Prosser grimaced. “The final decision hasn’t been made to air the segment, short or long. There are crucial elements missing, including an interview with our subject, Mr. Bertone.”

Steele shook his head slightly. “When we’re certain of his location, we’ll tell you, so that Thomas and a camera crew can confront him. But Andre Bertone won’t give you an interview. It isn’t in the man’s nature.”

Prosser grinned. “No problem. Our audience sees silence as an admission of guilt.”

“Hold it,” Carson said. “Before I allow this network to air an attack on a man who is an extremely wealthy businessman-and a United Nations diplomat, according to Thomas-I want to see proof.”

Steele already knew about Bertone’s diplomatic credentials, but he was surprised they did. He looked at Thomas.

“Nice work,” Steele said. “If you ever want to leave television, come see me at St. Kilda.”

“Actually, St. Kilda Consulting is what we wanted to talk about today,” Prosser said quickly. “We’re a little, um, concerned about some aspects of your organization-”

“And how your company’s rather unsavory international reputation might impact ours,” Carson cut in. “There are reports spreading in the European press that St. Kilda Consulting is a private army that hires itself out to the highest bidder. This network can’t afford to associate itself with mercenaries. Period. That sentiment comes all the way down from the sixty-first floor.”

Steele looked at the researcher, who was examining her nail polish with great interest. “So you read Le Figaro,” he said to her in French.

Surprised, she put hands over the folder in front of her almost protectively.

“I assume you brought the article,” Steele said, switching to English.

After a moment the researcher shrugged, opened the folder, and said, “It’s one of Europe’s leading newspapers, not some rag.”