Author's Note: Super short chapter that really should've got tacked on to the previous one.

"But that's ridiculous," countered Valjean weakly. "Why would they use me to get to you? You're a public figure, for God's sake. You have an office in London, a secretary, business cards. You attend conferences that get publicized months in advance. You have two public phone numbers and an official e-mail account posted on a government site! And you're telling me they went through all this nonsense with dead rats and dogs just to have me call you up?"

"Apparently." Javert was frowning. "Any ideas why?"

"Perhaps they needed me to do it for them for some reason... Maybe they are too high profile to follow you directly?"

Javert clicked his tongue.

"What the hell does that mean, though, 'high profile'? A well-known con? Al-Qaeda? The US Department of Homeland Security? No, this is not the right direction. They reached you, after all. Don't let's think of who. Let's think of why."

"What on earth do you mean by that? You can't separate the who from the why!"

Javert shrugged.

"Sure you can. Proposition one: many people want me dead. Proposition two: Mister Smith of Smith-and-Wesson wants me dead. Conclusion: Smith might kill me. But it certainly doesn't have to be Smith."

Javert raised his eyes to contemplate the water streaks on the ceiling plaster.

"If they had continued to track you peacefully, they would've had you. You were doing a piss-poor job of evading them, and you weren't really protecting yourself and your turf too well. If they really wanted you dead, you'd have been dead already. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said Valjean.

"And my little incident with that young punk in Mumbai proves conclusively that I am also not beyond a sword's reach? So if they wanted me dead, I'd have been dead already as well, correct?"

"Correct."

Javert nodded. "Correct. So what does that mean?"

Valjean wiped his face with his palm. "That you're an infuriating man who refuses to talk straight."

Javert grinned, snapped him lightly on the arm with the rosaries and turned away.

"That's the ticket. Stiff upper lip, boy!"

"Would you just answer me? This is our lives we're talking about here!"

Suddenly, Javert twirled around, eyes huge and wild with excitement.

"Ah hah!" he exclaimed, gesturing towards Valjean again with both hands. "So you see it too, now?"

The confusion on Valjean's face made it plain that he did not.

"'They told me y'all were French,' Valjean. Don't you see? 'Y'all.'Both of us. Why would they say anything about me if they were really after you and you alone"

Javert clacked a bead with such force that the sound echoed off the bare walls of the room.

"They want us both together!" concluded Javert. "Whatever it is they want, they want from both of us at the same time. That's what all of this means. Now, does that put you in mind of anything?"

Valjean sat for a moment staring into his hands. "No," he finally said.

"Liar." Not an accusation - a simple statement of fact.

"...Yes."

"Exactly. That's why they want us together. It's the only thing that makes sense."

For a few moments the only noise breaking the silence in the room was the mild whirring of the ceiling fan. Then Javert turned around and went to dig in the pockets of his discarded jacket.

"I have a phone call to make. Let's come down to the kitchen. The speaker phone is there. I want you to hear this."

"Whom are you calling?"

"Someone I should've introduced you to a long time ago. Let's hope he's got his cell phone with him."