Alexi took the bills, examining them, seeing the portrait of the British Monarch on them. "I'm sure that these will spend somewhere."  He stared at Elizabeth for a bit, remembering a lesson or two from his Komsomol days about the evils of reactionary hereditary monarchies, and their connection to the Feudal stage of development in human history, and how, one day, her revolution would come.  Somehow, given her visage on the money, it seemed further away a decade and a half later than it had been in that classroom in Leningrad.<br/><br/>He folded the bills and pocketed them.  "As far as I can tell, this island is either in a very degraded, decadent stage of capitalism, or a very advanced stage of socialism.  In either case, killing someone would be a legitimate means of gaining control of their enterprise."  He shrugged a bit.  "If we own the place, why are we carrying the bags?  Surely there is some lackey to do that."  Alexi motioned over to the exit.<br/><br/>"Tell me, Archibald, are you a Leica or Nikon man?"