Cathedral

by Nelson DeMille

  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.”

  The Governor nodded. “Yes, very good.”

  Kline said, “I’ll have Bellini report in writing that he believes that there’s a good chance of carrying out a rescue with a minimum loss of life and property.”

  Doyle said, “But Bellini’s like a yo-yo. He keeps changing his mind—” He looked sharply at Rourke. “Will he write such a statement?”

  Rourke’s tone was anxious. “He’ll carry out any orders to attack … but as for signing any statement … he’s a difficult man. I know his position is that he needs more solid intelligence before he says he approves—”

  Major Martin said, “Lieutenant Burke tells me he’s very close to an intelligence breakthrough.”

  Everyone looked at Martin.

  Martin continued. “He’ll have at least the blueprints, perhaps the architect himself, within the next hour. I can almost guarantee it.” Martin’s tone suggested that he didn’t want to be pressed further.

  Kline said, “What we need from Inspector Langley are psy-profiles showing that half the terrorists in there are psychotic.”

  Governor Doyle said, “Will these police officers cooperate?”

  Spiegel answered. “I’ll take care of Langley. As for Schroeder, he’s very savvy and politically attuned. No problem there. Regarding Bellini, we’ll offer a promotion and transfer to wherever he wants.” Spiegel walked toward the telephone. “I’ll get the media right now and tell them that the negotiations are reaching a critical stage and it’s absolutely essential they delay on those Church appeals.”

  Doyle said almost smugly, “At least I know my ma
n, Logan, will do what he is told.” He turned to Kline. “Don’t forget, I want a piece of this, Murray. At least one squad has to be from the Sixty-ninth.”

  Mayor Kline looked out the window. “Are we doing the right thing? Or have we all gone crazy?”

  Martin said, “You’d be crazy to wait for dawn.” He added, “It’s odd, isn’t it, that the others didn’t want to share this with us?”

  Roberta Spiegel looked up as she dialed. “Some rats have perceived a sinking ship and jumped off. Other rats have perceived a bandwagon and jumped on. Before the sun rises, we’ll know which rats saw things more clearly.”

  Bert Schroeder sat at his desk in the Monsignor’s office. Langley, Bellini, and Colonel Logan stood, listening to Mayor Kline and Governor Doyle tell them what was expected of them. Schroeder’s eyes darted from Kline to Doyle as his thoughts raced wildly.

  Roberta Spiegel sat in her rocker staring into the disused fireplace, absently twirling a brandy snifter in her hands. The room had grown cold, and she had Langley’s jacket draped over her shoulders.

  Major Martin stood at the fireplace, occupied with the curios on the mantel.

  Police Commissioner Rourke stood beside the Mayor, nodding agreement at everything Kline and Doyle said, trying to elicit similar nodding from his three officers.

  The Governor stopped speaking and looked at Schroeder a moment. Something about the man suggested a dormant volcano. He tried to gauge his reaction. “Bert?”

  Schroeder’s eyes focused on the Governor.

  Doyle said, “Bert, this is no reflection on you, but if dawn comes and there’s no compromise, no extension of the deadline—and there won’t be—and the hostages are executed and the Cathedral demolished … well, it will be you, Bert, who’ll get most of the public abuse. Won’t it?”

  Schroeder said nothing.

  Mayor Kline turned to Langley. “And it will be you, Inspector, who will get a great deal of the official censure.”

  “Be that as it may—”

  Bellini said heatedly, “We can handle criminals, Your Honor, but these are guerrillas armed with military ordnance—intrusion alarms, submachine guns, rockets, and … and God knows what else. What if they have flame-throwers? Huh? And they’re holed up in a national shrine. Christ, I still don’t understand why the army can’t—” The Mayor put a restraining hand on Bellini with a look of disappointment. “Joe… Joe, this is not like you.”

  Bellini said, “It sure as hell is.”

  Governor Doyle looked at Logan, who appeared uncomfortable. “Colonel? What’s your feel?”

  Colonel Logan came to a modified position of attention. “Oh … well … I am convinced that we should act without delay to mount an att—a rescue operation.”

  The Governor beamed.

  “However,” continued Logan, “the tactical plan is not sound. What you’re asking us to do is like … like shooting rats in a china cabinet without breaking the china … or the cabinet….”

  The Governor stared at Logan, his bushy eyebrows rising in an arc like squirrel tails. “Soldiers are often asked to do the impossible—and to do it well. National Guard duty is not all parades and happy hours.”

  “No, sir … yes, sir.”

  “Can the Fighting Irish hold up their end of the operation?”

  “Of course!”

  The Governor slapped Logan’s shoulder soundly. “Good man.”

  The Mayor turned to Langley. “Inspector, you will have to come up with the dossiers we need on the Fenians.”

  Langley hesitated.

  Roberta Spiegel fixed her eyes on him. “By no later than noon, Inspector.” Langley looked at her. “Sure. Why not? I’ll do some creative writing with the help of a discreet police psychologist—Dr. Korman—and come up with psy-profiles of the Fenians that would scare the hell out of John Hickey himself.”

  Major Martin said, “May I suggest, Inspector, that you also show a link between the death of that informer—Ferguson, I think his name was—and the Fenians? That will tidy up that business as well.”

  Langley looked at Martin and understood. He nodded.

  Kline looked at Bellini. “Well, Joe … are you on our team?”

