Cathedral by Nelson DeMille

Author:Nelson DeMille
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Police, Political, Police - New York (State) - New York, Fiction, Terrorism, Espionage, N.Y.), St. Patrick's Cathedral (New York, New York (N.Y.), Mystery fiction, Saint Patrick's Day, Terrorism - New York (State) - New York, FIC031000, Cultural Heritage, Irish Americans, Police Procedural, Detective and mystery stories, Suspense fiction, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Irish Americans - New York (State) - New York, Suspense
ISBN: 9780446358576
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 1990-12-01T04:37:47+00:00

CHAPTER 39

Inspector Langley was reading Monsignor Downes’s appointment book. “I think the good Rector entertained the Fenians on more than one occasion…. Unwittingly, of course.”

Schroeder looked at Langley. It would never have occurred to him to snoop through another man’s papers. That’s why he had been such a bad detective. Langley, on the other hand, would pick the Mayor’s pocket out of idle curiosity. Schroeder said acidly, “You mean you don’t suspect Monsignor Downes?”

Langley smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

Bellini turned from the window and looked at Schroeder. “You didn’t have to eat so much shit, did you? I mean that business about rolling over and all that other stuff.”

Schroeder felt his fright turning to anger. “For Christ’s sake, it’s only a ploy. You’ve heard me use it a dozen times.”

“Yeah, but this time you meant it.”

“Go to hell.”

Bellini seemed to be struggling with something. He leaned forward with his hands on Schroeder’s desk and spoke softly. “I’m scared, too. Do you think I want to send my men in there? Christ Almighty, Bert, I’m going in, too. I have a wife and kids. But Jesus, man, every hour that you bullshit with them is another hour for them to get their defenses tightened. Every hour shortens the time until dawn, when I have to attack. And I won’t hit them at dawn in a last desperate move to save the hostages and the Cathedral, because they know I have to move at dawn if they don’t have what they want.”

Schroeder kept his eyes fixed on Bellini’s but didn’t reply.

Bellini went on, his voice becoming more strident. “As long as you keep telling the big shots you can do it, they’re going to jerk me around. Admit you’re not going to pull it off and let me … let me know in my own mind … that I have to go in.” He said almost in a whisper, “I don’t like sweating it out like this, Bert…. My men don’t like this…. I have to know.”

Schroeder spoke mechanically. “I’m taking it a step at a time. Standard procedures. Stabilize the situation, keep them talking, calm them down, get an extension of the deadline—”

Bellini slammed his hand on the desk, and everyone sat up quickly. “Even if you could get an extension of the deadline, how long would it be for? An hour? Two hours? Then I have to move in the daylight—while you stand here at the window smoking a cigar, watching us get massacred!”

Schroeder stood and his face twitched. He tried to stop himself from speaking, but the words came out. “If you have to go in, I’ll be right next to you, Bellini.”

A twisted smile passed over Bellini’s face. He turned to Langley and Spiegel, then looked back at Schroeder. “You’re on, Captain.” He turned and walked out of the room.

Langley watched the door close, then said, “That was stupid, Bert.”

Schroeder found his hands and legs were shaking, and he sat down, then rose abruptly. He spoke in a husky voice.

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