A TINGLING SENSATION IN HIS RIGHT TEMPLE, the unmistakable sign of a bad feeling, came at the same time as Meggie's email:
I've just discovered that your priest friend killed Jessyca's father. You probably already knew that, didn't you?
— Something went wrong — he concluded, picking up his phone and pulling up Raphaniè's number.
This doesn't seem like an appropriate time to call him... — he thought, setting the phone back beside the keyboard.
He turned toward George and caught him checking his wristwatch. Saul dialed his desk extension and said:
— I've just forwarded you an email about Jessyca. I want the story on my computer in ten minutes.
— I'll do my best — the reporter murmured, adding silently:
Damn it, what's going on? I need to talk to Meggie... — he decided, taking a deep breath.
— Did your assistant get an interesting story out of the top model? — It was Mick's voice.
— Yes — Saul replied, opening his eyes.
— I expect to send you the edited story in twenty minutes.
— While the reporter finishes, how about some tea? — Mick invited him.
— I need to sort out a few problems first...
— So do I, and I want to start with you — the editor-in-chief interrupted, emphasizing the last word as he stared at him.
Just what I needed. Wasting time with him is like kicking a dead dog... — Saul thought, then replied:
— All right.
THEY LEFT THE NEWSROOM IN SILENCE, followed by George's anxious gaze.
— Since when did I become a problem? — the assistant editor broke the silence on the way to the tea room. He intended to settle the matter as quickly as possible.
— Thanks to me, Saul, you got this job.
— You're a lucky man. It's not every day a British Press Awards winner comes knocking at your door.
— Living off past glories again? — Mick provoked him.
— I'm anticipating future ones.
— No matter what you do, you'll always be known for inventing a satanic conspiracy to justify a psychopath's crimes. Quite a blunder...
— Or maybe not... — Saul murmured.
— For now, it's a resounding yes.
— For now is always irrelevant.
— Face the facts for once in your life...
— What do you want from me, anyway? To discuss my career? — the journalist snapped, staring at him.
— Exactly...
— What?
— Let's sit down — Mick suggested, gripping the back of a chair. — Order some tea and... talk about the future.
HE TOOK A SIP OF EARL GREY and stared at Mick. The editor-in-chief was visibly nervous. He seemed to want to say something, but lacked the courage.
Saul checked his watch. The reporter should have finished the story by now. He needed to call Meggie and coordinate coverage of the press conference at L'oscar London. He decided it was time to take the initiative.
— You didn't bring me here to discuss my failures, did you? Stop beating around the bush, Mick, and get to the point.
— This conversation is confidential.
— Fine.
— Like I said before, here you'll always be known...
— For the satanic conspiracy... Where are you going with this? — Saul asked impatiently again, without raising his voice.
— Your career is compromised only here in England. Somewhere else, you could start at the top, as an award-winning journalist — Mick argued as he picked up his teacup.
Although he tried to hide it, Saul noticed that his hand was trembling.
— I haven't received any offers — the assistant editor replied.
— Saul, I put you back on the map, and I can put you among the very best.
— Be clearer, Mick.
— Off the record: I've been offered a position as director at one of the biggest newspapers in New York.
— Congratulations!
— Thank you.
— Did you accept? — Saul pretended to be surprised.
— Yes, and I want you to be part of my team.
Why does he want to take me to New York? — Saul wondered, then asked:
— Why did you choose me?
— Because you're one of the best.
— I've never thought about leaving London.
— You were born for greater things, and I'm sure you know it.
— I appreciate it, but...
— You don't need to answer me now. You have two days to give me your answer — he interrupted. — Think carefully. You'll be international politics editor, with a starting salary of five hundred thousand dollars a year, plus benefits.
— Wow! That's a very tempting offer — Saul said, genuinely surprised.
The tingling in his right temple began to bother him again. He massaged it with his ring finger and index finger.
His phone rang. It was Meggie.
— Sorry, Mick, it's my assistant. I need to take this.
— Don't worry. I'm going back to the newsroom and... one more thing: Francis doesn't know about this.
— And he won't hear it from me. You can count on that — Saul said goodbye before answering the call.
— DID EVERYTHING GO WELL?
"... Better than you can imagine..." Meggie replied.
— Tell me.
"... Do you know who LaVey is?..."
— He's the person we're trying to catch.
"... The London Ripper?..."
— I'd rather not go into details, at least not over the phone.
"... Jess received a letter from the scout who discovered her years ago. He said the time had come to repay the debt..."
— How?
"... Just as you predicted, Saul, she has to receive this LaVey guy alone in her hotel suite and do whatever he wants..." his assistant revealed.
— And she's going to do it?
"... She was terrified, but I convinced her to meet the psychopath..."
— Did you give the game away?
"... Of course not. I told her she had nothing to lose, but I feel terrible, Saul. I threw Jess into this trap..." she confessed, her voice trembling with emotion.
— Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine... Where are you?
"... Leaving L'oscar London..."
— Go home and get some rest, Meggie. You don't need to be at the press conference. I'll send another reporter.
"Thank you, Saul. I really need that..."
— I can imagine.
"See you tomorrow..."
He stood up with the cup in his hand and quickly drank the rest of the tea. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, but that tingling in his right temple was never wrong.
I shouldn't have promised Meggie that everything would be fine — he regretted as he hurried back toward the newsroom.