Chapter 9

“Thank you, gentlemen, for honouring me with your presence! We're starting!” She paused for a moment to give them time to think and analyze the meaning of the words she had spoken.

There was no sign of reflection on the tired, sleepy faces. Thomas was yawning incessantly, every now and then covering his mouth with his hand.

Michael, with almost navy blue horseshoes under his eyes and mournfully tousled hair, stretched all his muscles, disregarding everyone, especially the limits of decency, as if he had just woken up.

Jack was sitting in a rumpled shirt, propping his head with his hands as if it weighed a ton. He tried his best to stay awake, but he kept closing his eyes every now and then, then shaking his head, straightening himself up and trying to keep his posture attentive again.

Simon’s eyes were so red and swollen almost halfway down his cheeks that he looked like a panda or as if he had a boxing match the previous night with a heavyweight fighter who had trodden him in the ring. Being aware of his poor form, he tried to hide behind the huge figure of Adam, dreaming of a moment of sleep in one of the editorial nooks and crannies.

‘Picture like a bad party just before dawn!’ She thought, amused by the pathetic sight of ‘entertaining guys’.

“Mr. Wood, I am glad that you have honored us with your presence.” In a sweet and pleasant tone, she turned to the pitiful-looking journalist. “Please take this. Here are the tickets and all the information you need.” She pointed to the sheaf of papers she held up for everyone to see.

“At 4:50 pm, you have a flight to Geneva, where tomorrow morning there will be a small, unofficial motor show. The red sheet shows the names of the people you should interview and the topics of the materials that you should prepare.” She said with a poker face.

"Ah…" Carl stuttered, completely stunned. "I dooon’t... speak... goood French." He finally moaned, looking at the names, almost all of them indicating French ancestry. "Sooomeone elllse should go." He continued. “I didn't know anything about any trip, I'm not prepared.”

“Really?” She asked ironically. "If you had arrived on time for work, you would have had more time."

"I dooon't really knooow French." He tried to protest.

“I read your curriculum vitae. Impressive!” She thought, as if trying to remember some details. “It's a pity to waste your time! Your precious time!” She smirked.

Second by second, the atmosphere grew hotter. All the journalists woke up immediately. They surreptitiously exchanged knowing glances. They didn't understand what was happening. They knew one thing - they were dealing with a really mean witch. They had no doubt that they had actually named her properly yesterday.

They watched Carl carefully, with a lit cigarette in his mouth as he hurriedly packed his laptop and notes.

An unusual phenomenon, to be able to observe an almost forty-year-old, slightly balding, experienced journalist, to whom, apparently for the first time, someone gave an official order, with which he did not agree, but had to obey it unconditionally.

They saw that panic, this terrible anger on his face as his hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to calm himself down. They felt that a storm, or rather a tornado, was hanging just above their heads.

Who next counts a trip to the Kamchatka Peninsula, for example, because that's where some madman constructed something that resembles a car, or to another corner of the world?

Only Adam kept his composure and watched Carl thrashing with wild satisfaction. He felt proud that it was the woman who wiped the nose of his eternally dissatisfied colleague, who constantly held a grudge not only against him, but against the whole world that no one appreciated his talent, professionalism or dedication.

For three years, Adam worked with him in the reportage department. He shared a fairly large room next to Alex and Jack's newsroom. Many times, he was so fed up with him that in order to keep his dignity and honor and not to give him a blow, he moved to work with colleagues next door.

“Mr. Evans, could I have your attention, please?” Alice said, seeing the real terror in the eyes of her subordinates, of which she was, of course, very proud. “In five minutes…”

The atmosphere grew hotter and the boys waited breathlessly for what she would say. Where will she send him? Where will their friend go? Or maybe it will fly out? Or be dismissed?

"In five minutes ..." At that moment she glanced at her watch, increasing the tension of the crowd. “Please go downstairs. The car you were trying to write about will be waiting in front of the main entrance. I believe that you don’t have enough knowledge about this car.”

As she said this, she saw even greater terror in the eyes of the journalists sitting in front of her.

“You have two hours to get excited about the ride, the chauffeur will be sitting next to you!”

“What is that? Any private matters?” Michael couldn't be silent. At the same time, he felt a sharp pain in both ankles. It was Adam who was painfully diisciplining on the one hand and Alex on the other.

“Is that attempted bribery?” He still managed to choke out before getting hit another time.

“Mr. Johnson, any comments, suggestions? Would you like to share anything with us?” Alice said.

Only silence answered her. They expected absolutely everything, but not that the mean witch would let their friend sit behind the wheel of, as they assumed, her own car.

Thomas didn’t believe his ears. What he heard sounded like a fairy tale! Fulfilling innermost dreams. Yes, he had seen the car in the showroom, had a close look at the luxurious interior, even looked under the hood. There were so many people willing to go for a ride that he gave up waiting in a long line.

“Mr. Evans.” The velvety voice of the chief editor broke him out of his thoughts, but he didn’t understand the meaning of the words she was saying. “Go ahead! Have fun!” Alice tried to save the situation. Unsuccessfully. Thomas was completely unresponsive.

In the end, Adam couldn't stand the pathetic sight of his distracted colleague on which everyone else's eyes were fixed. He hit his buddy under the ribs with his elbow, recalling him to reality.

“Down! The chauffeur is waiting!” He hissed in his ear.

Thomas just realized that everything he had heard was real.

“I'm going!” He got up and, ignoring his friends or the chief editor, ran out of the editorial office.

After a while, the only sound heard was the screeching of the tires of the departing Jaguar.