Cathedral (59 page)

Burke came up behind him, and Bellini whispered in his ear, "This is not going so bad." Bellini's field phone clicked, and he put it to his ear.

The Third Squad reported to all points. "In position. One Fenian in chimney-KIA."

A voice cut in, and Bellini heard the excited shouts of the Second Squad leader. "Attic ablazel Fighting firel

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Three ESD casualties-one Fenian dead--one still shooting. Fire helicopters in position, but they woWt come in until attic is secure. May have to abandon attic!"

Bellini looked up to the vaulted ceiling. He cupped his band around the mouthpiece and spoke quickly. "You stay there and fight that fucking fire, you kill the fucking Fenian, and you bring those fire choppers in. You piss on that fire, you spit on that fire, but you do not leave that fire.

Acknowledge."

The squad leader seemed calmer. "Roger, Roger, okay. . . ."

Bellini put down the field phone and looked at Burke. "The attic is burning."

Burke peered up into the darkness. Somewhere above the dimly outlined ceiling, about four stories up, there was light and heat, but here it was dark and cold. Somewhere below there were explosives that could level the entire east end of the Cathedral. He looked at his watch and said, "The bombs will put the fire out."

Bellini looked at him. "Your sense of humor sucks, you know?"

Flynn stood in the pulpit, a feelling of impotence growing in him. It was ending too quietly, no bangs, not even whimpers, at least none that he could hear. He was becoming certain that the police had finally found Gordon Stillway, compliments of Bartholomew Martin, and they weren't going to come in through the doors and windowsSchroeder had tied or had been used by them. They were burrowing in right now, like rot in the timbers of a house, and the whole thing would fall with hardly a shot fired. He looked at his watch. 5:37. He hoped Hickey was still alive down there, waiting for the Bomb Squad in the darkness. He thought a moment, and the overwhelming conviction came over him that Hickey at least would complete his mission.

Flynn spoke in the microphone. "They've taken out the towers. George, Eamon, Frank, Abby, Leary, Megankeep alert. They may have found another way in. Gal-493

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lagher, watch the crypt behind you. Everyone, remember the movable blocks on the floor; watch the bronze plate on the sanctuary: scan the bride's room, the Archbishop's sacristy, the bookstore and the altars; keep an ear to the walls of the triforium attics-" Something made him look up to his right at the northeast triforium. "Farrell!"

No one answered.

Flynn peered into the darkness above. "Farrell!" He slammed his fist on the marble balustrade. "Damn it!" He cranked the field phone and tried again to raise the attic.

Belfini listened to the echoes of Flynn's voice die away from the speakers. The squad leader beside him said, "We have to move-now!"

Bellini's voice was cool. "No. Timing. It's like trying to get laid-it's all timing." The phone clicked, and Bellini listened to the Third Squad leader in the attic of the opposite triforium. "Captain, do you see anyone else in this triforium?"

Bellini answered, "I guess the guy called Farrell was the only one. Move into the triforium." He spoke to the operator. "Get me the Fourth Squad."

The Fourth Squad leader answered, and his voice resonated from the duct he was crawling through. "We jumped off late, Captain-got lost in the duct work. I think we're through the foundation-"

"Think! What the hell is wrong with you?"

41sorry- 11

Bellini rubbed his throbbing temples and brought his voice under control.

"Okay . . . okay, we make up the time you lost by moving your time of last possible withdrawal from 5:55 to 6:00. That's fair, right?"

There was a pause before the squad leader replied, "Right."

"Good. Now you just see if you can find the blocksquare crawl space.

Okay? Then I'll send the Bomb Squad in.9' He hung up and looked at Burke.

"Glad you came?"

"Absolutely."

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Flynn cranked the field phone. "Attic! Attic!"

Jean Kearney's voice finally came on the line, and Flynn spoke hurriedly.

"They've taken out the towers, and they'll be coming through the roof hatches next-I can hear helicopters overhead. There's no use waiting for it, Jean-light all the fires and get into the bell tower."

Jean Kearney answered, "All right." She stood propped against a catwalk rail, supported by two ESD men, one of whom had the big silencer of a pistol pressed to her head. She shouted into the phone, "Brian-!" One of the men pulled the phone out of her hand.

