"Those are excellent questions," the Scotsman said, nodding. Unnoticed at the table, the Greek took a glass of Scotch.

"The fact of the matter, lads and lasses, with one exception we don't know where they are. The war was a confused affair, we're still sorting through paperwork, interrogating prisoners, finding hidden archives. We will be learning new things for years to come, and that's even if no one comes forward voluntarily with information. We have analysts, archivists, informants working on this." 

The Greek took an appreciative sniff of the whisky, before a careful sip.

Farquharson continued. "As such, we couldn't possibly dream of separating you from your families, not for a long period. If we discover a potential lead, we will inform you at your homes and arrange for your travel. Your job is to be the, um, shall we say elimination. The collation and triage of intelligence will be done mostly by others."

"Alright, I will do it," Konstantinos Stavrou said abruptly, fingering his cheap tie and knocking back half the glass with one gulp. "Include me. I am ready."

The Scotsman blinked, taken a little back by the sudden outburst. "Um, very well." The Rabbi sat quietly, but looking closely, one could see the corner of the man's lip twitching in what just might have been a smile. "As I was saying, right now we only know for sure the location of one of our, um, targets. Essen, in Germany itself."

"It will be a gesture of your sincerity," the Rabbi said. "A good faith kill, to bind us all together with his blood."

"If we feel it was handled in a satisfactory manner, then we will happily present you with the other eleven names and what information we have available," Captain Farquharson said, running a nervous finger over his mustache. "An audition, so to speak. I know the Farmer and the Violinist are willing to participate, but you two. . ." He gestured to Astrid and Jean. "If you wish to leave this room, we'll not hold it against you. We'll happily compensate you five hundred pounds for your trouble."