Episode 3 - A Fantastical Vacation
Spying was a crime equivalent to treason. Conspiring with a foreign power to rebel against the state. Being recruited to serve an enemy nation. Engaging in espionage for an enemy country or aiding a spy—and so on. Treason was treated as an attempt to overthrow the nation, punishable with the same severity as rebellion, a major crime. Even those who assisted or turned a blind eye to spy activities faced the same punishment as the spies themselves. They were branded as turncoats, traitors.
In that light, Chief Researcher Fernand Nostrim—who had concealed his meeting with the spy—was a traitor.
"As per the major's instructions, Fernand effectively failed to report the spy to us."
The team leader continued his explanation in a calm voice.
"If he withheld the report to protect the spy, he'd be guilty of aiding espionage."
The conference room was deathly silent, not even the slightest sound breaking through. Only the team leader's deep, resonant voice echoed.
He paused for a moment, letting the silence hang, then pulled a cigarette from his pocket.
Chik.
The lighter flicked on, and a thin wisp of smoke curled upward.
"...Hoo."
He exhaled a sigh mingled with smoke, then stubbed out the cigarette without another word.
He turned to me.
"Did you know our team has investigators?"
"...I had a hunch."
Not every intelligence operative was a field agent. Whether in the modern world or here, there were specialists who handled spies, economic criminals, international offenders, industrial espionage, terrorists, drug traffickers, and the like. They wielded near-absolute power backed by judicial police authority—the so-called public security forces.
Given that Clevins Hendrick himself was a former counterintelligence investigator, it was no surprise that the people he'd sent were investigators too.
The team leader nodded slightly, as if he'd expected as much.
"For now, we'll investigate Fernand on suspicion of aiding espionage."
"I see."
Guilty or not, they'd drag him into an interrogation room, sweet-talk and pressure him until he spilled everything. Just as I'd anticipated, the team leader nodded and pressed on.
"Once we find out who he met, we'll secure evidence and expose them as a spy."
"How long do you think it'll take?"
"Hard to say. If we're lucky, we could wrap it up today. But if he clams up, it'll drag on."
Fernand hadn't reported his spy contact to the authorities all this time. The intelligence team's investigator pointed that out in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Whether it was blackmail or bribes, there's a reason he didn't report it."
"Is the reason Fernand didn't report it that important?"
"Yes. Even small details can help."
"Hm."
Seemed like the briefing was wrapping up. I jotted a summary on my notepad for my report, then asked the team leader,
"What do you need from me?"
He replied,
"Look into angles the investigators might miss."
The team leader had made an intriguing request. Check the case from outside the investigators' perspective. He knew I was an overseas operative. Why ask a field agent for help on a spy hunt?
Hmm...
I closed my eyes and slowly replayed the events.
The Magic Tower had sent a spy to the Advanced Military Magic Research Institute. Likely aiming for research data leaks and researcher recruitment. Classic industrial espionage.
Industrial spies leaked tech intel, business info, economic policies—industrial secrets. Companies often hired them to cut costs on R&D funds, time, and manpower. That's why private firms used them more than intel agencies sometimes.
So the Tower was after the institute's breakthroughs. But what exactly? No clue. They targeted Fernand, so maybe something biology-related. No leaked classified docs since access failed, at least.
The real issue: it all started with the leak of the research institute staff's personal info. Where did Clevins get that intel?
"What're you thinking?"
"Hyaah!"
"Kyaaah!"
A sudden voice from beside me made me jump and yelp. I reflexively grabbed the pistol in my inner pocket, but yanked my hand back upon seeing her face.
"C-Camilla Lowell? What brings you here?"
"You scared me! Why'd you scream!?"
"You popped up out of nowhere..."
Stammering in surprise, I watched Camilla Lowell pat her startled chest—twice, actually. Once she'd calmed down, she explained her visit.
"Came to tell you dinner's ready."
Due to the job, I rarely ate on schedule. Desk analysts or roving intel officers might manage, but investigators and field ops like me? Meals and clocking out were luxuries. And I was an overseas operative, to boot.
Of course, heavy workloads wrecked anyone's routine regardless of role.
Anyway, meals were one of my few joys.
"Tonight's dinner looks delicious."
"You like steak?"
"Love any meat."
Couldn't drink freely, long trips were tough, meeting friends even harder. If the food here didn't suit me, I'd have quit the intel bureau ages ago.
"Can't you just buy meat and eat it?"
Camilla Lowell tilted her head.
Still got some Earth vibes left, huh.
"Economy's bad lately—shopping's a pain."
"Recession?"
"Dunno the details. Just know prices are skyrocketing."
I knew exactly why the economy was in the toilet. Nothing special—just the world going to hell.
Pirates blocking sea routes, monsters wrecking railroads. Empire tied up in wars. Non-humans on long strikes. Terrorism, plagues, you name it.
Production tanked, supply couldn't meet demand, shipping and insurance costs exploded—prices hit the roof.
I knew this from a Military Intelligence economic report I'd seen during Church ops. Meant for econ bureaucrats and bigwigs, but they said learn it to avoid looking ignorant in public. One-on-one tutoring from an embassy econ attaché still made me shudder.
"Why're you shaking? You okay?"
"No, no. I'm fine."
I brushed it off casually and sliced into the steak.
"How'd the exams go today?"
Camilla had two checks today: morning health scan, afternoon aptitude test.
She beamed.
"Tried magic without a mana circle!"
She really cast without one.
"Heard the test range got wrecked."
What?
"Wha? The military attack magic lab's trashed. Target dummy incinerated, walls and ceiling soot-black."
Huh.
Clevins sighed in disappointment.
A facility that withstood bus-sized monster-busting spells couldn't handle Camilla Lowell's flames.
Very intriguing.
"Health's fine, but still no clue on the fainting. Senior and lead researchers are poking around, but they say we need the chiefs and heads released for a proper diagnosis."
True—can't function with everyone locked up. Anyway, investigation updates?
Oh, forgot the mid-report. I yanked out my notepad and briefed Clevins.
"So far, we've confirmed Chief Researcher Benoit Fernand of the bio-analysis lab met the spy but didn't report it. He rejected recruitment, but seems blackmailed."
Blackmailed? Got a weakness on him...?
"Could be cash, affair, or crime ties. Personally, I suspect Fernand leaked the staff roster."
Hmm. A groan came through the comms device.
Sold info, so can't report it now?
"Yeah, he might not have realized it was classified."
Then why reject recruitment?
"Figured it out late and tried to back out. If the spy gets nabbed, his crime surfaces—so no report."
No hard proof, but Fernand could've leaked the roster. As chief researcher, level-2 secrets were accessible. Explains no report.
But Clevins thought differently.
No, I doubt it.
"Pardon?"
Got a list of leaked names from our source. Looking now—Fernand's on it.
"..."
Not Fernand.
"Then..."
Means someone's already sold info to the spy.