Flynn felt the blood race through his veins as he listened. “Gas …”
Schroeder nodded. “The same stuff you used at the reviewing stands. It will be pumped in through the air ducts.” He detailed the coordination of helicopters, snipers on the roofs, firemen, and bomb disposal men. He added, “The sacristy steps”—he looked down as though realizing he was standing in the very spot— “they’ll be hit with steel-cut chain saws. Bellini and I will be with that squad…. We’ll go for the hostages … if they’re on the sanctuary …” He shook his head, trying to comprehend the fact that he was saying this.
“The hostages,” said Flynn, “will be dead.” He paused and said, “Where will Burke be?”
Schroeder shook his head, tried to go on, but heard his voice faltering. After some hesitation he slipped a sheaf of papers from his jacket and through the bars.
Flynn slid them under his shirt, his eyes darting between the corridor openings. “So there’s nothing that the famous Captain Schroeder can do to stop this?”
Schroeder looked down. “There never was…. Why didn’t you see that … ?”
Flynn’s voice was hostile. “Because I listened to you all night, Schroeder, and I think I half believed your damned lies!”
Schroeder was determined to salvage something of himself from the defeat and humiliation he had felt at the last confrontation. “Don’t put this on me. You knew I was lying. You knew it!”
Flynn glared at him, then nodded slightly. “Yes, I knew it.” He thought a moment, then said, “And I know you’re finally speaking the truth. It must be a great strain. Well, I can stop them at the doors … if, as you say, they haven’t discovered any hidden passages and they don’t have the architect—” He looked suddenly at Schroeder. “They don’t have him, do they?”
Schroeder shook his head. He drew himself up and spoke rapidly. “Give it up. I’ll get you a police escort to the airport. I know I can do that. That’s all they really want—they want you out of here!”
Flynn seemed to consider for a brief moment, then shook his head.
Schroeder pressed on. “Flynn—listen, they’re going to hit you hard. You’re going to die. Can’t you grasp that? You can’t delude yourself any longer. But all you have to do is say you’re willing to take less—”
“If I wanted less, I would have asked for less. No more hostage negotiating, please. God, how you go on. Talk about self-delusion.”
Schroeder drew close to the gate. “All right, I’ve done all I could. Now you release—”
Flynn cut him off. “If the details you’ve given me are accurate, I’ll send a signal to release your daughter.”
Schroeder grabbed at the bars. “What kind of signal? When? The phones will be cut off…. The towers will be under sniper fire—What if you’re … dead? Damn it, I’ve given you the plans—”
Flynn went on. “But if you’ve lied to me about any part of this, or if there should be a change in plans and you don’t tell me—”
Schroeder was shaking his head spasmodically. “No. No. That’s not acceptable. You’re not living up to your end.”
Flynn turned and walked up the stairs.
Schroeder drew his pistol and held it close against his chest. It wavered in his hand, the muzzle pointing toward Flynn’s back, but his hand shook so badly he almost dropped the gun. Flynn turned the corner and disappeared.
After a full minute Schroeder holstered the pistol, faced around, and walked back to the side corridor. He passed grim-faced men standing against the walls with slung rifles. He found a lavatory, entered it, and vomited.
CHAPTER 53
Burke stood alone in the small counting room close by the press room. He adjusted his flak jacket over his pullover and, after putting a green carnation in a cartridge loop, started for the door.
The door suddenly swung open, and Major Martin stood before him. “Hello, Burke. Is that what everyone in New York is wearing now?” He called back into the corridor, and two patrolmen appeared with a civilian between them. Martin smiled. “May I present Gordon Stillway, American Institute of Architects? Mr. Stillway, this is Patrick Burke, world-famous secret policeman.”
A tall, erect, elderly man stepped into the room, looking confused but otherwise dignified. In his left hand he held a briefcase from which protruded four tubes of rolled paper.
Burke dismissed the two officers and turned to Martin. “It’s late.”
“Is it?” Martin looked at his watch. “You have fifteen full minutes to head off Bellini. Time, as you know, is relative. If you’re eating Galway Bay oysters, fifteen minutes pass rather quickly, but if you’re hanging by your left testicle, it drags a bit.” He laughed at his own joke. “Bellini is hanging by his testicle. You’ll cut him down—then hang him up there again after he’s spoken to Mr. Stillway.”
Martin moved farther into the small room and drew closer to Burke. “Mr. Stillway was kidnapped from his apartment by persons unknown and held in an empty loft not far from here. Acting on anonymous information, I went to the detectives in the Seventh Precinct and, voilà, Gordon Stillway. Mr. Stillway, won’t you have a seat?”
Gordon Stillway remained standing and looked from one man to the other, then said, “This is a terrible tragedy … but I’m not quite certain what I’m supposed to— ”
Martin said, “You, sir, will give the police the information they must have to infiltrate the Cathedral and catch the villains unawares.”
Stillway looked at him. “What are you talking about? Do you mean they’re going to attack? I won’t have that.”
Martin put his hand on Stillway’s shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ve arrived a bit late, sir. That’s not negotiable any longer. Either you help the police, or they go in there through the doors and windows and cause a great deal of death and destruction, after which the terrorists will burn it down and blow it up—or vice versa.”
Stillway’s eyes widened, and he let Martin maneuver him into a chair. Martin said to Burke, “You’d better hurry.”
Burke came toward Martin. “Why did you cut it this close?”
Martin took a step back and replied, “I’m sorry. I had to wait for Captain Schroeder to deliver the attack plans to Flynn, which is what he’s doing right now.”
Burke nodded. Bellini’s attack had to be canceled no matter what else happened. A new plan based on Stillway’s information, if he had any, would jump off so close to 6:03 that it would probably end in disaster anyway. But Martin had delivered Stillway and therefore would be owed a great favor by Washington. He looked at Martin. “Major, I’d like to be the first to thank you for your help in this affair.”
Martin smiled. “Now you’re getting into the right spirit. You’ve been so glum all night, but you’ll see—stick with me, Burke, and as I promised, you’ll come out of this looking fine.”
Burke addressed Stillway. “Are there any hidden passages into that Cathedral that will give the police a clear tactical advantage?”
Stillway sat motionless, contemplating the events that had begun with a sunny day and a parade, proceeded to his kidnapping and rescue, and ended with him in a subterranean room with two men who were obviously unbalanced. He said, “I have no idea what you mean by a clear tactical advantage.” His voice became irritable. “I’m an architect.”