Flynn turned slowly. “I’m afraid this is not negotiable, Captain.” He paused and said, “It’s awkward when you’re involved personally, isn’t it? Did you ever consider that every man and woman you’ve negotiated with or for was involved personally? Well, I’m not going to take you to task for your past successes. You were dealing with criminals, and they probably deserved the shoddy deals you got for them. You and I deserve a better deal. Our fates are intertwined, our goals are the same—aren’t they? Yes or no, Captain? Quickly!”
Schroeder nodded.
Flynn moved down the stairs. “Good decision.” He came close to the gate and put his hand out. Schroeder looked at it but shook his head. “Never.”
Flynn withdrew his hand. “All right, then … all right….”
Schroeder said, “Can I go now?”
“Yes…. Oh, one more thing. It’s quite possible you’ll fail even if you dwell on the flamethrowers and threaten public statements and all that … so we should plan for failure.”
Schroeder’s face showed that he understood what was coming.
Flynn’s voice was firm and businesslike. “If Bellini is to attack, in spite of everything you can do to stop it, then I’ll give you another way to save Terri’s life.”
“No.”
“Yes, I’m afraid you’ll have to get down here and tell me when, where, how, that sort of thing—”
“No! No, I would never—never get police officers killed—”
“They’ll get killed anyway. And so will the hostages and the Fenians and Terri. So if you want to at least save her, you’ll give me the operational plans.”
“They won’t tell me—”
“Make it your business to know. The easier solution is to scare Bellini out of his fucking mind and get him to refuse. You’ve a great many options. I wish I had as many.”
Schroeder wiped his brow. His breathing was erratic, and his voice was shaky. “Flynn … please … I’ll move heaven and earth to get them to surrender—I swear to God I will—but if they don’t listen—” He drew up his body. “Then I won’t betray them. Never. Even if it means Terri—”
Flynn reached out and grabbed Schroeder by the arm. “Use your head, man. If they’re repulsed once, they aren’t likely to try again. They’re not marines or royal commandos. If I beat them back, then Washington, the Vatican, and other concerned countries will pressure London. I can almost guarantee there’ll be fewer police killed if I stop them in their tracks … stop them before the battle gets too far along…. You must tell me if they’ve got the architect and the blueprints … tell me if they will use gas, if they’re going to cut off the lights…. You know what I need. And I’ll put the hostages in the crypt for protection. I’ll send a signal, and Terri will be freed within five minutes. I won’t ask any more of you.”
Schroeder’s head shook.
Flynn reached out his other hand and laid it on Schroeder’s shoulder. He spoke almost gently. “Long after we’re dead, after what’s happened here is only a dim memory to an uncaring world, Theresa will be alive, perhaps remarried—children, grandchildren. Step outside of what you feel now, Captain, and look into the future. Think of her and think also of your wife—Mary lives for that girl, Bert. She—”
Schroeder suddenly pulled away. “Shut up! For God’s sake, shut up….” He slumped forward, and his head rested against the bars.
Flynn patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a decent man, Captain. An honest man. And you’re a good father…. I hope you’re still a father at dawn. Well … will you be?”
Schroeder nodded.
“Good. Go on, then, go back, have a drink. Get yourself together. It’ll be all right. No, don’t go thinking about your gun. Killing me or killing yourself won’t solve anyone’s problem but your own. Think about Terri and Mary. They need you and love you. See you later, Captain, God willing.”
CHAPTER 51
Governor Doyle stood in a back room of the Cardinal’s residence, a telephone in his hand. He listened to a succession of state officials: policemen, public relations people, legislators, the Attorney General, the commander of the state’s National Guard. They spoke to him from Albany, from the state offices in Rockefeller Center, from their homes, and from their vacation hotels in warmer climates. All of these people, who normally couldn’t decide on chicken or roast beef at a banquet, had decided that the time had come to storm the Cathedral. The Lieutenant Governor told him, frankly, if not tactfully, that his ratings in the polls were so low he had nothing to lose and could only gain by backing an assault on the Cathedral regardless of its success or failure. Doyle put the receiver into its cradle and regarded the people who were entering the room.
Kline, he noticed, had brought Spiegel, which meant a decision could be reached. Monsignor Downes took a seat beside Arnold Sheridan of the State Department. On the couch sat the Irish Consul General, Donahue, and the British Foreign Office representative, Eric Palmer. Police Commissioner Rourke stood by the door until Kline pointed to a chair.
Doyle looked at Bartholomew Martin, who had no official status any longer but whom he had asked to be present. Martin, no matter what people were saying about him, could be counted on to supply the right information.
The Governor cleared his throat and said, “Gentlemen, Miss—Ms.—Spiegel, I’ve asked you here because I feel that we are the ones most immediately affected by this situation.” He looked around the room. “And before we leave here, we’re going to cut this Gordian knot.” He made a slicing movement with his hand. “Cut through every tactical and strategic problem, political consideration, and moral dilemma that has paralyzed our will and our ability to act!” He paused, then turned to Monsignor Downes. “Father, would you repeat for everyone the latest news from Rome?”
Monsignor Downes said, “Yes. His Holiness is going to make a personal appeal to the Fenians, as Christians, to spare the Cathedral and the lives of the hostages. He will also appeal to the governments involved to show restraint and will place at their disposal the facilities of the Vatican where they and the Fenians can continue their negotiations.”
Major Martin broke the silence. “The heads of state of the three governments involved are making a point of not speaking directly to these terrorists—”
The Monsignor waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “His Holiness would not be speaking as head of the Vatican State but as a world spiritual leader.”
The British representative, Palmer, said, “Such an appeal would place the American President and the Prime Ministers of Ireland and Britain in a difficult—”
Monsignor Downes was becoming agitated by the negative response. “His Holiness feels the Church must do what it can for these outcasts because that has been our mission for two thousand years—these are the people who need us.” He handed a sheet of paper to the Governor. “This is the text of His Holiness’s appeal.”
Governor Doyle read the short message and passed it to Mayor Kline.
Monsignor Downes said, “We would like that delivered to the people inside the Cathedral at the same time it’s read on radio and television. Within the next hour— before dawn.”
After everyone in the room had seen the text of the Pope’s appeal, Eric Palmer said, “Some years ago, we actually did meet secretly with the IRA, and they made it public. The repercussions rocked the government. I don’t think we’re going to speak with them again—certainly not at the Vatican.”
Donahue spoke with a tone of sadness in his voice. “Monsignor, the Dublin government outlawed the IRA in the 1920s, and I don’t think Dublin will back the Vatican on this….”