Pete blinked. Had she just said what he thought she said? He looked over at Remy questioningly. Remy wore an equally puzzled expression.

A loud and very put out sigh came from the beautiful woman. "LeBeau and Wisdom, right?"

"That's us," Remy said, trying to shift into charmer mode. He leaned his hand on the edge of the cubicle mentally preparing a line to captivate this alluring creature.

She picked up a clipboard and slammed it along the edge of the cubicle so quickly, Remy barely had time to snatch his fingers away. "Sign here."

Remy glanced at Pete, who seemed to be looking at something else on the cubicle wall.

The woman snapped her fingers impatiently. "Do I have to draw you a picture? SIGN HERE!"

Remy dutifully picked up a pen just as Pete held up a nameplate.

"Your name is Aphrodite?" Pete grinned. "Seriously?"

"Why else would my nameplate say that, you idiot?" The woman glared at Pete viscously.

Remy looked up. "Aphrodite?" He looked at the nameplate to confirm. "You're k---"

Aphrodite flushed angrily then picked up a stapler. "I hear a fucking word out of either of you about my name and I will staple your tongues together!"

Two mouths snapped shut.

"Now SIGN in and SOD off!!"

Remy quickly scribbled his name on the form followed by Pete. The woman, beautiful though she was, was obviously unbalanced. He wondered who had assigned her to reception. He wondered if that person still had a job and decided they probably did. If Aphrodite was still working then whoever gave her the receptionist position probably was as well. Or maybe everyone was just scared of her. He could understand that.

Pete hesitated. "Where are we supposed to go, now, eh?"

Aphrodite snorted at him, making it clear she thought he had the brain capacity of a slug. "Down the hall, room 1056." She pressed a button and a previously unseen door opened towards the back of the hallway.

Pete and Remy exchanged glances and came to the mutual decision that discretion was the better part of valor. They headed towards the door they were directed to, quickening with each stride. As they entered the doorway, the door swung shut behind them with a dull thud.

"Is she pissed or just evil?" Pete wondered aloud.

"I'll go with evil. Pissed never looked dat good." He paused at one door. "Here it is. 1056."

Something in the back of Wisdom's mind again questioned his motivation for continuing. Sure, it's insane, he thought. But now they've got me curious.

Room 1056 was pitch black save for a few soft lights illuminating a desk, a table and a sofa. "Come in gentlemen, come in," a dulcet feminine voice urged. A woman came into the light and beckoned them in. "Well, come come. Don't hang about in doorways. It suggests a lack of breeding."

"Oh, I like her," Pete grumbled.

Remy chuckled lightly and entered the room

As they made their way towards the desk they became increasingly aware of the distance between the door and their destination. The room seemed to be cavernous in size, though it was hard to be certain due to the lack of light.

The woman waited patiently for them and they were able to study her as they closed in. She was tall and willowy and very attractive. I'm sensing a trend, Pete thought, stifling a shudder at the memory of Aphrodite. She wore a satin, floor-length evening gown the color of a sapphire with matching opera gloves and her golden hair was styled in the fashion of Veronica Lake. What the hell kind of place is this?

The woman nodded as they neared her. "Gentlemen, I'm very glad you accepted our invitation. Your names have been in circulation for some time but it is only recently that we thought we might offer the both of you an opportunity here." She turned to the table and stirred something in a large pot that sat upon it. She looked over her shoulder at them. "Fondue?"

Pete's mind worked very hard to catch up. Remy looked for a place to sit down.

"I see you're trying to acclimate," the woman smiled gently. "Understandable. Of course, you must realize that we approach potentials in a manner that is likely to compel them to come to us. We have taken people by force, but such things tend to get so very messy." She sighed and nibbled on a piece of fondue. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Martha Stewart. I shall be your contact for the foreseeable future."

Pete cocked his head at that. Remy rubbed his eyes and immediately sat down. Pete was certain he had heard incorrectly. "Martha Stewart?" He recalled Meggan watching some housekeeping show with that name.

Her smiled was schooled. "Yes."

Pete noted the look on her face, somewhat similar to Aphrodite's look of "don't say a word about my name if you like your parts still attached", though Martha was far less overt. Which made her more worth watching. Pete sat down next to Remy.

"Why the interest in us?" Remy asked.

Martha smiled again. "We make it a point to notice those who are good at what they do."

"We?" Pete was suspicious.

She met his gaze. "We."

"Look, what's this all about? Are we being offered a job? This cloak and dagger shite is wearing and I sure as hell am not going to sign up for another Black Air appointment."