She steadied herself on the rail, feeling lightheaded and nauseous from the loss of blood. She bent over and vomited on the floor, then picked her head up and tried to stand erect, shaking off the two men beside her.

Hoses hung from hovering helicopters and snaked their way through the roof hatches, discharging billows of white foam over the flickering flames. She felt defeated but relieved that it was over. She tried to think about Arthur Nulty, but her thigh was causing her such pain that all she could think about was that the pain should go away and the nausea should stop. She looked at the squad leader. "Give me a pressure bandage, damn it."

The squad leader ignored her and watched the firemen coming through the hatches, taking over the hoses from his Assault Squad. He shouted to his men. "Move out! Into the bell tower!"

He turned back to Jean Kearney, noticing the tattered green Aer Lingus uniform; he looked at her freckled features in the subdued light and pointed at a smoldering pile of wood. "Are you crazy?"

She looked him in the eye. "We're loyal."

The squad leader listened to the sound of his men double-timing over the catwalks toward the tower passage. As he reached for the aid 1-it on his belt his eyes darted around at the firemen who were occupied with the large chemical hoses.

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Jean Kearney's hand flew out and expertly snatched his pistol, put it to her heart, and fired. She back-pedaled, her arms swinging in wide circular motions until she toppled over to the dusty catwalk.

The squad leader looked at her, stunned, and then bent over and retrieved his pistol. "Crazy . . . crazy."

A thick mass of foam moved across the catwalk and slid over Jean Kearney's body; the white billowing bubbles tinged with red.

Flynn used the field phone to call the choir loft. He spoke quickly to Megan. "I think they've taken the attic. They'll be coming through the side doors into the choir loft. Keep the doors covered so Leary can shoot."

Megan's voice was angry, nearly hysterical. "How the hell did they take the attic? What the bloody hell is going on, Brian? What the fuck is going wrong here?"

He drew a long breath. "Megan, when you've been on fifty missions, you'll know not to ask those questions. You just fight, and you die or you don't die, but you never ask- Listen, tell Leary to scan Farrell's post-I think they're also up there-"

"Who the hell ever said you were a military genius?"

"The British-it made them feel more important."

She hesitated, then said, "Why did you let Hickey do that to my brother?"

Flynn glanced at Pedar Fitzgerald's body propped up on the organ bench.

"Hickey-like Mr. Leary-is a friend of yours, not mine. Ask Hickey when next you meet. Also, tell Leary to scan Gallagher's triforium---P

Megan cut in. "Brian . . . listen . . . listen He recognized the tone of her voice, that childlike lilt she used when she became repentant about something. He didn't want to hear what she had to say and hung up.

Bellini scanned with the periscope as he reported to all points on the field phone. "Yeah . . . they're starting to look over their shoulders now.

Man at the chancel organ

but he looks . . . dead . . . Still don't see Hickey.

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. . . Might be in the crawl space. Two hostages . . . Malone and Baxter

... Murphy still missing . . . shit . Cardinal still missing-"L

The Fifth Squad leader in the octagon room to the side of the sacristy gates cut in. "Captain, I'm looking at the gates with a periscope . . .

bad angle . . . but someone-looks like the Cardinal-is cuffed to them.

Advise."

Bellini swore softly. "Make sure it's him, and stand by for orders." He turned to Burke. "These Mick bastards still have some tricky shit up their shillelaghs-Cardinal's cuffed to the gates." He focused the periscope on Flynn in the pulpit directly below, "Smart guy. . . . Well, this potato-eating bastard is mine . . . but it's a tough shot. . . .

Canopy overhead and a marble wall around him. He knows it's going down the tube, but he can't do shit about it. Cocksucker."

Burke said, "If the attic is secure and you get the bombs . . . you ought to try negotiating. Flynn will talk with twenty rifles pointing down at him. He's a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them."

"Nobody told me nothing about asking him to surrender." Bellini put his face close to Burke's. "Don't get carried away with yourself and start giving orders, or I swear to God I'll grease you. I'm doing okay, Burke-I'm doing fine-I'm golden tonight-fuck you and fuck Flynn-let him squirm-then let him die."