  Bellini looked troubled. “I am … but …”

  “Joe, can you honestly say that you’re absolutely convinced these terrorists will not shoot the Cardinal and the others at dawn and then blow up Saint Patrick’s Cathedral?”

  “No … but—”

  “Are you convinced your men cannot conduct a successful rescue operation?”

  “I never said anything like that, Your Honor. I just won’t sign anything…. Since when are people required to sign something like that?”

  The Mayor patted his shoulder gently. “Should I get someone else to lead your men against the terrorists in a rescue operation, Joe? Or should I just let Colonel Logan handle the whole operation?”

  Bellini’s mind was filled with conflicting thoughts, all of them unhappy.

  Spiegel snapped, “Yes or no, Captain? It’s getting late, and the fucking sun is due at 6:03.”

  Bellini looked at her and straightened his posture. “I’ll lead the attack. If I get the blueprints, then I’ll decide if I’m going to sign anything.”

  Mayor Kline let out a deep breath. “Well, that’s about it.” He looked at Langley. “You’ll of course reconsider your resignation.”

  Langley said, “Actually, I was thinking about chief inspector.”

  Kline nodded quickly. “Certainly. There’ll be promotions for everyone after this.”

  Langley lit a cigarette and noticed his hands were unsteady. Kline and Doyle, he was convinced, were doing the right thing in attacking the Cathedral. But with the sure instincts of the politician, they were doing it for the wrong reasons, in the wrong way, and going about it in a slimy manner. But so what? That was how half the right things got done.

  Mayor Kline was smiling now. He turned to Schroeder. “Bert, all we need from you is some more time. Keep talking to them. You’re doing a hell of a job, Bert, and we appreciate it…. Captain?” He smiled at Schroeder the way he always smiled at someone he had caught not paying attention. “Bert?”

  Schroeder’s eyes focused on Kline, but he said nothing.

  Mayor Kline regarded him with growing apprehension. “Now … now, Bert, I need a signed statement from you saying that it is your professional opinion, based on years of hostage negotiating, that you recommend a cessation of negotiations. Right?”

  Schroeder looked around the room and made an unintelligible noise.

  The Mayor seemed anxious but went on. “You should indicate that when you saw Flynn he made more demands … crazy demands. Okay? Write that up as soon as possible.” He turned to the others. “All of you—”

  “I won’t do that.”

  Everyone in the room looked at Schroeder. Kline said incredulously, “What— what did you say?”

  Roberta Spiegel stood quickly, sending the rocker sliding into Governor Doyle.

  Doyle moved the rocker aside and approached Schroeder. “Those are true statements! And you haven’t accomplished shit so far!”

  Schroeder stood and steadied himself against the desk. “I’ve listened to all of you, and you’re all crazy.”

  Spiegel said to Langley, “Get the backup negotiator.”

  Schroeder shouted, “No! No one can speak with Flynn but me…. He won’t speak to anyone else…. You’ll see he won’t speak…. I’ll call him now….” He reached for the telehpone, but Langley pulled it away. Schroeder fell back in his chair.

  Mayor Kline looked stunned. He tried to speak but couldn’t get a word out.

  Spiegel moved around the desk and looked down at Schroeder. Her voice was soft and dispassionate. “Captain, sometime between now and the time Bellini is ready to move, you will prepare a statement justifying our decision. If you don’t, I’ll see to it that you are brought up on departmental charges, dismissed from the force, and lose your pension. You’ll end up
as a bank guard in Dubuque—if you’re lucky enough ever to get a gun permit. Now, let’s discuss this intelligently.”

  Schroeder stood and took a deep breath. His voice had the control and tone of the professional negotiator again. “Yes, let’s do that. I’m sorry, I became overwrought for a moment. Let’s discuss what Brian Flynn really said to me, not what you’d have liked him to say.” Schroeder looked at Bellini and Logan. “It seems those forty-five corned beef dinners were not a ruse—there were people to eat those dinners. I saw them. And flamethrowers … let me tell you about the flamethrowers….” He lit a cigar with shaking hands, then continued.

  Schroeder went on in cool, measured tones, but everyone could hear an undercurrent of anxiety in his voice. He concluded, “Flynn has assembled what amounts to the largest, best-equipped armed force of trained insurgents this country has seen since the Civil War. It’s too late to do anything except call Washington and tell them we’ve surrendered what is in our power to surrender….”

  CHAPTER 52

  Langley found Burke lying on a bed in a priest’s room. “They’ve decided to hit the Cathedral!”

  Burke sat up quickly.

  Langley’s voice was agitated. “Soon. Before the Pope’s appeal—before the church bells ring and Monsignor Downes comes to his senses—”

  “Slow down.”

  “Schroeder spoke to Flynn at the gate—said he saw forty or fifty armed Fenians— ”

  “Fifty?”

  “But he didn’t. I know he didn’t.”

  “Hold on. Back up.”

  Langley paced around the small room. “Washington perceived a sinking ship. Kline and Doyle perceived a bandwagon. See? Tomorrow they’ll both be heroes, or they’ll be in Mexico wearing dark glasses and phony noses—”

  Burke found some loose aspirin in the night table and chewed three of them.

  Langley sat down on a chair. “Listen, Spiegel wants to see you.” He briefed Burke quickly, then added, “You’re the negotiator until they decide about Schroeder.”