THE GLASS OF COGNAC rested beside the keyboard. Saul checked the time on his computer screen: eleven twenty at night. He had just finished reading the transcript of Jessyca Volpi's press conference, interspersed with George's comments.
He picked up his drink and leaned back in his armchair, took a sip, and reread one of the passages he had highlighted:
...I have just been informed that this Sir Saul Nolland is more famous for his frauds than for his good journalism.
— Tomorrow you'll change your mind, Jessyca.
Within seconds, the tingling in his right temple, which had been almost absent for the past two hours, turned into a sharp pain. He rested his elbows on the desk and pressed his head between his hands.
— Damn it! What the hell is going wrong? — he demanded, raising his voice.
With his eyes closed, he was suddenly struck by the memory of Meggie.
If anything happens to Jessyca, you'll be the only one to blame...
She had said those words while staring directly at him beside the reflecting pool in the Old English Garden.
Saul opened his eyes, accessed Google, and searched for:
Babylon, Apocalypse, prostitute.
Several pages contained the same biblical passage:
The woman was dressed in purple and scarlet, and adorned with gold, precious stones, and pearls. She held in her hand a golden cup filled with abominations and the impurities of her prostitution. On the woman's forehead was written a mysterious name: 'Babylon the Great, the Mother of Prostitutes and of the Abominations of the Earth.'
— That was the prophecy Raphaniè quoted at dinner. According to the reporter, Jessyca was wearing... — he thought aloud, returning to George's email and searching for the description of her clothes. — ...A long scarlet dress with a slit on the left side, a purple shawl with pearls at the ends, and a silver tiara with the word "Babalon" written in diamonds.
She said the Italian designer Samwell LaVey was inspired by Babalon when he created the outfit... — Saul recalled, drumming his fingers against the desk. — The missing designer who, according to the Vogue reporter, had retired six years ago but had actually signed a secret exclusivity contract with LaVey...
— Samwell LaVey — the journalist said, typing the name into the Italian version of Google.
He scanned the first few pages. They described the designer's professional career.
I'm not interested in the official story...
He added another word beside Samwell LaVey's name:
Satanism.
Only one result appeared on the screen. Saul clicked the left mouse button and picked up his glass of cognac.
— If I'm right... — he thought aloud, taking a sip of his drink before beginning to read the article:
THE DEVIL'S TAILOR
Two years ago, when Samwell LaVey announced his retirement from the fashion runways and disappeared from society columns, I received a tip from a renowned expert in subliminal messages. Dr. Carlo Cavalcanti claimed that the designer was using haute couture to promote Satanism. Since then, I had been investigating Mr. LaVei.
Last week, my efforts were rewarded. I managed to locate one of his assistants, who agreed to give me a statement on the condition that his identity remain anonymous.
The chosen location was the Basilica of Santa Maria in Aracoeli, where he attends weekly exorcism sessions conducted by Father Raphaniè Marin.
— Father Raphaniè Marin! You're involved in this up to your neck! — Saul exclaimed in surprise before returning to the article.
Seated before an icon of Our Lady, the tailor closed his eyes, clasped his hands together, and apparently prayed for several minutes. Then he looked directly at me and asked:
Do you believe in the Devil?
Not wishing to commit myself, I simply replied that I had been raised Catholic. The man glanced around, wanting to make sure there was no one else in the room besides me and the priest.
He leaned closer and whispered:
He exists, and Samwell LaVey is his tailor.
One of the Evil One's greatest tricks is pretending he doesn't exist. That way, he manages to ensnare a great many people — Father Marin interjected.
— You and your ill-timed sermons — Saul commented, resuming his reading.
I pretended not to hear him. I was far more interested in the testimony concerning the secret life of one of Italy's greatest fashion designers.
I'm ready to hear your story — I said, extending my recorder toward him.
I cannot understand how the press has managed to publish nothing about this matter. According to the priest, a satanic conspiracy has infiltrated various sectors of society. Without passing judgment on the character of my fellow journalists, or on the truthfulness of the story, I will simply transcribe the testimony:
He is a... he is an evil man, just like everyone who belongs to that sect, the Aurum Solis. He always wore a medallion bearing the symbol of the Devil beneath his shirt. He was obsessed with it. Nobody ever noticed, but Mr. LaVei engraved the number 666 on every garment he created... — he was saying when Father Marin interrupted him once again.