Martha coolly returned to the desk and looked through some papers. "Ah yes, Mr. Wisdom is the foul-mouthed one." She leaned back against the desk and regarded them silently. "You aren't being offered a job as you tend to think of them, Mr. Wisdom. You're being offered a chance. If you take the chance, perform well, and desire to work for us further you will be offered a contract. I'm sure you will discover we are quite fair in our dealings."

"This whole bloody thing stinks," Pete fumed. "I don't have the time to waste on this double-talk and vague promises of what-not."

"On the contrary, Mr. Wisdom," Martha broke in, her voice harder. "You have nothing but time to waste. Your two previous 'jobs', if that is what you call them, are no longer available to you. You have no friends willing to stick their necks out for you. You have effectively burned most of the bridges of your past and the ones that remain standing you would probably rather die than cross again." She looked at Remy. "As for you¡¦ she shook her head. "You are up the creek without a paddle as well. If you choose to leave now, you are both free to go, but you will be showing a lack of intelligence and of foresight. Both attributes you are known for."

Pete leaned back on the sofa and folded his arms across his chest.

Remy looked thoughtful. "What are you offering?"

Martha nodded, noting how the two men seemed to work in unison, one continuing where the other left off. "We are interested in the acquisition of a certain piece of information. We would like to hire the both of you as free-lance operatives to gain this information. After that, we will see how things go."

"We'd need more information," Pete said.

"Does that mean you're interested?"

Remy and Pete looked at each other.

"I'll leave you to discuss," Martha told them. "I'll return when you're ready. Help yourself to the fondue." She disappeared into the darkness.

Pete looked at Remy accusingly. "You want to do this."

Remy nodded slowly. "Yeah. It sounds interesting. It sounds distracting. I like the idea of concentrating on somethin' other than me for a while." He stood and walked over to the table, peering into the fondue pot. "Besides, you want t'do it, too. Dat's why you're arguing so damn much. If you weren't int'rested we'd be long gone by now."

Bastard, Pete thought angrily. What am I, an open book anymore? Shit, I've got to get back to work just so I can get back to being unpredictable again. "All right, so what are we asking?"

"Typical stuff, really," Remy replied, smiling slightly at Pete's acquiescence. "What's the job, what's the pay, what are the perks?" He took an experimental nibble of the fondue and nodded.

"Who are these people?"

Remy grinned and returned to the couch. "Oui, wouldn't mind knowin' dat myself."

"All right," Pete jerked his chin towards the darkness. "So we're in.

Martha melted out of the darkness again. "Have we a decision?"

Pete stood up. "We're in."

Naturally, Martha thought with a vague smile. As if there were any doubt. She sat down at her desk. "Excellent. Now, are there any questions I can answer for you before we proceed?"

Pete and Remy grinned.

"First off," Remy asked. "What is this place?"

Martha smiled and gestured Pete to sit again. "This is Destination: Central. We deal mainly in acquisitions, with other projects on the side. Our research team is second to none and they've turned up something we think is worth pursuing. Which brings us to your assignment. There is information located in a historical site. Your job is to retrieve the information." Martha looked at them. "Simple, really."

"So simple," Remy agreed. "What you need us for, then?"

"Well, this is just a trial job," Martha replied. She leaned over her desk and opened a folder, arranging papers as she looked them over. "We want to get a feel for you and you'll want to get a feel for us, as well."

"What exactly are we looking for?"

"Documents of some kind," was the off-handed answer. Martha seemed more occupied with her paperwork.

Pete raised an eyebrow. "I thought these research wankers of yours were the best."

"They are the best, Mr. Wisdom. That's how we know the documents even exist." Martha straightened and smiled patiently.

"So what is it that we're fetching?" Pete pressed.

"It's classified information, Mr. Wisdom. If you are that curious you are more than welcome to have a look when you pick the documents up."

"Classified information that we're more than welcome to look at all we want?" Pete was skeptical.

"Well, you're going to look anyway, aren't you?" Martha smoothed her hair with one hand. "It seems silly to forbid it when you're expected to deliver it safely into my hands again. Whether it will mean anything to you is something else all together."

Pete sat back on the sofa. Makes a bit of sense, that, he thought. Not like I completely swallow this open door policy of theirs but it's a clever play.

"Should we expect any opposition?" Remy asked quietly, picking up his questions in lieu of Pete's silence.

Martha was quiet for a moment. "We are not without competitors. I shouldn't be surprised if you met a Raider or two."

Remy shared a glance with Pete, one eyebrow raised in interest. "Raiders? Who are they?"

"As I said, competition," Martha swished around her desk to sift through her notes again.

"No more information?" Pete inquired, a challenge underlying the question. "Your team not have anything on them, either?"

Martha looked up. "Mr. Wisdom, I dare say you are going to cause me to lose my patience one day."

"Tryin' my best."

