Sam spun away, flapping an arm behind him. "Al... smack him."

Without warning, Harry found himself cuffed across the back of the head and winced, turning to see Al innocently ignoring him.

"What Sam wants, Sam gets," he growled around his cigar, reading the handlink.

Sam, ignoring the both of them from the other end of the room, started up again. "Okay, okay, okay... so what you're telling me is that you're actually an FBI operative..."

"One and Oh."

"... okay. And you've been undercover in Narcotics for the police and the DEA?"

Harry ground out a high pitched buzzing noise. "Strike. Narcotics Task Force. It is DEA."

Sam looked confused. "Then how can it be NYPD?"

Harry lowered his brow, but his eyes were lit. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"About what?"

"About being this damn stupid."

Sam flapped and sighed again. "Al..."

This time, Harry turned before the crack could come and leveled a finger at Admiral Calavicci. "If you hit me again, guy, I swear to God..." But Al wasn't paying any attention to either of them.

He had something else.

"Well, well, well," he chided, sparing a sly glance up into Harry's face. "Looks like somebody's mother couldn't help but tell the world about her little baby."

Sam came up. "What do you mean?"

Al cleared his throat and began to recite. "This is a clipping from the Troy/Oakland Observer Newspaper in Troy, Michigan, dated June 2nd, of this year. It's a wedding announcement. 'Carolyn Meroult Russell would like to announce the joining in holy matrimony of her daughter Diane to Harold James Denby. The blessed couple resides in New York City where they are both police officers.'"

Al and Sam looked at one another in triumph. "I see," Sam began to pace the way he always did when he was putting things together. "If she'd have killed him, they wouldn't have gotten married."