That number was revealed in the Book of Revelation. It is the number of the Beast.
I thanked him for the explanation and asked the tailor to continue his story:
That retirement was a ridiculous farce. I overheard a confidential conversation. He stepped out of the spotlight while planning a triumphant return in six years, six days, and six hours.
— That's it! — Saul exclaimed, printing the article and conducting another search.
Saul wanted to know the exact year, day, and time when the Italian designer had announced his retirement.
His cell phone rang.
It was Meggie.
Hurriedly, Saul wrote down in his notebook the date and time when fashion designer Samwell LaVey had announced his early retirement, then answered the phone.
— ...Saul... Are you there?...
— Yes, Meggie. What happened? — he asked, alarmed by the distress in his assistant's voice.
— ...Saul, on my bed... — Meggie stammered, interrupting herself with a moan.
— Take a deep breath and try to calm down. Tell me what happened — her boss advised.
I think I'd better go to her house... he added silently.
— ...Blood... and a... a piece of... of someone... — Meggie revealed, struggling to catch her breath.
— Was there anything else? A message, perhaps?
— ...A note...
— A note?
— ...I'm scared, Saul. What should I do?...
— What does the note say?
— Luke 17:33–34... — the American woman replied.
— It must be some kind of code.
— ...What should I do?...
— It's a biblical passage. You've probably been threatened, just like the priest.
— ...And what should I do?... — she insisted, bursting into tears.
— I can be at your front door in a few minutes. If you want, you can stay here until everything is resolved — Saul suggested.
— ...I don't want to be a burden...
— You won't be a burden, Meggie. Quite the opposite. I'll be able to work better knowing you're out of danger.
— ...Thank you, Saul. You're an angel. I'll pack my things...
— I'll leave the house in less than five minutes. Just enough time to check something. See you soon.
After hanging up, the journalist accessed an online version of the Bible and searched for the reference left for Meggie. It was a passage from the Gospel of Luke:
Whoever seeks to save his life will lose it, and whoever loses it will save it. I tell you, on that night two people will be in one bed; one will be taken and the other left. Two women will be grinding grain together; one will be taken and the other left.
— Could LaVey be targeting Meggie too? What is he trying to say with this? — he wondered as he got dressed and slipped his notebook into his pocket.
— I need to meet with the priest urgently.
He checked the time: eleven thirty at night.
He hurried toward the garage with his cell phone in his hand. Once inside his car, he activated the speakerphone and dialed Raphaniè's number.
As he turned the corner toward Meggie's house, the priest answered.
— Forgive me for calling so late. I don't usually call anyone after ten o'clock. I hope I haven't woken you.
— ...You haven't woken me, Saul. I was praying...
— Forgive me again, but this couldn't wait...
— ...Don't beat around the bush... What do you need?...
— You were the exorcist treating Samwell LaVey's assistant, weren't you?
— ...That's no secret. He was even interviewed by a journalist. I'm mentioned in the article. Why?...
— Because today Jessyca Volpi was wearing an outfit designed by Samwell LaVey, and your patient said the designer... — Saul began explaining before being interrupted.
— ...That servant of the Devil was planning a triumphant return!...
— Yes. Exactly six years, six days, and six hours after announcing his retirement — the journalist continued.
— ...Today?... — Raphaniè murmured.
— I believe so. I haven't had time to do the calculations. Meggie found a piece of flesh and a note on her bed.
— ...Perhaps it's a threat from them...
— Exactly. That's why I'm on my way to pick her up.
— ...Saul, I met with Jessyca after the press conference...
— Where?
— ...I went to her suite...
— And?...
— ...She was dressed as the Great Harlot, Babalon...
— She hadn't changed her clothes... — Saul muttered. — Father, I may have made the greatest mistake of my life. As soon as I bring Meggie back to my house, I'd like to meet you at the hotel.
— ...Okay...
— See you later.
The tingling in Saul's temple grew stronger with every passing second.
He pressed down on the accelerator.