Martin looked at his watch again. “Well, I’ve done my bit….” He opened the door. “Hurry now. You promised Bellini you’d be at his side, and a promise is sacred and beautiful. And oh, yes, later—if you’re still alive—you’ll see at least one more mystery unfold in that Cathedral. A rather good one.” He walked out and slammed the door.
Stillway regarded Burke warily. “Who was he? Who are you?”
“Who are you? Are you Gordon Stillway—or are you just another of the Major’s little jokes?”
Stillway didn’t answer.
Burke extracted a rolled blueprint from the briefcase, unfurled it, and stared at it. He threw the blueprint on the table and looked at his watch. “Come with me, Mr. Stillway, and we’ll see if you were worth the wait.”
Schroeder walked into the press conference room and hurried toward a phone. “This is Schroeder. Get me Kline.”
The Mayor’s voice was neutral. “Yes, Captain, any luck?”
Schroeder looked around the nearly empty room. Rifles and flak jackets had disappeared, and empty boxes of ammunition and concussion grenades lay in the corner. Someone had scrawled on the chalkboard: FINAL SCORE:CHRISTIANS AND JEWS———PAGANS AND ATHEISTS———
Kline’s voice was impatient. “Well?”
Schroeder leaned against the table and fought down a wave of nausea. “No … no extension … no compromise. Listen …”
Kline sounded annoyed. “That’s what eveyone’s been telling you all night.”
Schroeder drew a long breath and pressed his hand to his stomach. Kline was speaking, but Schroeder wasn’t listening. Slowly he began to take in more of his surroundings. Bellini stood across the table with his arms folded, Burke stood at the opposite end of the room, two ESD men with black ski masks stood very near him, and an old man, a civilian, sat at the conference table.
The Mayor went on. “Captain, right now you are still very much a hero, and within the hour you will be the police department’s chief spokesman.” Schroeder examined Bellini’s blackened face and thought Bellini was glaring at him with unconcealed hatred, as though he knew, but he decided it must be the grotesque makeup.
Kline was still speaking. “And you will not speak to a newsperson until the last shot is fired. And what’s this I hear about you volunteering to go in with Bellini?”
Schroeder said, “I … I have to. That’s the least I can do….”
“Have you lost your mind? What’s wrong with you, anyway? You sound—have you been drinking?”
Schroeder found himself staring at the old man who, he now noticed, was studying a large unrolled length of paper. His eyes passed over the silent men in the room again and focused on Burke, who seemed … almost sad. Everyone looked as though someone had just died. Something was wrong here—
“Are you drunk?”
“No….”
“Pull yourself together, Schroeder. You’ll be on television soon.”
“What … ?”
“Television! You remember, the red light, the big camera…. Now you get clear of that Cathedral—get over here as soon as possible.”
Schroeder heard the phone go dead and looked at the receiver, then dropped it on the table. He extended his arm and pointed at Gordon Stillway. “Who is that?”
The room remained silent. Then Burke said, “You know who that is, Bert. We’re going to redraw the attack plans.”
Schroeder looked quickly at Bellini and blurted, “No! No! You—”
Bellini glanced at Burke and nodded. He turned to Schroeder. “I can’t believe you did that.” He came toward Schroeder, who was edging toward the door. “Where’re you going, ace? You going to tip your pal, cocksucker?”
Schroeder’s head was shaking spasmodically.
Bellini drew closer. “I can’t hear you, you shit! Your golden voice sounds like a toilet flushing.”
Burke called out. “Joe—no hard stuff—just take his gun.” Burke moved closer to the two men. The two ESD officers held their rifles at their hips, not understanding exactly what was going on but ready to fire if Schroeder made a move for his gun. Gordon Stillway looked up from his blueprints.
Schroeder found his voice. “No … listen … I have to talk to Flynn … because… you see … I’ve got to try one more time—”
Bellini held out his hand. “Give me your gun—left hand—pinky in the trigger guard—nice and easy, and no one’s going to get hurt.”
Schroeder hesitated, then slowly reached into his jacket and carefully extracted the pistol with a hooked finger. “Bellini—listen—what’s going on? Why—”
Bellini reached for the pistol with his left hand and swung with his right, hitting Schroeder a vicious blow to the jaw. Schroeder fell back against the door and slid down to the floor.
Burke said, “You didn’t have to do that.”
Bellini flexed his hand and turned to Burke. “You’re right—I should’ve yanked his nuts out and shoved them up his nose.” He looked back at Schroeder. “Tried to kill me, did you, scumbag?”
Burke saw that Bellini was contemplating further violence. “It had nothing to do with you, Bellini. Just cool out.” He came up beside Bellini and put his hand on his shoulder. “Come on. You’ve got lots to do.”
Bellini motioned to the ESD men. “Cuff this cocksucker and dump him in a closet somewhere.” He turned to Burke. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you? You think I don’t know that you’re all going to cover for that motherfucker, and as soon as the shit storm is over at dawn he’s going to be the Mayor’s golden boy again.” He watched the ESD men carry Schroeder out and called after them, “Find some place with rats and cockroaches.” He sat down and tried to steady his hands as he lit a cigarette.
Burke stood beside him. “Life is unfair, right? But someone handed us a break this time. Flynn thinks you’re doing one thing, and you’re going to do something else. So it didn’t turn out so bad, right?”
Bellini nodded sulkily and looked at Stillway. “Yeah … maybe …” He rubbed his knuckles and flexed his fingers again. “That hurt … but it felt so good.” He laughed suddenly. “Burke, come here. Want to know a secret? I’ve been looking for an excuse to do that for five years.” He looked at the ceiling. “Thank you, God.” He laughed again.
The room began filling with squad leaders hastily recalled from their jump-off points, and Bellini watched them file into the room. The absolutely worst feeling in the whole world, Bellini thought, was to get yourself psyched out of your mind for a fight and have it postponed. The squad leaders, he saw, were in a bad mood. Bellini looked at Burke. “You better call His fucking Honor and explain. You can cover Schroeder’s ass if you want, but even if you don’t, it won’t matter to Kline, because they’ll still promote him and make him a national hero.”
Burke took off his flak jacket and pullover. “I have to see Flynn and come up with a good reason why Schroeder isn’t staying in touch with him.”
Bellini moved to the head of the conference table and took a long breath. He looked at each of the twelve squad leaders and said, “Men, I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Thing is, I don’t know which is which.”
No one laughed, and Bellini went on. “Before I tell you why the attack is postponed, I want to say something…. The people in the Cathedral are desperate men and women … guerrillas…. This is combat … war … and the goal is not to apprehend these people at the risk of your own lives—”
A squad leader called out, “You mean shoot first and ask questions later, right?”
Bellini remembered the military euphemism for it. “Make a clean sweep.”