Cathedral

by Nelson DeMille

  “I would bet my life you don’t.”

  Schroeder seemed perplexed and wary.

  Flynn said, “Are they any closer to meeting our demands?”

  Schroeder didn’t like face-to-face negotiating. He knew, because people had told him, that his face revealed too much. He cleared his throat. “You’re asking the impossible. Accept the compromise.”

  Flynn noticed the extra firmness in Schroeder’s voice, the lack of sir or mister, and the discomfort. “What is the compromise?”

  Schroeder’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Didn’t Hickey—”

  “Just tell it to me again.”

  Schroeder related the offer and added, “Take it before the British change their minds about parole. And for yourselves, low bail is as good as immunity. For God’s sake, man, no one has ever been offered more in a hostage situation.”

  Flynn nodded. “Yes…. Yes, it’s a good offer—tempting—”

  “Take it! Take it before someone is killed—”

  “It’s a little late for that, I’m afraid.”

  “What?”

  “Sir Harold murdered a lad named Pedar. Luckily no one knows he’s dead except Hickey and myself … and I suppose Pedar knows he’s dead…. Well, when my people discover he’s dead, they’ll want to kill Baxter. Pedar’s sister, Megan, will want to do much worse. This complicates things somewhat.”

  Schroeder passed his hand over his face. “God … listen, I’m sure it was unintentional.”

  “Harry bashed his throat in with a rifle butt. Could have been an accident, I suppose. It doesn’t make the lad any less dead.”

  Schroeder’s mind was racing. He swore to himself, Baxter, you stupid bastard.“Look … it’s a case of a POW trying to escape…. It’s Baxter’s duty to try…. You’re a soldier …”

  Flynn said nothing.

  “Here’s a chance for you to show professionalism … to show you’re not a common crim—” He checked himself. “To show mercy, and—”

  Flynn interrupted. “Schroeder, you are most certainly part Irish. I’ve rarely met a man more possessed of so much ready bullshit for every occasion.”

  “I’m serious—”

  “Well, Baxter’s fate depends mostly on what you do now.”

  “No. It depends on what you do. The next move is yours.”

  “And I’m about to make it.” Be lit a cigarette and asked, “How far are they along in their attack plans?”

  Schroeder said, “That’s not an option for us.”

  Flynn stared at him. “Caught you in a lie—your left eye is twitching. God, Schroeder, your nose is getting longer.” He laughed. “I should have had you down here hours ago. Burke was too cool.”

  “Look—you asked me here for a private meeting, so you must have something to say—”

  “I want you to help us get what we want.”

  Schroeder looked exasperated. “That’s what I’ve been doing.”

  “No, I mean everything we want. Your heart isn’t in it. If the negotiations fail, you don’t lose nearly as much as everyone in here does. Or as much as Bellini’s ESD. They stand to lose fifty to a hundred men in an attack.”

  Schroeder thought of his imprudent offer to Bellini. “There will be no attack.”

  “Did you know Burke told me he’d go with Bellini? There’s a man with a great deal to lose if you fail. Would you go with Bellini?”

  “Burke couldn’t have said that because Bellini’s not going anywhere.” Schroeder had the uneasy impression he was being drawn into something, but he had no intention of making a mistake this late. “I’ll try to get more for you only if you give me another two hours after dawn.”

  Flynn ignored him and went on. “I thought I’d better give you a very personal motive to push those people into capitulation.”

  Schroeder looked at Flynn cautiously.

  “You see, there’s one situation you never covered in your otherwise detailed book, Captain.” Flynn came closer to the gate. “Your daughter would very much like you to try harder.”

  “What … ?”

  “Terri Schroeder O’Neal. She wants you to try harder.”

  Schroeder stared for a few seconds, then said loudly, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Lower your voice. You’ll excite the police.”

  Schroeder spoke through clenched teeth. “What the fuck are you saying?”

  “Please, you’re in church.” Flynn passed a scrap of paper through the bars.

  Schroeder snatched it and read his daughter’s handwriting: Dad—I’m being held hostage by members of the Fenian Army. I’m all right. They won’t harm me if everything goes okay at the Cathedral. Do your very best. I love you, Terri.

  Schroeder read the note again, then again. He felt his knees buckle, and he grabbed at the gate. He looked up at Flynn and tried to speak, but no sound came out.

