“Yes.” Burke couldn’t tell if this pessimism was contrived. Flynn was a good actor whose every line was designed to create an illusion, to produce a desired response.
Flynn nodded and leaned heavily against the bars.
Burke had the impression that Flynn was fighting some inner struggle that was taking a great deal out of him.
After a time Flynn said, “Well, anyway, here’s what I wanted to speak to you about. Hickey and I have concluded that Martin’s abducted the resident architect of Saint Patrick’s. Why, you ask? So that you can’t plan or mount a successful attack against us.”
Burke considered the statement. There’d certainly be more optimism in the rectory and Cardinal’s residence if Gordon Stillway was poring over the blueprints with Bellini right now. Burke tried to put it together in his mind. The Fenians had missed Stillway; that was obvious by now. Maureen Malone wouldn’t have found an unsecured passage if Stillway was in there, because Stillway, no matter how brave a man he might be, would have been spilling it all out after fifteen minutes with this bunch.
And it wasn’t too difficult to believe that Major Martin had anticipated Stillway’s importance and snatched him before the Fenians could get to him. But to believe all that, you had to believe some very nasty and cold-blooded things about Major Martin.
Flynn broke the silence. “Are you seeing it now? Martin doesn’t want the police to move too fast. He wants to drag this out—he wants the dawn deadline to approach. He’s probably already suggested that you’ll get an extension of the deadline, hasn’t he?”
Burke said nothing.
Flynn leaned closer. “And without a firm plan of attack you’re ready to believe him. But let me tell you, at 6:03A.M.this Cathedral is no more. If you attack, your people will be ripped up very badly. The only way this can end without bloodshed is on my terms. You believe that we’ve beaten you. So swallow all that goddamned Normandy Beach–Iwo Jima pride and tell the stupid bastards out there that it’s finished and let’s all go home.”
“They won’t listen to that.”
“Make them listen!”
Burke said, “To the people out there the Fenians are no more the peers of the police and government than the New York street gang that calls itself the Pagans. They can’t deal with you, Flynn. They’re bound by law to arrest you and throw you in the slammer with the muggers and rapists, because that’s all terrorists are— muggers, murderers, and rapists on a somewhat larger scale—”
“Shut up!”
Neither man spoke, then Burke said in a gentler tone, “I’m telling you what their position is. I’m telling you what Schroeder won’t tell you. It’s true we’ve lost, but it’s also true we won’t—can’t—surrender. You could surrender … honorably … negotiate the best terms possible, lay down your guns—”
“No. Not one person in here can accept anything less than we’ve asked for.”
Burke nodded. “All right. I’ll pass it on…. Maybe we can still work something out that will save you and your people and the hostages and the Cathedral…. But the people in internment …” He shook his head. “London would never …”
Flynn also shook his head. “All or nothing.”
Both men lapsed into a silence, each aware that he had said more than he’d intended. Each was aware, too, that he had lost something that had been building between them.
Pedar Fitzgerald’s voice came down the stairs. “Father Murphy.”
Flynn turned and called back. “Send him down.”
The priest walked unsteadily down the marble staircase, supporting his large frame on the brass rail. He smiled through the face bandages and spoke in a muffled voice. “Patrick, good to see you.” He put his hand through the bars.
Burke took the priest’s hand. “Are you all right?”
Murphy nodded. “Close call. But the Lord doesn’t want me yet.”
Burke released the priest’s hand and withdrew his own.
Flynn put his hand to the bars. “Let me have it.”
Burke opened his hand, and Flynn snatched a scrap of paper from him.
Flynn unfolded the paper and read the words written in pencil. Hickey sent last message on confessional buzzer. There followed a fairly accurate appraisal of the Cathedral’s defenses. Flynn frowned at the first sentence: Hickey sent last message… What did that mean?
Flynn pocketed the paper and looked up. There was no anger in his voice. “I’m proud of these people, Burke. They’ve shown some spirit. Even the two holy men have kept us on our toes, I’ll tell you.”
Burke turned to Murphy. “Do any of you need a doctor?”
Murphy shook his head. “No. We’re a bit lame, but there’s nothing a doctor can do. We’ll be all right.”
Flynn said, “That’s all, Father. Go back with the others.”
Murphy hesitated and looked around. He glanced at the chain and padlock, then looked at Flynn, who stood as tall as he but was not as heavy.
Flynn sensed the danger and moved back. His right hand stayed at his side, but the position of his fingers suggested he was ready to go-for his pistol. “I’ve been knocked about by priests before, and I owe you all a few knocks in return. Don’t give me cause. Leave.”
Murphy nodded, turned, and mounted the steps. He called back over his shoulder, “Pat, tell them out there we’re not afraid.”
Burke said, “They know that, Father.”
Murphy stood at the crypt door for a few seconds, then turned and disappeared around the turn in the staircase.
Flynn put his hands in his pockets. He looked down at the floor, then lifted his head slowly until he met Burke’s eyes. He spoke without a trace of ruthlessness. “Promise me something, Lieutenant—promise me one thing tonight…. ”
Burke waited.
“Promise me this—that if they attack, you’ll be with them.”
“What—?”
Flynn went on. “Because, you see, if you know you’re not involved on that level, then subconsciously you’ll not see things you should see, you’ll not say things you should say out there. And you’ll not live so easily with yourself afterward. You know what I mean.”
Burke felt his mouth becoming dry. He thought of Schroeder’s foolishness. It was a bad night for rearechelon people. The front line was moving closer. He looked up at Flynn and nodded almost imperceptibly.
Flynn acknowledged the agreement without speaking. He looked away from Burke and said, “Don’t leave the rectory again.”
Burke didn’t reply.
“Stay close. Stay close especially as the dawn approaches.”
“I will.”
Flynn looked past Burke into the sacristy and focused on the priests’ altar in the small chapel at the rear that was directly below the Lady Chapel altar. There were arched Gothic windows behind this altar also, but these subterranean windows with soft artificial lighting behind them, eastward-facing windows, were suffused with a perpetual false dawn. He kept staring at them and spoke softly, “I’ve spent a good deal of my life working in the hours of darkness, but I’ve never been so frightened of seeing the sunrise.”
“I know how you feel.”
“Good…. Are they frightened out there?”
“I think they are.”
Flynn nodded slowly. “I’m glad. It’s not good to be frightened alone.”
“No.”
Flynn said, “Someday—if there’s a day after this one—I’ll tell you a story about Whitehorn Abbey—and this ring.” He tapped it against the bars.