Flynn’s voice cut into the dark basement. “You’re a damned coward, Maureen. All right, then, Baxter’s gone.”
A shot rang out on the sacristy.
After the report died away he called out again. “Murphy is next.”
Maureen instinctively moved back against the column. She put her face in her hands. “Bastards!”
Flynn yelled, “The priest is next!”
She picked up her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. She peered into the darkness. Her eyes adjusted to the half-light, and she forced herself to evaulate the situation calmly. To her right was the outer wall of the sacristy staircase. If she followed it she’d find the foundation wall, beyond which was freedom. That was the way she had to go.
She looked quickly back and saw a pair of legs dropping from the opening. More of the body was revealed as it descended the ladder—Hickey. Above Hickey’s head another pair of legs appeared. Megan. Both of them held flashlights and pistols by their sides. Hickey turned his head and squinted into the blackness as he climbed down. Maureen crouched down beside the column.
Hickey’s voice rolled through the black, damp air. He spoke as to a child. “Coming for you, darlin’. Coming to get you. Come to old John, now. Don’t let the wicked Megan find you. Run to Mr. Hickey. Come on, then.” He laughed and jumped down the last few steps, switched on the flashlight, and turned toward her.
Megan was right behind him, her fiery red features looking sinister in the overhead light.
Maureen drew a long breath and held it.
CHAPTER 37
Schroeder stood tensed with the phone to his ear. He looked up at Langley, the only person left in the office. “Goddamn it—they’re not answering.”
Langley stood at the window, staring intently at the Cathedral. On the other side of the double doors phones were ringing and people were shouting.
One of the doors burst open, and Bellini ran in looking more agitated than when he had last left. He shouted, “I have orders from fucking Kline to go in if you can’t raise them!”
Schroeder looked up at him. “Get in here and close the door!” He yelled at the police operator, “Of course I want you to keep trying, you stupid ass!”
Bellini closed the door, walked to a chair, and fell into it. Sweat streamed down his pale face. “I … I’m not ready to go in….”
Schroeder said to Bellini impatiently, “How fucking long does it take to kill four hostages, Bellini? If they’re dead already, Kline can damned well wait until you have at least a half-assed idea of how to hit the place.”
Suddenly Flynn’s voice came over the speaker. “Schroeder?”
Schroeder answered quickly, “Yes—” He controlled his voice. “Yes, sir. Is everything all right?”
“Yes.”
Schroeder cleared his throat and spoke into the phone. “What is happening in there?”
Flynn’s voice sounded composed. “An ill-advised attempt to escape.”
Schroeder sounded incredulous. “Escape?”
“That’s what I said.”
“No one is hurt?”
There was a long pause, then Flynn said, “Baxter and Murphy are wounded. Not badly.”
Schroeder looked at Langley and Bellini. He steadied his voice. “We’re sending in a doctor.”
“If they needed one, I’d tell you.”
“I’m sending in a doctor.”
“All right, but tell him before you send him that I’ll blow his brains out.”
Schroeder’s voice became angry, but it was a controlled anger, contrived almost, designed to show that shooting was the one thing he wouldn’t tolerate. “Damn you, Flynn, you said there’d be no shooting. You said—”
“It couldn’t be helped, really.”
Schroeder made his tone ominous. “Flynn, if you kill anyone—so help me God, if you hurt anyone, then we’re beyond the let’s-make-a-deal stage.”
“I understand the rules. Calm down, Schroeder.”
“Let me speak to each of the hostages. Now.”
“Hold on.” There was silence, then the Cardinal’s voice filled the room. “Captain, do you recognize my voice?”
Schroeder looked at the other two men, and they nodded. He said, “Yes, Your Eminence.”
The Cardinal spoke in a tone that suggested he was being coached and closely watched. “I’m all right. Mr. Baxter has received what they tell me is a grazing wound across his back and a ricochet wound in his chest. He’s resting and seems all right. Father Murphy was also hit by a ricocheting bullet—in the face—the jaw. He’s stunned but otherwise appears all right…. It was a miracle no one was killed.”
The three men in the room seemed to relax. There were murmurs from the adjoining office. Schroeder said, “Miss Malone?”
The Cardinal answered hesitantly, “She is alive. Not wounded. She is—”
Schroeder heard the phone being covered at the other end. He heard muffled voices, an angry exchange. He spoke into the receiver, “Hello? Hello?”
The Cardinal’s voice came back, “That’s all I can say.”
Schroeder spoke quickly, “Your Eminence, please don’t provoke these people. You must not endanger your own lives, because you’re also endangering other lives—”
The Cardinal replied in a neutral tone, “I’ll pass that on to the others.” He added, “Miss Malone is—”
Flynn’s voice suddenly came on the line. “Good advice from Captain Courageous. All right, you see no one is dead. Everyone calm down.”
“Let me speak to Miss Malone.”
“She stepped out for a moment. Later.” Flynn said abruptly, “Is everything set for my press conference?”
Schroeder’s voice turned calm. “We may need more time. The networks—”
“I have a message for America and the world, and I mean to deliver it.”
“Yes, you will. Be patient.”
“That’s not one of the Irish virtues, Schroeder.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s true.” He felt it was time for a more personal approach. “I’m half Irish myself, and—”
“Really?”
“Yes, my mother’s people were from County Tyrone. Listen, I understand your frustrations and your anger—I had a great-uncle in the IRA. Family hero. Jailed by the English.”
“For what? Being a bore like his nephew?”
Schroeder ignored the remark. “I grew up with many of the same hates and prejudices that you—”
“You weren’t there, Schroeder. You weren’t there. You were here.”
“This won’t accomplish anything,” said Schroeder firmly. “You might make more enemies than friends by—”
“The people in here don’t need any more friends. Our friends are dead or in prison. Tell them to let our people go, Captain.”
“We’re trying very hard. The negotiations between London and Washington are progressing. I see a light at the end of the tunnel—”
“Are you sure that light isn’t a speeding train coming at you?”
Someone in the next room laughed.
Schroeder sat down and bit the tip off a cigar. “Listen, why don’t you show us some good faith and release one of the wounded hostages?”
“Which one?”
Schroeder sat up quickly. “Well … well …”
“Come on, then. Play God. Don’t ask anyone there. You tell me which one.” “
The one that’s the most badly wounded.”
Flynn laughed. “Very good. Here’s a counterproposal. Would you like the Cardinal instead? Think now. A wounded priest, a wounded Englishman, or a healthy Cardinal?”
Schroeder felt an anger rising in him and was disturbed that Flynn could produce that response. “Who’s the more seriously hurt?”