  Flynn spoke impassively. “Welcome to the Fenian Army, Captain Schroeder.”

  Schroeder swallowed several times and stared at the note.

  “Sorry,” said Flynn. “Really I am. You don’t have to speak—just listen.” Flynn lit another cigarette and spoke briskly. “What you have to do is make the strongest possible case for our demands. First, tell them I’ve paraded two score of well-armed men and women past you. Machine guns, rockets, grenades, flamethrowers. Tell them we are ready, willing, and able to take the entire six-hundred-man ESD down with us, to destroy the Cathedral and kill the hostages. In other words, scare the shit out of Joe Bellini and his heroes. Understand?” He paused, then said, “They’ll never suspect that Captain Schroeder’s report of seeing a great number of well-armed soldiers is false. Use your imagination—better yet, look up at the landing, Schroeder. Picture forty, fifty men and women parading past that crypt door— picture those machine guns and rockets and flamethrowers…. Go on, look up there.”

  Schroeder looked, and Flynn saw in his eyes exactly what he wanted to see.

  After a minute Schroeder lowered his head. His face was pale, and his hands pulled at his shirt and tie.

  Flynn said, “Please calm down. You can save your daughter’s life only if you pull yourself together. That’s it. Now … if this doesn’t work, if they are still committed to an assault, then threaten to go public—radio, TV, newspapers. Tell Kline, Doyle, and all the rest of them you’re going to announce that in all your years of hostage negotiating, that you, as the court of last resort for the lives of hostages, strongly and in no uncertain terms believe that neither an attack nor further negotiations can save this situation. You will declare, publicly, that therefore for the first time in your career you urge capitulation—for humanitarian as well as tactical reasons.”

  Flynn watched Schroeder’s face but could see nothing revealed there except anguish. He went on, “You have a good deal of influence—moral and professional— with the media, the police force, and the politicians. Use every bit of that influence. You must create the kind of pressure and climate that will force the British and American governments to surrender.”

  Schroeder’s voice was barely audible. “Time … I need time…. Why didn’t you give me more time … ?”

  “If I’d told you sooner, you wouldn’t have made it through the night, or you may have told someone. The only time left is that which remains until the dawn—less if you can’t stop the attack. But if you can get them to throw open the prison gates … Work on it.”

  Schroeder pushed his face to the bars. “Flynn … please … listen to me…. ”

  Flynn went on. “Yes, I know that if you succeed and we walk out of here free, they’ll certainly count us, and they’ll wonder where all the flamethrowers are…. Well, you’ll be embarrassed, but all’s fair in love and war, and c’est la guerre, and all that rot. Don’t even think that far ahead and don’t be selfish.”

  Schroeder’s head shook, and his words were incoherent. All that Flynn could make out was “Jail.” Flynn said, “Your daughter can visit you on weekends.” He added, “
I’ll even visit you.”

  Schroeder stared at him, and a choked-off sound rose in his throat.

  Flynn said, “Sorry, that was low.” He paused. “Look, if it means anything to you, I feel bad that I had to resort to this. But it wasn’t going well, and I knew you’d want to help us, help Terri, if you understood the trouble she was in.” Flynn’s voice became stern. “She really ought to be more selective about her bunkmates. Children can be such an embarrassment to parents, especially parents in public life—sex, drugs, wild politics …”

  Schroeder was shaking his head. “No … you don’t have her. You’re bluffing….”

  Flynn continued. “But she’s safe enough for the moment. Dan—that’s her friend’s name—is kind, considerate, probably a passable lover. It’s the lot of some soldiers to draw easy duty—others to fight and die. Throw of the dice and all that. Then again, I wouldn’t want to be in Dan’s place if he gets the order to put a bullet in the back of Terri’s head. No kneecapping or any of that. She’s innocent, and she’ll get a quick bullet without knowing it’s about to come. So, are we clear about what you have to do?”

  Schroeder said, “I won’t do it.”

  “As you wish.” He turned and began walking up the stairs. He called back. “In about a minute a light will flash from the bell tower, and my men on the outside will telephone Dan, and … and that, I’m afraid, will be the end of Terri Schroeder.” He continued up the stairs.

  “Wait! Listen, maybe we can work this out. Hold on! Stop walking away!”

  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, sai
d, “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….”

  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.”