Murphy bent down and grabbed the pistol with his free hand. He pointed it at the top of Flynn’s head. “Stop!”
Flynn smiled as he continued his climb down. “Erin go bragh, Timothy Murphy.” He laughed, and the sound echoed through the stone tower.
Murphy shouted after him. “Stop! Listen … you must save the others too…. Maureen … For God’s sake, man, she loves you….” He stared down into the dark hole and watched Flynn disappear.
Father Murphy threw the pistol to the floor and tugged at the cuffs, then sank to his knees beside the ladder opening. Somewhere in the city a church bell tolled, then another joined in, and soon he could hear the sounds of a dozen different carillons playing the hymn “Be Not Afraid.” He thought that every bell in the city must be ringing, perhaps every bell in the country, and he hoped the others could hear them, too, and know they were not alone. For the first time since it had all begun, Father Murphy felt tears forming in his eyes.
CHAPTER 55
Brian Flynn came down from the tower and walked up the nave aisle, his footsteps echoing from the polished marble. He turned into the ambulatory and approached John Hickey, who stood on the raised platform of the chancel organ and watched him approach. Flynn walked deliberately up the steps and stood facing Hickey. After a short silence Hickey said, “It’s 4:59. You let Murphy waste valuable time trying to save already damned souls. Does everyone know their orders at least?”
“Has Schroeder called?”
“No—that means either nothing is new or something is wrong.” Hickey took out his pipe and filled it. “All night I’ve worried that my tobacco would run out before my life. It really bothered me…. A man shouldn’t have to scrimp on his tobacco before he dies.” He struck a match, and it sounded inordinately loud in the stillness. He drew deeply on his pipe and said, “Well, where’s the priest?”
Flynn motioned vaguely toward the towers. “We’ve no grudge against him…. He shouldn’t pay the price for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Why not? That’s why the rest of us are going to die.” He flashed a look of feigned enlightenment. “Ah, I suppose playing God means you have to save a life for every ten score you take.”
Flynn said, “Who are you?”
Hickey smiled with unrestrained glee. “Have I frightened you, lad? Don’t be frightened, then. I’m just an old man who amuses himself by playing on people’s fears and superstitions.” Hickey stepped over the body of Pedar Fitzgerald and came closer to Flynn. He sucked noisily on his pipe, a pensive look on his face. “You know, lad, I’ve had more fun since I had myself buried than ever I did before I was interred. You get a lot of mileage out of resurrection—someone made a whole religion out of it once.” He jerked a thumb toward the crucifix atop the altar and laughed again.
Flynn felt the old man’s breath against his face. He put his right hand on the organ console. “Do you know anything about this ring?”
Hickey didn’t look at it. “I know what you believe it is.”
“And what is it really?”
“A ring, made of bronze.”
Flynn slipped it from his finger and held it in his open palm. “Then I’ve held it too long. Take it.”
Hickey shrugged and reached for it.
Flynn closed his hand and stared at Hickey.
Hickey’s eyes narrowed into dark slits. “So, you want to know who I am and how I got here?” Hickey looked into the glowing bowl of his pipe with exaggerated interest. “I can tell you I’m a ghost, a thevshi, come from the grave to retrieve the ring and bring about your destruction and the destruction of the new Fenians—to perpetuate this strife into the next generation. There’s the proper Celtic explanation you’re looking for to make you feel better about your fears.” He looked directly into Flynn’s eyes. “But I can also tell you the truth, which is far more frightening. I’m alive. Your own dark soul imagined the thevshi, as it imagines the banshee, and the pooka, and the Far Darrig, and all the nightmarish creatures that walk the dark landscape of your mind and make you huddle around flickering peat fires. Aye, Brian, that’s a fright, because you can’t find sanctuary from those monsters you carry within you.”
Flynn stared at him, examining the furrowed white face. Suddenly Hickey’s eyes became benign, sparkling, and his mouth curled up in a good-natured smile. Hickey said, “You see?”
Flynn said. “Yes, I see. I see that you’re a creature who draws strength from other men’s weaknesses. It’s my fault you’re here. and it’s my responsibility to see that you do no further harm.”
“The harm is done. Had you stood up to me instead of wallowing in self-pity, you could have fulfilled your responsibility to your people, not to mention your own destiny.”
Flynn stared at Hickey. “No matter what happens, I’ll see you don’t leave here alive.” Flynn turned and walked to the sanctuary. He stood before the high throne. “Cardinal, the police will attack anytime after 5:15. Father Murphy is in a relatively safe place—we are not, and we will most probably die.”
Flynn watched the Cardinal’s face for a show of emotion. but there was none. He went on, “I want you to know that the people out there share in the responsibility for this. Like me they are vain, egotistical, and flawed. A rather sorry lot for products of so many thousands of years of Judeo-Christian love and charity, wouldn’t you say?”
The Cardinal leaned forward in the throne. “That’s a question for people who are looking for a path to take them through life. Your life is over, and you’ll have all your answers very soon. Use the minutes left to you to speak to her.” He nodded toward Maureen.
Flynn was momentarily taken aback. It was perhaps the last reply he expected from a priest. He stepped away from the throne, turned, and crossed the sanctuary.
Maureen and Baxter remained seated, cuffed together in the first pew. Without a word Flynn unlocked the handcuffs, then spoke in a distant voice. “I’d like to put you both in a less exposed place, but that isn’t acceptable to some of the others. However, when the shooting starts, you won’t be executed, because we may repel them and we’ll need you again.” He looked at his watch and continued in a dispassionate voice. “Sometime after 5:15 you’ll see all the doors explode, followed by police rushing in. I know you are both capable of keeping a cool head. Dive between the pews behind you. As 6:03 approaches … if you’re still alive … get out of this area no matter what’s happening around you. That’s all I can do for you.”
Maureen stood and looked at him closely. “No one asked you to do anything for us. If you want to do something for everyone, get down those stairs right now and open the gates to them. Then go into the pulpit and tell your people it’s finished. No one will stop you, Brian. I think they’re waiting to hear from you.”
“When they open the gates of Long Kesh, I’ll open the gates here.”
Her voice became angry. “The keys to the jails of Ulster are not in America, or in London or Dublin. They are in Ulster. Give me a year in Belfast and Londonderry, and I’ll get more people out of jail than you’ve ever had released with your kidnappings, raids, assassinations—”
Flynn laughed. “A year? You wouldn’t last a year. If the Catholics didn’t get you, Maureen, the Prods would.”
She drew a shallow breath and brought her voice under control. “Very well … it’s not worth going into that again. But you’ve no right to con these people into dying. Your voice can break the spell of death that hangs over this place. Go on! Do it! Now!” She swung and slapped him on the face.