Cathedral (38 page)

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on his chest. His face showed the result of Pedar FitzgeraId's blows.

Megan's kick had swollen one eye nearly shut.

Maureen moved across the sanctuary and knelt beside the two men. They exchanged subdued greetings. Maureen said to Baxter, "Hickey told me you were dead and Father Murphy was dying."

Baxter shook his head. "The man's quite mad." He looked around. Flynn, Hickey, and Megan Fitzgerald were nowhere to be seen. That, for some reason, was more unnerving than having them in his sight. He felt his hold on his courage slipping and knew the others were feeling that way also. He said, "If we can't escape . . . physically escape . . . then we have to talk about a way to survive in here. We have to stand up to them, keep them from dividing us and isolating us. We have to understand the people who hold us captive."

Maureen thought a moment, then said, "Yes, but they're hard people to know.

I never understood Brian Flynn, never understood what made him go on." She paused, then said, "After all these years . . . I thought I'd have heard one day that he was dead or had a breakdown like so many of them, or ran off to Spain like so many more of them, but he just keeps going on . . .

like some immortal thing, tortured by life, unable to die, unable to lay down the sword that has become so burdensome. . . . God, I almost feel sorry for him." She had the uncomfortable feeling that her revelations about Brian Flynn were somehow disloyal.

The Cardinal knelt beside the three people. He said, "In the tower I learned that Brian Flynn is a man who holds some unusual beliefs. He's a romantic, a man who lives in the murky past. The idea of blood sacrifice-which may be the final outcome here-is consistent with Irish myth, legend, and history. There's this aura of defeat that surrounds the people here-unlike the aura of ultimate victory that is ingrained in the British and American psyche." The Cardinal seemed to consider, then went on. "He really believes he is a sort of incarnation of Finn MacCumail." He looked at Maureen. "He's still very fond of you."

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Her face flushed, and she said, "That won't stop him from killing me."

The Cardinal answered, "He would only harm you if he thought you felt nothing for him any longer."

She thought back to the bride's room. "So what am I supposed to do? Play up to him?"

Father Murphy spoke. "We'll all have to do that, I think, if we're going to survive. Show him we care about him as a person . . . and I think at least some of us do. I care about his soul."

Baxter nodded slowly. "Actually, you know, it costs nothing to be polite

. . . except a bit of self-respect." He smiled and said, "Then when everyone is calmed down, we'll have another go at it."

Maureen nodded quickly. "Yes, I'm willing."

The Cardinal spoke incredulously. "Haven't you two bad enough?"

She answered, "No."

Baxter said, "If Flynn were our only problem, I'd take my chances with him. But when I look into the eyes of Megan Fitzgerald or John Hickey .

. . Maureen and I spoke about this before, and I've decided that I don't want tomorrow's newspapers to speak of my execution and martyrdom, but I would want them to say, 'Died in an escape attempt! "

The Cardinal said acidly, "It may read, 'A foolish escape attempt' . .

. shortly before you were to be released."

Baxter looked at him. "I've stopped believing in a negotiated settlement.

That reduces my options to one."

Maureen added, "I'm almost certain that Hickey means to kill us and destroy this church."

Baxter sat up with some difficulty. "There's one more way out of here .

. . and we can all make it. . . . We must all make it, because we won't get another chance."

Father Murphy seemed to be struggling with something, then said, "I'm with you." He glanced at the Cardinal.

The Cardinal shook his head. "It was a miracle we weren't all killed last time. I'm going to have to insist that-"

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Maureen reached into the pocket of her jacket and held out a small white particle. "Do any of you know what this is? No, of course you don't. It's plastic explosive. As we suspected, that's what Hickey and Megan carried down in those suitcases. This is molded around at least one of the columns below. I don't know how many other columns are set to be blown, or where they all are, but I do know that two suitcases of plastic, properly placed, are enough to bring down the roof." She fixed her eyes on the Cardinal, who had turned pale. She continued, "And I don't see a remote detonator and wire up here. So I have to assume it's set to go on a timer. What time?" She looked at the three men. "At least one of us has to get out of here and warn the people outside."

