“Shouldn’t we get the pair of them to a doctor?”

“Later,” said the Angel.

She looked at the semiconscious preacher. “He’s bleeding pretty badly.”

“You do what you want,” replied the Angel, returning to his chair. “I’m here to meet Santiago.”

She stared at Father William for another moment, then shrugged and went back to her recording equipment.

They sat without speaking for a few minutes, the silence broken only by Father William’s hoarse breathing and occasional curses. Then the door slid open once again, and Santiago entered.

“What’s been going on here?” he demanded, kneeling down next to Father William.

“Are you Santiago?” asked the Angel.

“I am,” replied Santiago without looking up.

“Your associate made an unwise decision.”

“Is he alive?”

“I’ll outlive that spawn of Satan!” rasped Father William, regaining consciousness.

Suddenly Santiago saw Moonripple.

“What have you done to the girl?”

“She’ll be all right.” The Angel gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Take a seat.”

“In a minute,” said Santiago, walking over and examining Moonripple. His hands found the swelling on the side of her head. “That could be a fracture there.” He turned to Virtue. “Have you summoned a doctor?”

“All in good time,” interjected the Angel. “We have business to discuss first.”

Santiago glanced back at Father William, then turned to the Angel.

“I want your word that you won’t kill them, however our negotiations turn out.”

“You have it.”

Santiago sighed. “All right,” he said, sitting down. “Let’s get on with it.”

“You realize that you are the most wanted man in the galaxy,” began the Angel.

“I do.”

“This is because you are the most successful criminal in the galaxy,” he continued.

“Get to the point,” said Santiago.

“The point is simply this: A criminal who has been as successful as you have been undoubtedly has accumulated a considerable amount of money. I wonder if you would be interested in spending some of it to purchase your continuing good health?”

“How much did you have in mind?”

“The reward is currently twenty million credits,” said the Angel. He paused thoughtfully. “I should think that thirty million will do nicely.”

“Thirty?” exclaimed Virtue. “I thought you were talking about three!”

The Angel smiled mirthlessly. “That was talk,” he said. “This is business.” He stared directly into Santiago’s eyes. “The amount is payable in full before you leave this table.”

Santiago smiled grimly. “You never had any intention of making a deal, did you?”

“I am a man of my word,” replied the Angel. “I said that if you came here I would make you an offer, and I have. What is your answer?”

“You go to hell,” said Santiago.

The Angel reached out with an incredibly swift motion, and an instant later Santiago fell out of his chair, blood spurting from his throat. He was dead before he hit the floor.