsmen cruised by in jeeps, rifles pointed upward. Bullhorns barked in the wintry air, and policemen patrolled the sanitized area with shotguns. Burke heard their footsteps crunching in the unshoveled ice and heard his own quickening pace. As he walked, he thought of Belfast and, though he’d never been there, felt he knew the place. He turned up his collar and walked faster.
Across Madison Avenue a solitary figure on horseback rode slowly into the north wind. He stared at the rider, Betty Foster, as she passed beneath a streetlight. She didn’t seem to notice him, and he walked on.
The wind dropped, and he heard in the distance, past the perimeter of the cordon, the sounds of music and singing. New York would not be denied its party. Burke passed the rear of the Lady Chapel, then approached the Cardinal’s residence, and through the lace curtains on a groundfloor window he saw ESD men standing in a room. A lieutenant was briefing them, and Burke could see a chalkboard. Win this one for the Gipper, lads. Through another window on the corner Burke saw well-dressed men and women, the Governor and Mayor among them, crowded around what was probably a buffet. They didn’t exactly look like they were enjoying themselves, but they didn’t look as grim as the men around the chalkboard either.
In the intersection Burke turned and looked back at the Cathedral illuminated by its garden floodlights. A soft luminescence passed through the stained-glass windows and cast a colored shadow over the white street. It was a serene picture, postcard pretty: ice-covered branches of bare lindens and glistening expanses of undisturbed sleet. Perhaps more serene than it had ever been in this century—the surrounding area cleared of cars and people, and the buildings darkened….
Something out of place caught his eye, and he looked up at the two towers where light shone through the ripped louvers. In the north tower—the bell tower—he saw a shadow moving, a solitary figure circling from louver to louver, cold, probably edgy, watchful. In the south tower there was also a figure, standing motionless. Two people, one in each tower—the only eyes that stared out of the besieged Cathedral. So much depended on them, thought Burke. He hoped they weren’t the panicky type.
The police command helicopter followed Lexington Avenue south. Below, Burke could see that traffic was beginning to move again, or at least what passed for moving traffic in Manhattan. Rotating beacons at every intersection indicated the scope of the police action below. The towering buildings of midtown gave way to the lower buildings in the old section of Gramercy Park, and the helicopter dropped altitude.
Burke could see the lamps of the small private park encircled by elegant town houses. He pointed, and the pilot swung the craft toward the open area and turned on the landing lights. The helicopter settled into a small patch of grass, and Burke jumped out and walked quickly toward the high wrought-iron fence. He rattled the bars of a tall gate but found it was locked. On the sidewalk a crowd of people stared back at him curiously. Burke said, “Is anyone there a keyholder?”
No one answered.
Burke peered between the bars, his hands wrapped around the cold iron. He thought of the zoo gate that morning, the ape house, the sacristy gate, and all the prisons he’d ever seen. He thought of Long Kesh and Crumlin Road, Lubianka and Dachau. He thought that there were too many iron bars and too many people staring at each other through them. He shouted with a sudden and unexpected anger, “Come on, damn it! Who’s got a key?”