Brian Flynn strode up to the communion rail and spoke in an ill-tempered tone. "Are you plotting again? Your Eminence, please stay on your exalted throne. The wounded gentlemen don't need your comfort. They're comforted enough knowing they're still alive. Miss Malone, may I have a word with you in the Lady Chapel? Thank you."

Maureen stood and noticed the stiffness that had spread through her body.

She walked slowly to the side steps, down into the ambulatory, then passed into the Lady Chapel.

Flynn came up behind her and indicated a pew toward the rear. She sat.

He stood in the aisle beside her and looked around the quiet chapel. It was unlike the rest of the Cathedral; the architecture was more delicate and refined. The marble walls were a softer shade, and the long, narrow windows were done mostly in rich cobalt blues. He looked up at one of the windows to the right of the entrance. A face stared back at him, looking very much like Karl Marx, and in fact the figure was carrying a red flag in one hand and a sledgehammer in the other, attacking the cross atop a church steeple. "Well," he said in a neutral tone, "you know you've arrived as a lesser demon when the Church

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sticks your face up in a window. Like a picture in the celestial post office. Wanted for heresy." He pointed up at the window. "Karl Marx.

Strange."

She glanced at the representation. "You wish it was Brian Flynn, don't you?"

He laughed. "You read my black soul, Maureen." He turned and looked at the altar nestled in the rounded end of the chapel. "God, the money that goes into these places."

"Better spent on armaments, wouldn't you say?"

He looked at her. "Don't be sharp with me, Maureen."

$'sorry.,,

"Are you?"

She hesitated, then said, "Yes."

He smiled. His eyes traveled upward past the statue of the Virgin on the altar, to the apsidal window above it. "The light will break through that window first. I hope we're not still here to see it."

She turned to him suddenly. "You won't burn this church, and you won't kill unarmed hostages. So stop speaking as though you were the type of man who would."

He put his hand on her shoulder, and she slid over. He sat beside her and said, "Something is very wrong if I've given the impression I'm bluffing."

"Perhaps it's because I know you. You've fooled everyone else."

"But I'm not fooling or bluffing."

"You'd shoot me?"

"Yes . . . I'd shoot myself afterward, of course."

"Very romantic, Brian."

"Sounds terrible, doesn't it?"

"You should hear yourself."

"Yes . . . well, anyway, I've been meaning to speak with you again, but with all that's been going on . . . We have some time now." He said, "Well, first you must promise me that you won't try to escape again."

"All right."

He looked at her. "I mean it. They'll kill you next time."

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"So what? Better than being shot in the back of the head-by you."

"Don't be morbid. I don't think it will come to that."

"But you're not sure."

"It depends on things out of my control now."

"Then you shouldn't have gambled with my life and everyone else's-should you? Why do you think the people out there will be rational and concerned about our lives if you're not?"

"They've no choice."

"No choice but to be rational and compassionate? You've developed quite a faith in mankind, I see. If people behaved like that, none of us would be here now."

"'nis sounds like the argument we never finished four years ago." He stared toward the windows for a while, then turned to her. "Would you like to come with me when we leave here?"

She faced him. "When you leave here it will be for the jail or the cemetery. No, thank you."

"Damn you. . . . I'm walking out of here as free and alive as I walked in. Answer the question."

"What's to become of poor Megan? You'll break her dear heart, Brian."

"Stop that." He held her arm tightly. "I miss you, Maureen."

She didn't respond.

He said, "I'm ready to retire." He looked at her closely. "Really I am.

As soon as this business is done with. I've learned a good deal from this."

"Such as?"

"I've learned what's important to me. Look here, you quit when you were ready, and I'm doing the same. I'm sorry I wasn't ready when you were."

