THE APPETIZER REMAINED UNTOUCHED on the plate when the maître d' approached Saul.
— I'm sorry, sir. Would you like us to replace it, or may we serve the main course?
— The main course, please — the journalist replied, turning his attention back to the priest.
— So, who do you suspect? — Raphaniè asked, immediately attacking the newly arrived main course: a black pork chop.
— Before I tell you who, I'll explain how I arrived at that conclusion. We've established that Gregory is a double agent working for the American branch of the satanic sect, correct?
— Correct.
— He arranged to meet me at the same place where Baruch Hawkings was killed, correct?
— More than that. He implied that the Ipsissimus was going to be murdered and tried to make me responsible for pulling the trigger — Raphaniè added.
— Why do you think he put you up at this hotel?
— I don't know — the priest replied, reaching for his glass of sparkling water. — But I'm not going to let him get away with what he made me do.
— Forget about that...
— He destroyed my honor...
— Tomorrow — Saul continued, steering the conversation back on track — a celebrity will arrive in London, and she'll also be staying at L'oscar London.
— Who?
— The Brazilian model Jessyca Volpi.
The glass slipped from Raphaniè's hand and shattered against the table.
— I've already seen this once today, Father. You were just as nervous then — Saul observed, staring at him.
— No... it's just that...
— Is there something else I should know?
THE WAITER CAME TO THE TABLE and politely asked permission to replace the tablecloth. The Italian remained silent, unmistakable distress in his eyes.
— If we're partners in this mission, you'd better not hide anything from me.
— I have nothing to say about that. The problem is: what the hell is Greg trying to do? — Raphaniè evaded.
— Maybe he wants to turn you into an accomplice of the satanic sect — the journalist suggested.
— That's impossible. We're on opposite sides.
— Let's suppose Gregory Evans is right about the Catholic Church's death squad, and the Americans were planning to assassinate the Ipsissimus, and you pulled the trigger. Who exactly is on whose side? — Saul fired back.
He may be right. Could the dark brotherhood know about my past?
It's too much of a coincidence that they put me up here.
Will I run into her after all these years?
What is Gregory trying to manipulate me into doing now?
Raphaniè's head was spinning, as though he had been hurled into a maelstrom of doubt.
— I can see you're lost in thought, but the real question is: what are they going to do with the Great Whore? And what do they expect you to do?
— You're twisting everything around, Saul! — Raphaniè snapped, drawing the attention of the couple dining at the next table.
— Do you like chess?
— I have no patience for games. Please, get to the point — the priest ordered, staring at him with a furrowed brow.
— It seems to me that we're caught in a game between the Catholic Church and the satanic sect, and the two of us are nothing more than pawns on the board. We can't see much beyond our own next move.
— You're being fatalistic — Raphaniè countered.
— Maybe — Saul said, tasting his chosen main course: spiced pigeon.
And some pieces are always sacrificed to secure a greater advantage several moves later... he thought, studying the torment in the priest's eyes.
DURING THE MAIN COURSE, the two men discussed the next steps of the mission, but an uncomfortable silence had hung over the table for several minutes, ever since Saul had suggested that the Church might have some hidden interest in the Book of Silver Leaves and, because of it, might be trying to approach the dark brotherhood behind Raphaniè's back.
— The Church's only interest in the works of the Devil is to destroy them, and if that book ever falls into my hands, I'll burn it — Raphaniè had thundered before lapsing into silence.
He considered telling the journalist about his suspicion that a member of the Brotherhood of the Four Angels might indeed be playing both sides, but without proof, he would be committing the sin of slander and defamation. Besides, it might only feed Saul's perverse fantasies.
He needs to understand that the Church is holy, despite the sins of some of its men, the priest thought as he took a bite of pie.
— My father wants to talk to me — the journalist said, breaking the silence.
— Does he want to reconcile?
— I don't know, but I don't feel ready to face him.
— Why?
— Maybe because he didn't stand by me when I needed him most.
— Perhaps he's recognized his mistake and wants your forgiveness — the priest suggested, looking Saul in the eyes.
— Ever since he cut me off, I've wanted to prove to him that I was right...
— And that he was wrong? — Raphaniè interjected.
— Exactly.
— Is that why you decided to help me with this mission?
— That doesn't matter.
— Maybe it makes no difference to me, but for you, it's an enormously important choice. On one side, there's the path of reconciliation, love, and forgiveness. On the other, the shortcut of resentment, revenge, and hatred. If you take the second path, I guarantee you'll fall into an abyss.