The Fifth Assault Squad dropped one at a time from the duct opening and lay on the damp floor of the crawl space, forming a defensive perimeter.

The squad leader cranked his field phone and reported, "Okay, Captain, we're in the crawl space. No movement here-"

Bellini answered, "You sure yotf re not in the fucking attic now? Okay, I'm sending the dogs and their handlers through the ducts with Peterson's Bomb Squad. When you rendezvous, move out. Be advised that Hickey may be down there-maybe others. Keep your head out of your ass."

Bellini signaled to Wendy Peterson. "Perimeter secure.

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Move through the ducts. Follow the commo wire and don't get lost."

She answered in a laconic voice that echoed in the ducts, "We're already moving, Captain."

Bellini looked at his watch. "Okay . . . it's 5:45 now. At 6:00-at 5:55

my people are getting the hell out of there, whether or not you think you got all the bombs. I suggest you do the same."

Peterson answered, "We'll play it by ear."

"Yeah, you do that." He hung up and looked at Burke. "I think it's time-before our luck turns."

Burke said nothing.

Bellini rubbed his chin, hesitated, then reached for the phone and called the garage under Rockefeller Center. "Okay, Colonel, the word is Bull-fucking-Run. Ready?"

Logan answered, "Been ready a while. You're cutting it close."

Bellini's voice was caustic. "It's past close-it's probably too damned late, but that doesn't mean you can't earn a medal."

Colonel Logan threw the field phone down from the commander's hatch of the armored carrier and called to the driver, "Go!"

The twenty thousand pounds of armor began rumbling up the ramp of the underground garage. The big overhead door rose, and the carrier slid into Forty-ninth Street, turned right, and approached Fifth Avenue at twenty-five miles per hour, then veered north up the Avenue gathering speed.

Logan stood in the hatch with an M-16 rifle, the wind billowing his fatigue jacket. He stared at the Cathedral coming up on his right front, then glanced up at the towers and roof. Smoke billowed over the Cathedral, and helicopters hovered, beating the smoke downward, thick hoses dropping into the attic hatches. "Good Lord . . ."

Logan looked into the silent predawn streets, empty except for the police posted in recessed doorways. One of them gave him a thumbs up, another saluted. Logan stood

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taller in the batch; his mind raced faster than the carrier's engines, and his blood pounded through his veins.

The armored carrier raced up to the Cathedral. The driver locked the right-hand treads, and the carrier pivoted around, ripping up large slabs of the blacktop. The driver released the treads as the carrier pointed toward the front doors, and he gunned the engines. The vehicle fishtailed and raced across the wide sidewalk, bounced, and hit the granite steps, tearing away the stone as the treads climbed upward. The brass handrails disappeared beneath the treads, and the ten tons of armor headed straight for the ten tons of bronze ceremonial doors.

Logan made the sign of the cross, ducked into the hatch, and pulled the lid shut. The truck tires attached to the front of the carrier hit the doors, and the bolts snapped, sending the massive doors flying inward.

The alarms explode, scattering shrapnel across the sides of the vehicle.

the vestibule when the delayed mines on the doors began to explode, scattering shrapnel across the sides of the vehicle. The carrier kept moving through the vestibule and skidded across the marble floor to a stop beneath the choir loft overhang.

Harold Baxter grabbed Maureen and pulled her down beneath the clergy pews.

Brian Flynn raised a rocket launcher and took aim from the pulpit.

The rear door of the carrier dropped, and fifteen men of the 69th Regiment, led by Major Cole, scrambled over the door and began fanning out under the choir loft.

Frank Gallagher was speaking to the Cardinal when the sound of the exploding doors rolled through the Cathedral. For a moment he thought the bombs beneath him had gone off, then he recognized the sound for what it was. His chest heaved, and his body shook so badly that his rifle fell from his hands. He lost control of his nerves as he heard the reports of rifle fire in the Cathedral behind him. He let out a high-pitched wail and ran down the sacristy steps, falling to his knees beside the Cardinal. He grabbed at the hem of the red robe, tears streaming from his eyes and

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snatches of prayer forming on his lips. "God . . . 0 God . Father . . .

Eminence . . . dear God . . ."

The Cardinal looked down at him. "It's all right, now. There . . . there