"Neither you nor I believe a word of that. 'Once in, never out.' That's what you and all of them have thrown up to me all these years, so I'm throwing it right back in your face. 'Once in-"'

"No!" He pulled her closer to him. "Right now I believe I'm going to get out. Why can't you believe it with me?"

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She suddenly went limp and put her hand over his. She spoke in a despondent tone. "Even if it were possiblethere are people who have plans for your retirement, Brian, and they don't include a cottage by the sea in Kerry."

She slumped against his shoulder. "And what of me? I'm hunted by the Belfast IRA still. One can't do the kinds of things we've done with our lives and expect to live happily ever after, can we? When was the last time you heard a knock on the door without having a great thump in your chest?

Do you think you can announce your retirement like a respected statesman and settle down to write your memoirs? You've left a trail of blood all over Ireland, Brian Flynn, and there are people-Irish and Britishwho want yours in return."

"Mere are places we could go---2'

"Not on this planet. The world is very small, as a good number of our people on the run have found out. Think how it would be if we lived together. Neither of us could ever go out to buy a packet of tea without wondering if it would be the last time we'd see each other. Every letter in the mail could explode in your face. And what if there were . . . children?

Think about that awhile."

He didn't reply.

She shook her head slowly. "I won't live like that. It's enough that I have to worry about myself. And it's a relief, to be honest with you, that I have no one else to worry about-not you, nor Sheila . . . so why should I want to go with you and worry about when they're going to kill you? . . .

Why do you want to worry about when they're going to catch up with me?"

He stared at the floor between the pews, then looked up at the altar. "But

. . . you would like to . . . I mean if it were possible . . . T'

She closed her eyes. "I wanted that once. I suppose, really, I still do.

But it's not in our stars, Brian."

He stood abruptly and moved into the aisle. "Well . . . as long as you'd like to . . . that's good to know, Maureen." He said, "I'm adding Sheila's name to the list."

"Don't expect anything in return."

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"I don't. Come along, then."

"Would you mind if I stayed here in the chapel?"

"I wouldn't, no. But . . . you're not safe here. Megan . . ."

"God, Brian, you speak of her as though she were a mad dog waiting to kill a sheep who's strayed from the fold."

"She's a bit . . . vindictive . . . ...

"Vindictive? What have I ever done to her?"

"She . . . she blames you, in part, for her brother's capture . . . .

It's not rational, I know, but she's-"

"Bloodthirsty. How in the name of God did you get mixed up with that savage? Is that what the youth of Northern Ireland's turning into?"

Flynn looked back toward the chapel opening. "Perhaps. War is all they've known-all Megan's known since she was a child. It's become commonplace, the way dances and picnics used to be. These young people don't even remember what downtown Belfast looked like before. So you can't blame them. You understand that."

She stood. "She goes a bit beyond war psychosis. You and 1, Brian . . .

our souls are not dead, are they?"

"We remember some of the life before the troubles."

Maureen thought of Jean Kearney. She pictured the faces of the others.

"We started this, you know."

"No. The other side started it. The other side always starts it."

"What difference does it make? Long after this is over, our country will be left with the legacy of children turned into murderers and children who tremble in dark corners. We're perpetuating it, and it will take a generation to forget it."

He shook his head. "Longer, I'm afraid. The Irish don't forget things in a generation. They write it all down and read it again, and tell it round the peat fires. And in truth you, 1, and Megan are products of what came long before the recent troubles. Cromwell's massacres happened only last week, the famine happened yesterday, the uprising and civil war this morning. Ask John Hickey. He'll tell you."

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She took a long breath. "I wish you weren't so damned right about these thin.-s." "I wish you weren't so right about us. Come along." She followed him out of the quiet chapel.

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Flynn descended the sacris ' ty steps and saw Burke and Pe dar Fitzgerald facing each other through the gate. A porta ble television sat on the landing beside Burke.

Flynn said to Fitzgerald, "Bring the priest here in five minutes."

Fitzgerald slung the Thompson over his shoulder and left.