"Yes. We have a great deal of information on every Raider our operatives have come across. We also have information on individuals we believe to be Raiders. All you need to know is that there may be an adversary to deal with. Beyond that is up to you."

Pete narrowed his eyes but didn't respond. Remy glanced at him then turned back to Martha. "So where you sendin' us?"

"Santiago de Campostela," Martha replied, sweeping over to them. "The Shrine of St. James." She handed them each an envelope.

Remy made a face as Pete opened his envelope to reveal a number of tickets. "We're lifting off a church. Ain't dat just a tiny bit blasphemous?"

Martha laughed lightly. "Don't be silly, Mr. LeBeau. I'm not asking you to steal the remains of the apostle. I'm not asking you to defile the cathedral in any way. In fact, it will go quite badly for you if it suffers any damage during your job. It's a simple in and out procedure." She moved back to her desk. "Despite the fact that your recent acquaintances had a tendency for large scale destruction I know this job will suit the way you two prefer to do things. Such mass devastation is not your modus operandi, is it?" She gestured to the envelopes. "You'll take a boat to Gibraltar and then a train to Santiago de Campostela. Everything is provided for you, as well as accommodations there, if you, in fact, have need of them, which I doubt. As I said before, I am your contact. You'll continue to be briefed on your journey but now you are on a schedule." She held out two cel-phones. "You'll need these as well. Keep in touch, hmm?"

"Which means we're dismissed," Pete stood up, stretching his arms over his head. "Right. Let's go, LeBeau."

"Mam'selle Martha," Remy cajoled over his phone. "Surely you can give us jus' a bit more information about our acquisition. Somet'ing what'll help us know where to start."

Pete stretched his legs and looked out the window of the train. Remy had been wheedling Martha for more information since the ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar. Pete took a long drag on his cigarette and listened to Remy work. It seemed to him that Martha was becoming somewhat fond of Remy in an adult liking an irritating but charismatic child kind of way. Pete wouldn't have been surprised if Remy actually got more information out of her.

He wouldn't have been surprised of Martha enforced radio silence until Santiago de Campostela, either.

Remy listened as Martha's voice chuckled softly over the line. It sounded to him as though she were about ready to indulge some more information. "I've long been a believer that perseverance should be rewarded. The documents you are looking for were hidden in Santiago de Campostela during World War II. One presumes they were being hidden from the Nazi party but one could not say for sure considering that Spain was neutral territory at the time. The age of the documents is undisclosed but they were last seen in 1940. There you are Mr. LeBeau. You and Mr. Wisdom may both chew on that information for a while. I'll speak to you later." The line went dead. Remy made a face at the receiver and stowed it in his coat.

Pete listened intently as Remy relayed Martha's words to him. He started to laugh towards the end. "In other words: Don't call us, we'll call you."

Remy nodded and lit up a cigarette.

"I'm impressed, LeBeau. You did it."

Remy shook his head. "Didn't get anyt'ing out of her that she didn't want t'tell. She's a hard one to work, neh?"

"Noticed that, did you?" Pete clasped his hands casually behind his head. "Very observant, you are."

Remy grunted in response and flipped through the very scant brief that Martha had given them. "Place of pilgrimage," he muttered. "Bones of St. James are supposed to be on display."

"Which means we'll be able to get in without too much trouble. Not that we look so much like pilgrims," Pete looked at his rumpled white shirt and black pants and tie. "But I imagine they get all sorts."

Remy nodded. "Tourists as well, neh?"

"It's an in."

"Would make it just as easy for these 'Raiders' to blend in as well," Remy pointed out.

Pete stubbed out his Marlboro. "Yeah, whatever the hell that is. A little more information there wouldn't have hurt. Maybe you should have poked Martha for that as well."

Remy shook his head. "Non, I figure I know why she don't tell us anyt'hing 'bout dese hommes."

"You figure you do, eh?"

"Maybe dese 'Raiders' don't fit a specific type, henh? Any group dat hire the likes of us is likely to have competitors just as colorful." Remy lounged back on his seat. "Mem'selle Martha say 'Dese Raiders usually turn up like so.' We look for what she say. If we don't know what to expect, we more likely to notice everyt'ing, non?"

Pete pondered the idea. "I see it, yeah. So we keep our eyes open. S.O.P." He paused. "You know the real problem is figuring out how to case a church filled with pilgrims and tourists. Where's something likely to be stashed to keep people from stumbling upon it by accident? Where's a good place to hide something where the SS weren't going to be able find it? It ain't likely to be on the bloody altar in plain view."

"Non," Remy shook his head. "Not likely. Guess we wait until we see the place, eh?"

"Thank God we're not here during that bleedin' festival!" Pete grumbled, hip-checking a passerby who wandered too close. "And quit admiring the architecture, LeBeau. We're on a job not a sight-seeing tour."

