"A good question indeed." Astrid had remarked from her seat, her gloved hands folded left over right on her lap and leg crossed over the other, her back straight against the seat. She was wearing a Chanel suit, made of purple tweed fabric and black piping, black heels, and her scarf replaced by a string of pearls with matching earrings. Her hair was put up in a bun to complete her look. She had a glass of club soda that she had been nursing at the beginning, but had stopped when the subject of Ste. Christina had come up. The details, like the entirety of the war, were horrifying, and she was glad that there was no food, otherwise she would have left with a ruined appetite. She had been fortunate, as she had neither fought nor had she been in a country that had felt the brunt of the wrath of the Germans. She did not need to look in the men's eyes around her to tell her that when the subject of war and carnage was brought up. It felt strange to be here to begin with, discussing such a proposition, if she had to be honest with herself. Why she was singled out from all the people in the Danish resistance was a mystery, and she could only assume that she must have impressed or known the right person. It made Astrid uneasy that British Intelligence was aware of her activities, but the uneasiness could be ignored; it was a paranoia she developed during her time in the resistance, and of course the English had their fingers dipped in multiple honey pots. Still, there was business to discuss, and she bit her bottom lip to bring her back to reality. She picked up her glass again to take a few more sips; the bubbly soda felt refreshing, and cool.

"In that case, I suspect that what we would be looking for is proof of their death. These concentration camps were state secrets. I myself never heard of them until the news announced their existences; it was only whispered that 'enemies of Germany' were being taken to places scattered across Europe, if that. How many camps and projects do we still not know about? The Nazis were also burning files as armies were matching on their doors, from what I have heard. More secrets lost." She winced, and took another sip of her soda. Her gaze passed over each man in the room, though she lingered on the Rabbi a little longer than the others, before shifting to the glass in her hand. "I also suspect that we wouldn't be paid as much as we are to simply walk down the street and kill these people. Of course we would be searching for people in that wide an area--the widest of areas. And it is going to be troublesome. But that is what we did over the course of the war; we dealt with troublesome issues."