Chapter 45 Chapter Forty-Four

The BBC's headquarters are directly west of Piccadilly Circus in London.At this time, the switchboard phone rang loudly, and a junior editor picked up the receiver. "BBC," she said, snuffing out a Dunhill cigarette. The voice on the other end of the phone was rough, with a Middle Eastern accent. "I have a piece of breaking news that your broadcaster might be interested in." The editor pulled out a pen and a standard record sheet and said, "About what?" "Pope Election." She frowned wearily.The British Broadcasting Corporation broadcast a related news in advance yesterday, but the response was mediocre. It seems that the public is not interested in the Vatican.She asked the other party: "From which angle?"

"Did you send TV reporters to Rome to cover the election?" "I think so." "I'm going to speak to him directly." "Sorry I can't give you his number if you don't say anything." "The conclave is dangerous. That's all I can tell you." The editor took note of his words. "What's your name?" "My name doesn't matter." The editor wasn't surprised. "Is there any basis for what you said?" "Have." "I'm glad to hear this news, but company policy doesn't allow giving out our reporter's phone number unless—"

"I understand. I'll call the other broadcasters. Thank you for taking your time. Then—" "Wait," she said, "don't hang up please?" The editor asked the other party to wait, then stretched his neck to look over.While the technology for filtering out potentially harassing calls is by no means perfect, this caller had passed two unwritten tests the BBC uses to identify incoming calls.He refused to give his name and was eager to hang up, while the scribblers and boasters were always begging and moaning. Luckily for her, reporters are always in a constant state of worry about missing out on big news, so they seldom scold her for wasting her time on the now and then fantasy psychopath.It is forgivable to waste five minutes of a reporter's time, but not to miss a headline.

She yawned and typed the keyword "Vatican" into the computer.She laughed when she saw the name of the on-site reporter covering the pope's election.He was still a novice, and the BBC had transferred him from some London junk tabloid to deal with some lackluster reporting.Apparently he started from the bottom up writing editorials. Waiting for an entire night of ten-second video recordings would drive him mad with boredom, and he would be thankful to break the monotony. The BBC editor copied down the reporter's satellite phone number at the Vatican.She then lit another cigarette and gave the reporter's phone number to the unnamed person.