THAT WAS THE STRANGEST editorial meeting since he had joined The Sunny. The relationship between the newspaper's director, Francis Bishop, and the editor-in-chief, Mick, was visibly strained.
Without saying much—or firing off the dozens of acidic remarks he usually made—Mick revealed the fragility of his position. He was trying to find a balance point and preserve his career.
The rope is around his neck... Saul thought, displaying an ironic smile during his brief comments.
THE MEETING ENDED with his presentation of the newspaper's coverage of Jessyca Volpi's visit to London, which earned him praise from Francis, a jealous look from Mick, and a seductive smile from Diana.
Saul was the first to leave the room. He stopped briefly at his desk.
My assistant is truly beautiful... he thought as he said goodbye to Meggie with a kiss on the cheek.
— See you tomorrow — she said, smiling with her eyes.
ON THE WAY TO THE OLD BULL and Bush, Saul tried to relax by listening to classical music. He wanted to organize his thoughts before the meeting. He did not know his interlocutor. It was likely a friend of the priest's, but it could just as easily be a trap.
This is a shot in the dark...
He took a deep breath.
Satanic cult... John Dee... William Shakespeare... Meggie is a virgin witch. That may be the most surprising chapter of the last few days...
He smiled to himself.
He parked in front of the pub and checked his watch. He was five minutes early.
I'll wait at the bar...
Saul took a seat and began browsing the wine list. Moments later, someone approached.
— A pleasure to meet you, Saul — greeted an African-American man with an unmistakably American accent.
It was impossible not to recognize him. Anyone who read The New York Times would know that face.
Greg wore a black suit, white shirt, and dark silver tie, which, according to Saul's refined tastes, did not suit him particularly well.
Americans...
— And what is your name? — the journalist asked, standing up and returning the handshake.
— My name is Gregory Evans.
— Gregory Evans, as in... the American detective?
— At your service — he replied with a smile.
— I knew your face looked familiar. How could I forget it? — Saul joked.
— It happens in the best families.
— To what do I owe the honor of meeting the most famous police officer in the world?
— I was also at Temple Church when you met. I wasn't there to catch up with God. My brother is a famous cardinal of the Catholic Church, and he does that for me.
— Where is Father Marin?
— Yesterday he was in mortal danger. At this moment, he's doing better than either of us — Gregory replied, sitting down and gesturing for Saul to do the same.
— Is he still in London?
— He's staying at a hotel downtown under a different name. Let's just say he stopped being a priest for a while and became a successful businessman.
— Is the email he sent me part of that charade?
— It was one way of misleading the enemy without alerting them. Your laptop and cellphone were tapped. You're being monitored too, Saul — Gregory revealed.
— What's your interest in all this? Do you work for the Vatican?
— At the moment, isn't it more important to know who's paying my salary, Saul?
— You probably know why the priest came to London.
— It's part of my job to know things.
— Then you must also know the reason for our meetings.
— Perfectly.
— If you protected the priest and sought me out, I deduce that your employer has some interest in our actions.
— Possibly, but I'm not fully informed on the matter. My original orders were simply to protect you, but I had to change course and offer the priest a little support as well.
— Protect me?
— Don't ask me why. I have absolutely no idea why they made that special request.
— I keep wondering how much you really know.
— In your case, it's quite simple. A thirty-five-year-old man, heir to one of the largest financial empires in Europe. Although you've already received your share of the inheritance, you're the brother of a young Harvard student. You maintain an active romantic life with numerous equally beautiful and seductive partners. You've won several journalism awards, suffered a career setback because of a biased article, and were involved in an accident with your fiancée a few years ago, and—
— All right... all right... I understand I'm not dealing with an amateur...
Greg nodded, and Saul continued:
— I didn't know you were a bodyguard too.
— I'm not. As I said, my job is to know things and put pieces together. But I was asked to provide this VIP service for you, a man who usually doesn't get into trouble, except, well... you know...
This time Saul understood the message.
— Can I at least know who hired you?
— Unfortunately not.
— I understand. Perhaps all three of us share the same objective. The only difference is how we express it.
— The priest wants to defeat the devil and sabotage the so-called Dark Apocalypse. You want to expose the satanic cult and restore your professional reputation. Maybe my employer wants to dismantle an international network of drug trafficking, child exploitation, terrorism, and so on...
— And everything that sustains the power of devil worshippers.
— Yes. In theory, the target is the same.
— But Raphaniè and I act out of vanity, while you people always have nobler goals — the journalist remarked sarcastically.
— That's not what I meant — Gregory deflected elegantly.
— It doesn't matter. I'm willing to cooperate with the... CIA... Am I right?
— You're not wrong. I've worked with them a few times in the past.
— And you know everything comes at a price, don't you?
— I think I know yours.
— Provided there's something in return.
— And what would that be?
— I want exclusive access to the case files so I can publish the story when the investigation is over — Saul demanded, staring directly at him.
— That's the condition. And what exactly would your contribution be?
— Privileged information.
— Interesting. I don't need to consult my superiors to accept your offer. There are no restrictions regarding information about the case itself.
— Are you working with Scotland Yard? — the journalist asked.
— No. That place is a nest of snakes and infested with enemies. The criminals have people on the inside.
It was precisely the answer Saul wanted to hear.
He leaned closer to the table.
— When do I get to see the priest?
— Tomorrow I'll bring him to you.
— I have an appointment... — he began before being interrupted.
— A dog race. Wolfgang van Bach's debut. You invited your assistant, an American named Meggie, to accompany you. I was the last person she interviewed before she was sent here. I hope the priest's presence doesn't interfere with your date.
— I see you're truly well informed about me.
— As I said, my mission is to protect you, and I can only do that if I know where you go and what you do.
— I'll take that as a good thing, as long as it doesn't interfere with my personal life.
— Interfering in your private life isn't part of the package. Think of me as a guardian angel who only acts when your life is in danger.
— I hope I won't need one.
— It's like health insurance. It's good to have, but we all hope we'll never need to use it.
— Well, then you should be able to find me at the stadium. What's the name of the businessman I'm going to meet?
— Italo Mannieri.
— Would you gentlemen like to order your drinks? — the waiter suggested, approaching the table.
— Sparkling water for me, please — Saul answered first.
— Bring me a beer — Gregory requested.
— So, Greg... may I assume the person who hired you is someone powerful?
— There are things that can't be said to someone as clever as you, someone capable of reading between the lines.
— Can I get an exclusive interview with you afterward?
— I'd be honored if you joined me in this toast — the American replied, watching the waiter place the bottle on the table and fill two glasses.
— Cheers!
— Cheers!
— I don't like people who hide behind numbers and the devil's riddles.
— Then let's rip the masks and horns off those devils, Saul — the American said.
— Count me in, Greg.