"I am at a loss for words. My client has, in good faith, offered to talk to you about things he has heard and help the law enforcement community solve long-dead cold cases. Cases which you initially asked about. And now that we have basic agreements in place and he wishes to talk to you and give details, you suddenly declare that it isn't enough and wish to change the deal? I'm not sure what type of bargaining you are engaging in, but it lacks the needed 'good faith' to be taken seriously! I will not badger my client with your demands, and will be putting in a complaint with the courts over this type of dealings."

Inspector Deville of Interpol let the lawyer's outraged words fade away before he answered. "I believe you have misunderstood me, Mr. St. Clair. We are not changing anything. We are cancelling parts of the deals we have offered. They are off the table. Gone and not coming back. We no longer need your clients information, so I can hardly be expected to trade favors with you and him."

Captain Delaque, sitting next to him added his own version of those words. "Day late, dollar short. We aren't buying what he wants to sell."

Bernard St. Claire looked from one man to the other. "This is highly unorthodox. I'm not sure I believe you. I will need to speak with someone in authority. Someone with more authority. This is simply not done! My client is not going to work with you. There will be consequences, gentlemen. I know who to speak to on these matters. If you will not be dealing with my client, someone else will be interested and I will push to have him extradited to those locations to aid in solving old crimes and putting them to rest."

The Inspector waited a full thirty seconds for the lawyer to run out of steam, curious if he had any other cards he would put into play. "That is, of course, up to you and Mr. Seimovich. But let me emphasize a point. We were very interested. We are no longer interested. I'm sure you can think of reasons why that might have changed. Mr. Seimovich will find that he lacks a buyer for the first two items on the list, and the third item he has indicated he knows nothing about. The Captain and I are doing you and he a courtesy in letting you know that the need for such information is gone. Good day to you, sir, and please give Mr. Seimovich my best."

The lawyer sat with his mouth slightly open in disbelief and anger as he watched the two men leave the room in good spirits. Cutting deals to close cases was a necessary evil in law enforcement, and not one that everyone agreed with. In this case, closing doors that might have let Victor Seimovich walk away was more satisfying. So satisfying that they were off to a luncheon at the Garrick Club. It was an informal affair to honor the winners of the latest poker tournament. The unexpected third place showing of a team of newcomers had brought some excitement to the event and shook up the odds. With their job of disappointing a lawyer finished, the two boarded a waiting taxi to take them to their celebratory luncheon.

"Don't need to know? What do you mean they don't need to know? These are old secrets I am offering! Huge secrets! They came to us, asking for them." Victor was pacing on his side of the conference room, absently tugging on his orange coveralls that never seemed to fit right.

"Someone else is talking. I've spent all afternoon on the phone with...mutual friends...and my contacts all over Europe. Somehow, the word is out about your willingness to talk, and has loosened other tongues as well. A secret only has value as long as no one talks about it. I'm certain this was part of their plan. As soon as you agreed to talk, they contacted already incarcerated felons who might have information. They used you. Someone with the right information has talked and the two subjects that were of value in your case are now worthless. I'm filing grievances that confidential agreements were released and confidential information was misused. It can't change what has already happened, but it will negate their ability to do so again. If you have other things you wish to bring up, please let me know. But we must be careful with what we say."

Victor sat down in his chair, suddenly tired. "Someone talked? But no one talks. Not about these things! Not the people that I worked with. What has the world come to that they would betray me this way? I cannot talk of their third request. I know nothing about it. A myth created by madmen. The people responsible for those atrocities are gone. There was no fourth batch."

"Then, do you have anything else you can offer? You are looking at being in prison for a very long time, and healthcare is not good inside. You might never leave."

That shook Victor. Always before there was a way out. A way that didn't involve a clever escape plan and running for the rest of his life. "I will think. In the meantime, find out what you can about poor Belinda. I hate to think of her alone and without family. Family can open so many doors, don't you know?"

"I will make enquiries. This is a priority?"

"Spend what you need to spend."

A representative of the Mossad, another from Interpol, a helpful independent negotiator from Rhebus, and a Cardinal from the Vatican were sitting in a small meeting room where the first three were briefing the Cardinal on a decades old crime and a hidden grave. Cardinal Bartonella was in charge of infrastructure and repairs. He'd grown up as the son of a plumber in Rome and earned his degree in Civil Engineering before hearing a call to serve the church. The church happily put him to work as an engineer and over the decades he had added degrees in ancient history, archeology, and urban planning. The Vatican was a small city, and cities have problems. While other holy men tended to the soul, he tended to the pot holes, leaking pipes, collapsing roadways and saw to it that the ancient holy buildings were up to modern building codes. As the increasingly baffling story involving an Israeli undercover spy, Russian and Swedish mobsters, and a poker game was explained to him, he called for three of his assistants to bring the relevant blueprints and plans.

"You say that they buried him beneath a gas pipe between the tombs of two saints, sometime in November, 28 years ago? My, that would normally take some digging, pardon the pun."

The man from the Mossad wasn't amused, while everyone else laughed. "His family has wished him to have a proper burial for 28 years, Cardinal Bartonella, and hope that this can be accomplished in the coming weeks. We understand the delicacy of doing the work here in the Vatican, but plead that you help us bring this man home to Israel."

The Cardinal nodded, books were consulted, and marks made on the maps. Finally the Cardinal smiled. "Luckily, my predecessor was a stickler for details and keeping notes. This is the spot where they must have buried him. The trench was dug, but not filled in for a week after that. It ran between the tombs of Saint Thomas the Unbeliever and Saint Elric the Pale. The spot can be easily pinpointed, but I'm afraid I have some bad news, it will not be a matter of digging there and recovering his bones."

Everyone was silent for a moment. The representative from the Mossad began, "Cardinal, I must insist..."

Bartonella held up a hand for silence. "My apologies, I'm stating this badly. You see, that gas line developed a leak and had to be dug up again. In doing so, one of the men noticed the spot where the ground had dipped, creating a bend in the pipe that had created the leak. Further digging revealed a body buried in the ground, deeper than we believe had been dug before. This is embarrassing, but you must take my word for how fervent Father Genovese was. He was so certain of who he had found, and may have overlooked proper protocol. At the time the church didn't know of anyone else buried in that courtyard, but assumed he was a priest or cardinal buried there in an unmarked grave as a sign of his piousness and poverty. Father Genovese was certain it was the grave of Saint Edward the pious, the beggar priest of Scotland. He died on a trip to visit the Pope, and the Holy Father was said to have honored his request to be buried in an unmarked grave. We reburied him, according to his wishes, in an empty courtyard, but word got out and several hundred people a day come to pray there."

"Are you saying?"

"Why, yes, he was laid to rest and has been hailed as a saint for the last twelve years."

The Interpol agent had a half smile on his face. "A Jewish man became a Christian Saint?"

The cardinal smiled as did his assistant priest. "Not without precedent. You have to remember that the original twelve apostles were also good Jewish boys who became Saints. Don't worry, I'll start the proceedings and we'll have him home to you in no time at all, no later than the next Synod."