Remy sighed. "You got no appreciation for history."

"What I have appreciation for," Pete replied sourly, "is that I fancy a drink. Standing around mooning at a pile of old bricks isn't getting me one any faster. So let's get in, get the shit and get out. My hangover's beginning to wear off." He trudged towards the entrance to the cathedral.

Remy followed him and folded his hands reverently as he passed through the doors. "Dear God, deliver me from a sober Wisdom."

Pete found a spot at the back of the sanctuary that allowed him to survey the inside of the cathedral. He took in the sights with a somewhat jaundiced eye. Remy came up next to him crossing himself with the holy water that had been just inside the door.

Remy smirked as Pete stared. "Force of habit."

"Mm-hmm." Pete looked up towards the ceiling then took a long step away from Remy. "I don't want to be in the fallout when God smites you, ya bastard."

Remy grinned and produced a small map of the cathedral. "Let's start with a sweep. What area do you want?"

Pete settled down to look at the map looking up to identify specific points and judging the scale of the place. "So they've really got the bones of some apostle here?"

Remy shrugged. "That's what they say. They're up there." He nodded his chin towards the altar where a large statue of St. James presided over the cathedral.

Pete watched as what he assumed was a pilgrim went up behind the statue and put her arms around it. After the embrace she descended to take her place in front of a glass case. "You think the prize might be up there, too? It'd be well protected and hard to get to."

Remy screwed his lips thoughtfully. "Non, you had it right before. Dere's too much chance of them being found by officials of the church and whatnot. I don't think anyone would have hid anyt'ing in such an obvious place."

Pete shrugged. "All right, we'll go with that for now." He poked his finger at the map. "They've got catacombs down below and the balcony and such upstairs. You take the high road, I'll take the low."

Remy glanced towards the alcove that led to the stairs. "The balcony's roped off."

"Well, breaking and entering is your department, anyway." Pete folded up the map and tucked it into his pocket. "We'll meet out front in an hour and go from there."

Remy nodded with a smirk. "If I find the goods, and I prob'ly will, you're buying tonight."

Pete watched Remy let himself into the stairs alcove. "Bloody arrogant cuss."

Remy hovered in the shadows of the stairway and looked over the balcony railing to the sanctuary below. It wasn't the best view but he wanted to get a long look at the structure of the place before he started to really investigate things. It was a beautiful old cathedral with many things to delight the eye but Remy's eyes kept falling on the statue of St. James.

He watched as several pilgrims took their turn embracing the statue of the saint. Seems to me that statue is the key, Remy figured. Would it be down there? With all those people? He was beginning to worry that the job would be far more complicated than he had expected. He folded his arms and studied the statue in detail.

The statue appeared to be looking into the balcony. Remy followed what appeared to be the statue's line of sight. It seemed to be looking towards the back. Slowly, Remy positioned himself in the last pew so that he met the eyes of St. James. Now what?

He sat back quietly and cast a practiced and observant eye over every detail of the statue. It was several hundred years old by the look of it with obvious wear at the location where the pilgrims embraced it. St. James' hands were held away from his body slightly, palms reverently turned upward to match the serene and penitent expression on the carved face.

Remy's brow furrowed. Was it his imagination or were the tips of the fingers pointed directly at the pew a few rows in front of him? Remy straightened and lined his gaze up with St. James' and looked again. The hands of the statue seemed poised to lift the back end of the pew up. Remy smiled. This has promise.

The pew in question did not deviate from any of the others in the balcony. Remy hunched over and examined the area the apostle's hands had indicated. He ran his finger over the carved wood and felt tiny horizontal grooves. The grooves could easily be dismissed as a sign of aging, but Remy wasn't so certain. He produces a miniscule wire hook from his lock picks and delicately scraped the grooves on the pew.

On the fourth run he felt a catch.

A small twist and a bit of pressure resulted in a release and the top of the back of the pew loosened to reveal a compartment underneath. Remy tucked his hook away and gently worked the back of the pew to open. It didn't reveal itself easily due to the years but

Remy coaxed the hidden compartment open. Inside was an aged pocket folder almost buried in packed wood shavings. Remy pulled the folder out and looked inside to insure that he had indeed found something. The papers inside were yellowed with age and the script was foreign to his eyes. Looks like something Martha'd want, he mused. He shut the pew's compartment and stood up.

Remy reverently slipped the folder into an inner pocket of his coat, and patted the slight bulge satisfactorily. He grinned to himself and wondered where Wisdom was. He couldn't wait to gloat.

A phrased barked sharply in Spanish caused Remy to whirl around. His eyes went wide when he saw who had found him out. The one thing he had always had trouble with in his youth¡¦/FONT>