Episode 3 - A Fantastically Relaxing Vacation: HUMINT, the Flower of Spy Warfare
The flower of espionage warfare is HUMINT. Japan, plotting the Pearl Harbor airstrike; the Soviet Union, facing down the Nazis on their border; the German Empire, digging trenches against France—they all made masterful use of human intelligence. During the Cold War, intelligence agencies from every nation sent spies to engage in mud-wrestling mayhem against each other, but in the modern era, HUMINT is employed in far more refined ways. They utilize recruited informants, corporate expatriates, exchange students, overseas Koreans, travelers—ordinary civilians with no ties to intelligence agencies (so no diplomatic fallout if they're caught) as intelligence assets. But truly valuable intel is usually classified, and access to classified material is limited to high-ranking insiders. In other words, you have to recruit an insider to easily extract those secrets.
That's why we initially pegged this incident as an intel leak by a recruited researcher.
It wasn't.
"This case is a bit unusual. It looks like an intel leak by a trained spy, not a recruited insider."
The dispatched team leader's mutter made the internal affairs officer wipe away cold sweat.
"A—a spy, sir?"
"We can't be certain it's even an intel leak yet. But at minimum, this isn't the work of industrial spies."
"Ah...."
A strange mix of emotions laced the middle-aged man's short sigh. I got it—his head was probably on the chopping block soon.
"Proficient with radios and even using ciphers? It's airtight."
Even without the one-time pad, anyone pounding out 1,000 keystrokes in nine minutes was no ordinary civilian. A comms old-timer, for sure.
"What the hell is this...."
"You okay, sir?"
"J-just a moment."
The middle-aged man was sweating bullets, lost in confusion. Totally understandable. He was from internal affairs, the one who'd take the fall if security blew up at the research institute. Once the investigation wrapped, he'd be out of a job.
Of course, I was an outsider with zero accountability, just officially receiving progress reports.
In a perfectly normal tone, I told him, "I'll go file a report for now. We might need to reclassify suspects—why don't you two talk it over first."
Back to work.
I reported the institute situation to Clevins and spent the night reclassifying researchers on the suspect list until morning. New criteria: foreign travel history, overseas study, lived abroad, immigrant children, etc. A few senior and former researchers previously cleared were now suspects.
Total suspects: 479.
Plus interpersonal relationships, past activities, financial transactions, immigration records, dorm searches for suspicious items. Tons of work ahead.
We hammered out detailed task agreements through the night and grabbed breakfast. The officer mentioned his kid was graduating the Academy soon. Losing his job with a child finishing school—his middle-aged face was just grim.
Truth was, everyone was suffering. Researchers stuck as suspects, unable to go home. Internal affairs staff facing discipline soon. Military Intelligence agents pulling all-nighters on the probe.
Stuffy underground lab with crap ventilation—everyone was dying down here. They claimed magic kept it comfortable, but the air always felt thick and musty.
I was just exhausted from the grind. Sleep deprivation? Depressed, listless, bone-tired. Headache pounding; walk didn't help, so I chewed some painkillers from last time.
"Checkup's done."
"...Got it."
The guard's voice snapped me out of it. I forced my drooping eyes open and met Camilla Lowell in the hallway.
"How'd the exam go?"
"Yep!" She beamed and nodded, something candy-like in her mouth—probably from a researcher. Normally we'd warn against outside food, but the guards handled it.
"Any health issues?"
"Researchers said nothing unusual."
Today's checkup was basic: illness check, blood sugar, organ function. Simple stuff.
Originally, dozens of lead researchers were set to swarm her fainting cause, but they were all detained, so no dice. We'd do controlled tests with security soon—answer any day now.
Meanwhile, Camilla kept rolling that candy.
"Eat, rest a bit, then head to the testing room."
"Finally trying magic?"
"Yes."
All current tests focused on data collection. Abilities, health—pile it up, analyze later. Couldn't risk her in a spy-infested lab.
Three days till tests end and she leaves; then full investigation and analysis. Cleared leads join, results in a week.
And it wasn't just safety.
"Saintess election's today. Results probably day after tomorrow."
Lucia visits in three days. Photo op at the station announcing Hero and Saintess in the kingdom.
"Whoa, election all day?"
"Can drag up to three days. What kind of vote takes that long?"
Church elections—three days or a week, none of my business. I had three days of my own crap.
"Haa...."
Tight schedule; couldn't help sighing.
Not like I was doing much—just chiming in, reviewing papers. Most suspects detained or stuck underground, dozens guarding Camilla. No escape or assassination risk.
Comms jammed to block leaks, Intelligence decoding ciphers, massive probe incoming. Spy hunt smooth sailing.
Everyone busting ass. At least vacation soon was consolation amid the workload.
"Something stressing you? That sigh...."
"Nothing. Don't worry."
I forced a smile.
