“Better than going to church in the morning,” said the smiling journalist.

“I’d say that all depends on the sermon.”

“Well, in my parish, Father McGuinness has canceled services.”

“Consider yourself blessed.”

“He’s not the only one,” Ferguson added. “I’ve found at least a dozen other churches that will be closed as well.”

The reporter checked a pad for notes. Ferguson was a bit of a Luddite, refusing to subscribe to the marvels of iPhones and other devices. Grant could appreciate that, being somewhat of a technophobe himself—but it made him aware that Ferguson had done enough digging to compile a list of his own.

“Must be something in the holy water,” chided Grant, taking one last stab at getting Ferguson to look a different way.

“Or receiving the same call from the Yard earlier this morning telling them about a threat against the church.”

So much for that.

“I don’t suppose you’d care to share who told you this?” asked Grant.

The scribe gave Grant a look that screamed You can’t be serious.

“What do you want, Monte? You know I’m not going to confirm such a claim.”

“How about giving me a reason not to run with it in the Mail’s morning edition or popping it online right now?”

“How’s not starting a mass panic through London sound?”

Ferguson shrugged. “Just more news for Monday.”

Grant had to hand it to Ferguson. The man was most comfortable once he got a bone in his mouth. “What would you need to not print something before tomorrow morning?”

“An exclusive of some sort.”

“Some sort being what?”

“A statement by day’s end tomorrow from you acknowledging the existence of a threat that didn’t come to pass or an exclusive interview with details about a crime should it occur.”

“I think I can promise that.”

Grant felt Ferguson’s eyes focus in on him. “That was easy enough,” said the journalist. “Too easy actually. What gives?”

“I’ve had a long day, Monte. I expect an even longer one tomorrow. So I’d like to get some sleep while I still can.”

Grant started to move past but Ferguson shifted enough to cause the commander to stop in his tracks. “What time?”

“What time what?”

“What time do we chat tomorrow?”

“Monday morning.”

“I thought we agreed on day’s end.”

“That would be midnight. A threat on Sunday could be at any time.”

“That means I don’t get an exclusive in the paper until Tuesday.”

“But you’ll put it online with your byline within minutes of us talking.”

Grant watched Ferguson chew on that. Finally, the reporter nodded.

The commander was satisfied. At least Ferguson was a solid newsman who had enough integrity to stand by the veracity of his findings.

Grant was halfway down the hall when Ferguson called out.

“Would you advise me to skip morning services, Commander?”