So, Morgan and Sparrow had finally caught wind of his little plan, had they?  The elderly man sat behind a rather formidable desk and icily glared at the man before him, the one that had brought the news of Moore's failure to capture the two pirates.  The man obviously thought that he would be paid for the information – information that was useless.  Where the Black Pearl had been two weeks ago didn't interest him at all.  It was where it was now that concerned him . . . that and what the good Captain Sparrow had up his sleeve.  He had gotten word from Stephanopoulos' aide that the man had gone into hiding.  It had been either that or face the wrath of the small songbird.  But even sparrows have talons, and they're quick.  And they will attack larger birds without a second thought.  What I need to do is set a trap for this sparrow.  Not to kill him, but to cage him.  He still has a purpose, and after he has served it . . . ?  The man gave a mental shrug.  After that, perhaps I'll arrange a meeting between him and the navy.  Any navy.

   "Signor?  About the . . . compensation for my news?"  The man had nerve, he was willing to admit that.  Not much brains, perhaps, but nerves none the less.

   "Go to the kitchen.  My cook will give you something to eat and drink, and my steward will see to getting you what your 'news' was worth."  He watched the man scuttle out.  Yes, what your news was worth.  Nothing.  And that is exactly what you will be leaving this existence with.  Getting up from the desk, he smoothed back thick silver hair.  He had no time to sit idle if he was to take advantage of the news from Nassau.

   He had a trap to set.  Bait to catch.  And a murderess to discipline.