Martin said, “As you know we’ve actually passed on a compromise to them, and they’ve not responded. The Pope can save himself and all of us a great deal of embarrassment if he withholds this plea.”
Mayor Kline added, “The only way the Fenians can go to the Vatican is if I let them go. And I can’t do that. I have to enforce the law.”
Arnold Sheridan spoke for the first time, and the tone of his voice suggested a final policy position. “The government of the United States has reason to believe that federal firearm and passport laws have been violated, but otherwise it’s purely a local affair. We’re not going anywhere to discuss the release of Irish prisoners in the United Kingdom or immunity from prosecution for the people in the Cathedral.”
Spiegel looked at Downes. “The only place negotiations can be held is right here—on the phone or at the sacristy gate. It is the policy of the police in this city to contain a hostage situation—not let it become mobile. And it is the law to arrest criminals at the first possible opportunity. In other words, the trenches are dug, and no one is leaving them under a truce flag.”
The Monsignor pursed his lips and nodded. “I understand your positions, but the Church, which many of you consider so ironbound, is willing to try anything. I think you should know that personal appeals to all parties involved will be forthcoming from the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Primate of Ireland, and from hundreds of other religious leaders of every faith and denomination. And in almost every church and synagogue in this city and in other cities, all-night prayer vigils have been called. And at 5:00 A.M., if it’s not over by then, every church bell in this city, and probably in the country, will begin ringing—ringing for sanity, for mercy, and for all of us.”
Roberta Spiegel stood and lit a cigarette. “The mood of the people, notwithstanding bells and singing in the streets, is very hard line. If we take a soft approach and it explodes in our faces at 6:03, all of us will be out on our asses, and there’ll be no all-night prayer vigils for us.” She paused, then said, “So let’s cut through the bullshit—or the Gordian knot—and decide how and when we’re going to attack, and get our stories straight for afterward.”
Cigarettes were being lit, and Major Martin was helping himself to the Cardinal’s sherry.
The Governor nodded appreciatively. “I admire your honesty and perception, Ms. Spiegel, and—”
She looked at him. “This is why you asked us here, so let’s get on with it, Governor.”
Governor Doyle flushed but controlled his anger and said, “Good idea.” He looked around. “Then we all agree that a compromise is not an option, that the Fenians won’t surrender, and that they’ll carry out their threats at dawn?”
There were some tentative nods.
The Governor looked at Arnold Sheridan and said, “I’m on my own?” Sheridan nodded.
Doyle said, “But—off the record—the administration would like to see a hard-line approach?”
Sheridan said, “The message the government wants to convey is that this sort of thing will always be met by force—local force.” Sheridan walked to the door. “Thank you, Governor, for the opportunity to contribute to the discussion. I’m sure you’ll reach the right decision.” He left.
Mayor Kline watched the door close and said, “We’ve been cut adrift.” He turned to Donahue and Palmer. “You see, the federal system works marvelously— they collect taxes and pass laws, Mayor Kline fights terrorists.”
Kline stood and began pacing. He stopped in front of Donahue and Palmer. “Do you understand that it is in my power, as the duly elected Mayor of this city, to order an assault on that Cathedral?”
Neither man responded.
Kline’s voice rose. “It is my duty. And I don’t have to answer to anyone.”
Eric Palmer stood and moved toward the door. “We’ve offered all the compromises we can…. And if this is, as you indicate, a local matter, then there’s no reason for Her Majesty’s government to involve itself any further.” He looked at Martin, who made no move to follow, then nodded to the others. “Good morning.” He walked out.
Tomas Donahue stood. “I feel bad about all of this…. I’ve lived in this city for five years…. Saint Patrick’s is my parish church…. I know the Cardinal and Father Murphy….” He looked at Monsignor Downes. “But there’s nothing I can do.” He walked to the door and turned back. “If you need me, I’ll be in the consulate. God bless….” He left quickly.
Spiegel said, “Nice clean exits.”
Governor Doyle hooked his thumbs on his vest pockets. “Well … there it is.” He turned to Martin. “Major … won’t you give us your thoughts…. As a man who is familiar with the IRA … what would be your course of action?”
Martin said without preamble, “It’s time you discussed a rescue operation.”
The Governor nodded slowly, aware that the phrase “rescue operation,” as opposed to attack or assault, was a subtle turning point. The phraseology for the coming action was being introduced and refined. He turned abruptly to Monsignor Downes. “Are you willing to give your blessing to a rescue operation?”
The Monsignor looked up quickly. “Am I … ? Well …”
Governor Doyle moved close to Downes. “Monsignor, in times of crisis it’s often people like ourselves, at the middle levels, who get stuck holding the bag. And we have to act. Not to act is more immoral than to act with force.” He added. “Rescue, we have to rescue—”
Monsignor Downes said, “But … the Papal plea …”
Mayor Kline spoke from across the room. “I don’t want to see the Pope or the other religious leaders make fools of themselves. If God himself pleaded with these Fenians, it would make no difference.”
The Monsignor ran his hands across his cheeks. “But why me … ? What difference does it make what I say?”
Kline cleared his throat. “To be perfectly honest with you, Monsignor, I won’t do a damned thing to rescue those people or save that Cathedral unless I have the blessing of a ranking member of the Catholic clergy. A Monsignor will do, preferably Irish like yourself. I’m no fool, and neither are you.”
Monsignor Downes slumped into his chair. “Oh God …”
Rourke rose from his chair and walked to Downes. He knelt beside the Monsignor’s chair and spoke with anguish in his voice. “My boys are mostly Catholic, Father. If they have to go in here … they’ll want to see you first … to make their confessions… to know that someone from the Church is blessing their mission. Otherwise, they’ll … I don’t know….”
Monsignor Downes put his face in his hands. After a full minute he looked up and nodded slowly. “God help me, but if you think it’s the only way to save them …” He stood suddenly and almost ran from the room.
For a few seconds no one spoke, then Spiegel said, “Let’s move before things start coming apart.”
Mayor Kline was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He looked up. “Schroeder will have to state that he’s failed absolutely.”
Governor Doyle said, “That should be no problem. He has.” He added, “It would help also if we put out a news release—concurrent with the rescue—that the Fenians have made new demands in addition to the ones we were willing to discuss—” He stopped abruptly. “Damn it, there are tapes of every phone conversation…. Maybe Burke can—”
Kline interrupted. “Forget Burke. Schroeder is speaking in person to Flynn right now. That will give Schroeder the opportunity to state that Flynn has made a set of new demands.”