“I take it,” said Troy, “that you haven’t heard about Midford’s latest marketing gimmick.”

Christine flashed Troy a look that managed to convey both impatience with Troy’s roundabout way of making a point and preemptive disdain at whatever that point might turn out to be.

“Get this,” said Troy. Troy was the only person Christine knew who began sentences with a dramatic use of the phrase “Get this.” He went on, after a suitably dramatic pause, “Midford’s marketing people held a contest to select the Antichrist.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” muttered Christine. “And now we’re going to send a reporter to Katie Midford’s house and ask her absurd questions about whether she really was once a high priestess in a Voodoo cult, and how she responds to allegations that she wrote the original manuscripts of the Charlie Nyx books with the blood of an infant.” She turned to Harry. “You realize they’re manipulating you, right? They like it when you demonize them. It helps them sell more books. And movie tickets, and action figures, and God knows what else.”

“Be that as it may, Christine,” replied Harry, “it’s still a story. We’re obligated to report on it. And she’s right here in L.A. No need to get on a plane for once.”

“I won’t do it,” said Christine, shaking her head obstinately. “Besides the fact that it’s a completely manufactured story with no intrinsic value, I meant it when I said no more Apocalypse stuff. Armageddon, the Four Horsemen, the Antichrist… I don’t want anything to do with any of it.”

“This is what’s happening in the world,” said Harry. “You can’t pick and choose what news stories….”

“No, I can’t, but you can,” said Christine. “And you have, for the past three years. For some reason you’ve decided that all I’m good for is interviewing these Apocalyptic nutcases, and if that’s the case, then I need to find another line of work. Or start my own cult, maybe. After all, I know all the pitfalls. For crying out loud, Harry, just give me a real story.”

Harry regarded her sternly. After a moment, he turned to Troy. “What about the olive branch thing?” he asked.

“What?” yelped Troy. “No, she can’t… she’s never….”

“What olive branch thing?” asked Christine.

“I thought we were sending Maria on that,” said Troy. “She’s supposed to be flying out of Afghanistan any day now….”

“She’s still hemmed in by that damned warlord blocking the road to Kabul,” said Harry. “The earliest she’d be able to get to Tel Aviv would be Friday. If things continue to escalate, that may be too late.”

Troy’s brow furrowed. “Still, I think we’re better off taking that chance. Maria has experience with this sort of thing. Or we could send….” Troy trailed off, unable to come up with an alternative.

“What sort of thing?” asked Christine, becoming frustrated. But neither man answered.