— FATHER, HOW ARE YOU? — Saul greeted him as soon as Raphaniè appeared along one of the side paths of the imposing stone façade. It was the first time they had seen each other in person. Until then, their conversations had been limited to long video calls, encrypted emails, and countless phone calls at unlikely hours.
The Italian looked younger than Saul had imagined. His accent carried a curious musicality, and his deep brown eyes reflected both serenity and an uneasiness that was hard to decipher.
— It's so good to finally meet you, my friend! — the priest exclaimed, ignoring the outstretched hand and embracing the journalist warmly. Saul, surprised by the spontaneity, returned the gesture somewhat awkwardly, noticing the faint scent of incense clinging to the clerical coat.
— You're taller than I imagined.
— And you're younger.
Both smiled, breaking the ice like old acquaintances finally putting faces to a friendship built at a distance.
— I hope you enjoy your stay in London — Saul said, opening the door of a black Tesla sports car, whose dashboard shimmered under the gray light of dusk. — My car is right here.
Raphaniè observed the vehicle with curiosity.
— I expected nothing less modern from a British journalist.
— I'm traditional only when it comes to ties, Father — Saul replied with a laugh as he fastened his seatbelt. — If you prefer, we can speak in Italian. I know you're fluent.
— That won't be necessary. I want to take advantage of my stay here to practice my English.
— Perfect, then.
The electric engine glided smoothly through the narrow streets of London. The stained-glass windows of Temple Church faded behind them, reflecting the twilight on the car's metallic surface.
— How many languages do you speak, Saul? — Raphaniè asked, sinking into the comfort of the cream leather seat.
— English, Italian, French, Spanish, German, and Arabic.
— Arabic? — the priest raised his eyebrows, surprised.
— My father wanted me to be a diplomat. He spent half his life teaching me how to negotiate without losing composure, and the other half trying to convince me that journalism was a waste of talent.
Raphaniè laughed with empathy.
— My father didn't want me to become a priest either. For years, we didn't exchange a single word.
— And what changed? — Saul asked.
— My younger sister's wedding.
— Let me guess... you were the priest — Saul said, slightly accelerating.
— Exactly... he cried through the entire ceremony, and at the reception, he hugged me and said, "Thank you for being my son."
A brief, sincere silence followed, filled only by the sound of the car cutting through the wind.
— A touching story. Mine was a little different.
— I can imagine.
Saul took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.
— You remember those reports about the serial killings, right?
— I remember perfectly, and I'm still convinced there was a satanic sect behind those atrocities — Raphaniè replied firmly. — The symbols, the dates, the chosen victims... nothing there was random.
— I believe that too, but Scotland Yard didn't agree. They filed everything as the work of a lone psychopath. And my father... — Saul hesitated, swallowing his pride — cut ties with me after the publication. He said I had tarnished the family name.
— I hope one day he realizes the son he has — the priest said, his voice calm yet firm. — That investigation was manipulated, Saul. A fraud orchestrated by the satanists themselves. They are everywhere — in politics, in the media, in the Church. They are more dangerous than you can imagine.
— Tell me more about this threat, Father — Saul asked, unable to hide his interest.
— I'm on a confidential mission. I need to trust you, but first I want a promise.
— What is it? — he asked cautiously as he slowed near a roundabout.
— From now on, all our conversations will be off the record. Nothing will be published without my authorization. Can you promise me that?
— Consider it a confessional secret, Father — Saul replied seriously.
— Thank you.
The journalist relaxed, but the silence was broken by his own intuition.
— Speaking of secrets... what have you been up to lately?
— What do you mean?
— There's a gray Mercedes-Benz following us since the moment I picked you up at Temple Church.
Raphaniè turned subtly, his gaze reflecting the concern he tried to hide. In the rearview mirror, the car maintained an exact distance of three vehicles, and the priest's heart began to race.
It was the same vehicle that had been waiting for him at the airport.