— Revenge and forgiveness. The central message of The Tempest — Saul murmured.
— What did you say?
— You're preaching as though you were standing in a church pulpit, as far removed from the faithful as God is from mankind — Saul challenged.
Saul had no intention of discussing Shakespeare's play or its possible connection to the satanic sect. If it was nothing more than speculation, it could further complicate an already complex mission, and the priest would not understand anyway.
— I'm speaking as a man, not as a priest!
— I'm sorry, but...
— I killed someone — he revealed in Italian, his voice trembling, visibly overcome with emotion.
AT THE BEGINNING OF DINNER, Saul had sensed that the priest was hiding something and had used his skills to force him into revealing his secret, but he had never expected this.
He continued the conversation in Italian so Raphaniè would not feel embarrassed in front of the other diners.
— Before you became a priest?
— No. After... I didn't trust the justice of men. I disobeyed the teachings of the Church and chose revenge and hatred, and I fell into an abyss... There isn't a single day that goes by without me being tormented by what I did — the priest replied, his voice heavy, his gaze distant.
— Do you want to talk about it? — the journalist asked, watching tears run down the self-confessed killer's face.
— I've already confessed that crime, but I don't feel forgiven. Maybe I should seek out the people I hurt and ask for their forgiveness... That's why I can tell you this, not as a priest speaking from a pulpit, but as a man who made a terrible mistake: choose the right path. Don't waste any chance you have at reconciliation. Revenge can be tempting, but its price is far too high — he said, wiping his face with the back of his right hand.
The journalist swallowed the last sip of wine without properly savoring it. He was far less interested in its aromas and flavors than in Raphaniè's sordid story, but this was not the right moment to satisfy his curiosity. He could only hope he returned before the priest went back to Rome.
— Thank you for the advice. I promise I won't forget it — Saul said, discreetly glancing at his wristwatch. — I have to go. As agreed, we'll meet here at the hotel tomorrow.
— By the time you return, I'll have gathered the main prophecies concerning the Scarlet Woman and the birth of the Antichrist — the priest promised.
— Don't forget to use the Business Center. Your computer and your phone are being monitored by Gregory Evans, and he needs to believe that our mission ended with Baruch Hawkings's death. Remember the chess game. Let's allow him to think he has the advantage.
— So we can catch him by surprise — Raphaniè completed.
— Until tomorrow — Saul said, shaking the priest's hand.
— I'm going to have a coffee before I leave. It's going to be a long night — Raphaniè said, sitting down again.
How does he intend to turn the game around with a one-hour exclusive interview?
If Jessyca really is the Great Whore, Saul won't be able to dissuade her from taking part in the ritual or from handing them the Book of Silver Leaves. She probably doesn't even know what it is.
If the prophecies about the Scarlet Woman point to her, there's only one solution... Mal'akh ha-Mavet.
No! I can't... Not against that girl...
SEATED IN AN ARMCHAIR in the living room, Saul listened to Bach.
The priest's intentions are good, but I'm almost certain he's being manipulated... he concluded.
His mind was boiling. He was willing to bet that the Scarlet Woman was Jessyca Volpi and that the satanic sect would perform the ritual after the advertising campaign launch.
They're evil, not stupid.
If anything went wrong, they'd be risking millions of dollars in advertising contracts... he had told the priest.
His exclusive interview with her was scheduled for the day after tomorrow, three hours before the official launch of LaVei's perfume. It was the perfect opportunity to turn the game around.
He had managed to convince Raphaniè that this was their best course of action, although he still had no idea exactly what his move would be. Meggie would be part of it, and he needed to come clean with his assistant.
Can I trust her?
What if she's part of this too?
— I think I'm becoming paranoid... — he concluded.
He decided to arrange a meeting with the American as soon as he returned from The Holme.
— I don't feel ready to confront him, much less forgive him — he admitted to himself, frowning.
Whatever Baruch Hawkings had up his sleeve, he should have stood by me instead of throwing me to the wolves...
He remembered Raphaniè's story.
He's far too impulsive. He could ruin everything...
He yawned as his eyelids grew heavy.
He was exhausted, but before going to bed, he needed to send an email. He went to the study and opened his inbox:
Meggie, we need to meet before the press conference. I'll call you tomorrow. Stay alert. Kisses, Saul.