"You look wiped. Taking those nutrients I gave you?"
"O-of course."
Passed 'em to Pippin and Jake—they suffered more saving me from the Church. Now I needed 'em. Good stuff's not for sharing, huh.
"You need nutrients less than Camilla Lowell. Snacking daily...."
"Wh—I don't snack daily!"
"Think I missed those marshmallows you toasted this morning? Nearly set a fire—people were worried."
Sometimes Camilla seemed a bit of a loner. Eating alone, holing up. Heard she room-serviced at the hotel. Next she'd be picnicking on park benches—worrying.
Chatting away, we hit the cafeteria. Long line; she pouted, grabbing a plate. Offended about food talk?
Watch it next time. Loaded meat-heavy plate, sat—
"Major."
Agent approached.
"What?"
"Team leader wants you."
Damn, not till after chow? Grumpy, he glanced around, lowered voice.
"Cipher cracked."
Military Intelligence decryption team cracked the cipher. Cracking a one-time pad in under a day? Mind-blowing.
The process was surprisingly simple.
"Tried every cipher system we've collected."
"Impressive."
Impressive and utterly unromantic. Recycling cracked ciphers or brute-forcing known ones. Just... impressive.
But not special. Nazis never knew Enigma was broken till war's end; KCIA and NIS did similar for spy hunts.
"Heard they roped in profs for decoding—good it cracked fast."
"Luck."
Midnight puzzle profs probably home. Or cracking others. Not my problem.
Cracked meant we knew the spy's comms—and with our cipher collection as answer keys, we could guess affiliations.
"What's that?"
Pointed at team leader's binder.
He handed it over. "Decryption report."
"Oh."
Unwrapped it like a gift.
"Let's see."
Flipped cover, scanned. Neat 500-character block like a resume—pulled key phrases.
Unable to access classified materials.
Failed to recruit Professor Fernand.
Exploring other options.
Hero arrival scheduled.
Requesting instructions.
Spy infiltrated to recruit someone and steal research. Recruitment and access failed. Retrying means prof's key target.
Heard about Camilla's arrival, commed for orders. Ambitious bastard. Would've caused havoc if not caught early. Hang 'im before more bullshit.
Scanning report, bottom line caught eye.
"What's this 3-5 cipher?"
Tap-tap. Team leader: "Magic Tower cipher."
Magic Tower's precursor: secret society resisting Church persecution for centuries. Vigilantes, armed group.
Print media boom let them rally scattered mages continent-wide, expanding into power. Mages fought back.
Years of near-civil war; state figures (mostly military) backed them for magic's utility.
Mages with state support vs. Church—for survival, influence reduction. Decade-plus war.
Birthed academic view of magic; dawn of intellect and reason blending science/magic.
Emperor, eyeing potential, built them a base: today's Magic Tower. War HQ became cradle of genius mages/scholars; now R&D contractor, corporate entity.
Who'd'a thunk they'd pull this cute stunt.
"...Magic Tower sent a spy to our lab?"
Intelligence agent nodded.
"They have their own intel bureau?"
"Officially, no military or intel orgs."
"Hah."
"Official" means jack in this game. Private intel possible. Modern corps seed rivals with spies, outsource to PIs for overseas.
"Think Magic Tower has intel ops, Major?"
"Dunno. Never handled 'em."
First time; Tower's other dept turf, even in Kien south.
Irrelevant now.
"Why send a punk to Advanced Military Magic Research Institute?"
National military lab—the balls.
"Don't know motive. Just target: Professor Benoit Fernand."
"What's Fernand do?"
Shoved file. ID card inside.
"Benoit Fernand. Lead researcher, Bio-Analysis Division."
Lead, huh. "Cleared for secrets—worth recruiting. Day job?"
"Prof at uni. And... guest lecturer at Magic Tower."
Magic Tower.
"What research draws spies? Biology unrelated to Tower."
"No idea."
Team leader shrugged—clueless on lab details.
I pondered. Why military lab?
"...."
Tower monopolizes magic; here researches it secretly. Mages want lab's magic, magitech, something.
"Classified materials" = lab research.
Spy vet instinct: not using lead as asset for leaks. Recruitment is goal. Separate from data theft.
Scrutinized report. Spotted oddity.
"...Something's off."
"Pardon?"
Team leader puzzled. Pointed at line.
"Says 'Failed to recruit Professor Fernand,' right?"
"...."
"Failure means spy contacted him at least once."
Cipher sent week ago. Internal affairs locked staff, sealed lab on intercept. Investigated researchers all week.
Nothing.
"But we didn't even know spy met the lead researcher."
Team leader removed glasses stone-faced. Maybe pissed.
"Two possibilities. One: we haven't investigated Lead Fernand yet. Or..."
"...."
"Fernand met the spy and hid it."
If true? Disaster. We call it treason.