"So that's it, then?" Jean Lemieux broke the silence while briefly rapping his fingers against the surface of the conference table, timidly avoiding the glass of Scotch that he had graciously accepted when the group had met for the first time. When meeting Captain Farguharson, his first impression that the gathering was some sort of business-related affair had immediately been dispelled. He had arrived that evening in a wool peacoat over a grey tweed blazer, it was chilly and damp as the fog rolled in off the Thames, otherwise he wore dark brown trousers and a white, button-down shirt and black loafers. Ste. Christina as a name meant as much to him as the other villages that he had passed through while en route to Stalag VIII-C, though it's sordid history struck an all-too-familiar chord with him. Pausing to reflect on what had been said over the course of the briefing, his eyes passed to the others who were gathered and finally rested on the nameless rabbi sitting alone in the corner.

"I have a few questions and I feel compelled to ask. What if this becomes another Bormann fiasco? These people could be [i]anywhere[/i] in the world, that is if they aren't already dead." Jean toyed with the crystal glass that he had set on a serviette, watching the golden brown contents swirl together with the ice that had melted. It was a shame to waste such a fine Scotch, despite his distaste for whisky in general; he took the glass and took a mouthful of the cool liquor out of respect for the host. It did take a bit of the edge out of the air as he felt the warmth spreading inside him. Shifting to an inclined position in his chair, he continued voicing his concerns over what he considered a rather inauspicious briefing,

"There's thousands of Germans being held by the Soviets, some fled to South America, too. How can we be sure they are alive? The problem is we aren't talking about Eichmann or Mengele, before tonight I've never heard of Ste. Christina." Jean finished coolly before rubbing his forehead sorely, he had a myriad of questions to ask but thought ill of hijacking the floor from the others. He was just as interested in their opinions, these strangers; two Scandinavians and a man who could only be described as of Mediterranean descent. All Europeans, save himself, though what skills they actually possessed was a mystery to him.