“The point is-” Carson began.

“Photographic prints can be doctored, particularly in this day of digitization,” Steele interrupted. “The prints I brought are computer reproductions. I have the original prints in my safe.”

“Talk to me about negatives,” Prosser said. “You can screw with prints, but negatives are real hard to fake convincingly.”

“When and if UBS agrees to my terms,” Steele said, lying with the ease of the diplomat he’d once been, “I’ll produce the negatives. I’ll also see that you get an on-camera interview with the photographer.”

“You told us he was killed,” Carroll said.

“I said someone was killed. It was the spotter. The man who snapped the photos is still alive.”

Martin grinned. “Okay! When can we have the interview?”

Steele looked at his cell phone. No messages. Damn it, Faroe, is it too much to ask for you to check in occasionally? “In the next forty-eight hours. But first you must agree to the terms.”

“Nobody edits my stuff,” Martin said.

“I wouldn’t care to,” Steele said distinctly. “But if it comes to filming any St. Kilda employees, you will disguise their faces, and in some cases their voices. This isn’t negotiable.”

Prosser grimaced. “But-”

“Not negotiable,” Steele repeated. “Martin has known that from the beginning. And before you think about screwing me or my employees, think about what St. Kilda Consulting is: a good friend, a bad enemy.”

Prosser looked irritated but didn’t argue. “What’s in this for you?”

“Journalists rarely inquire as to the motivations of a good source,” Steele said evenly. “Gift horses and such. All that journalistic ethics requires of you is the belief that my information is valid. It is.”

“We’ll be checking,” Prosser said, looking at Carroll. “You can count on it.”

Steele smiled. “I do.”