Shaw’s BlackBerry vibrated. He had some difficulty getting it out of his coat pocket so Katie helped him pull it out. “Do you want me to bring up your messages?” She asked this as she watched him struggling with the device basically one-handed.
“I can manage,” he said, perhaps suspecting that this was a ploy on Katie’s part to read his mail. He glanced at the screen. He had a first-class ticket on the Eurostar out of Gare du Nord station to St. Pancras in London. He’d be staying at the recently reopened Savoy. At least Frank didn’t do things on the cheap. It was partial compensation for a job that involved the potential of violent death on a minute-by-minute basis.
“Will you at least call and let me know what you find out?”
He stood after dropping some euros on the table to pay for the meal. “Sorry, I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to. That explanation cover it for you?”
It took Katie a moment to realize he was merely throwing her own words back at her, when he’d quizzed her about not getting plastic surgery done on the scar on her arm.
“No, but I guess I don’t have a choice.”
“Thanks for your help. Now go back home and get on with your life.”
“Oh, yeah, great,” she exclaimed in mock delight. “I hear the New York Times needs a new managing editor. Or maybe I can take over Christiane Amanpour’s slot on CNN. I’ve always wanted to cross over to TV. I’ll make millions. I have no idea why I didn’t do it years ago.”
“Take care of yourself, Katie. And lay off the drink.”
He left her sitting there at the table, her head pounding. Five minutes passed and she hadn’t moved, just sat staring at nothing, because that’s apparently all she had left, nothing. Her ringing phone jolted her. It was a stateside number she didn’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Katie James?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Kevin Gallagher, features editor at Scribe. We’re a fairly new daily based in the U.S.”
“I’ve read some of your stuff. You’ve got some good reporters.”
“Quite a compliment coming from a two-time Pulitzer Prize winner. Look, I’m sure you’re busy, but I got your number from a buddy at the Trib. I understand you’re no longer there.”
“That’s right,” Katie said, then quickly added, “Irreconcilable differences. Why are you calling?”
“Hey, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that a reporter at your level doesn’t become available all that often. I’d like to hire you to cover the story for the paper.”
“The story?”
Gallagher chuckled. “At least the only story anyone cares about right now.”
“The Red Menace?”
“Nope.” He said. “We’ve already got a team on that. I meant the London Massacre.”
Katie’s heartbeat quickened.
“Katie, you still there?”
“Yeah, yeah. How would we work it?”
“We can’t pay what you’re used to at the Trib. But we’ll pay you per story at the going rate for somebody like you plus reasonable expenses. You break anything big I can go back for more. You have free rein on how to get the story. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like exactly what I’ve been looking for. I happen to be in Europe right now as a matter of fact.”
“I call that a kickass coincidence.”