Episode 3 - A Fantastical Vacation
Misty fog shimmered silver in the predawn light. In a research lab nestled in a secluded mountain valley, bathed in faint moonlight, a hushed conversation unfolded in a small chamber hundreds of meters underground.
"Long time no see, Saintess Veronica."
I started by thanking my informant.
"Election season must have you swamped. Thanks for making time for me."
...Is this call secure right now?
"It's a secure line, so we're good."
...Glad to hear it.
Veronica's weary voice came through the receiver. In her soft, sulky tone, she whined.
Who calls at dawn to dump work on someone...? What kind of operation is that?
"Whoa, were you about to hit the sack? Sorry about that. It's just urgent."
I leaned back in my chair and chuckled dryly before continuing.
"Come on, the woman who swore to pay back that life debt big-time can't be mad about this. We've seen each other at our worst already, right?"
That's why you don't stamp contracts lightly...
Veronica grumbled in a thoroughly pissy voice. Calling at midnight to ask for intel? Yeah, anyone would be pissed. But she owed me her life, so her complaints came out more like petulant whimpers.
Be more considerate next time... Even the emperor doesn't call at dawn.
"Got it, I'll be careful next time. Anyway, where'd you send the info?"
To the embassy, as promised.
Right on cue, the fax machine whirred noisily, spitting out documents—the intel I'd requested. I grinned at the growing stack of papers.
"Thanks for the hard work, Saintess."
Treat me to a meal later... One question, though?
"Shoot."
Why do you need the Magic Tower's biology lecture audit list?
Episode 3 - A Fantastical Vacation
Every event in the world has causes and effects, and every human action has reasons and purposes.
The spark for this case was a sudden question that popped into my head.
After a meeting with the team leader, as I strolled down the hallway.
"Haa... How the hell do I track this down...?"
I sank into a hallway chair, lost in thought for a moment. We knew there was a spy, and we had hard evidence. But no clues to pinpoint the spy's identity.
Actually, that was par for the course. I knew it well, being a spy myself.
"Disguised as a researcher, probably..."
No spy worth their salt advertises "I'm a spy!" Spies carry forged passports and IDs, blending in as ordinarily as possible. Every intel agency pours resources into hiding their agents' identities. Even investigators can't be sure who the spy is—they just make educated guesses.
I pulled a crumpled memo from my pocket. It held the encrypted message the Magic Tower spy had sent out.
CLASSIFIED DATA ACCESS DENIED.
FAILED TO RECRUIT PROFESSOR FERNAN.
EXPLORING ALTERNATIVES.
Hero arrival imminent. Awaiting orders...
Scanning for anything that might be a lead, my eyes snagged on one word. Professor Fernan.
Why use "professor" in the comms?
All suspicions start with the smallest questions.
Why did the spy use "professor" in the report? An inexplicable unease hit me there. Call it gut instinct.
The question "Why 'professor' in the spy's report?" led straight to "Could this word link the spy to Fernan?"
"Hmm..."
Fernan and the spy might be in a mentor-student relationship. Fernan was now the lab's chief researcher, but he'd once been a renowned professor lecturing at the Magic Tower and university on biology.
But Fernan was the Advanced Military Magic Research Institute's chief, and he'd retired from teaching long ago. Still, no certainty yet. Even without a direct mentor bond, the spy might've used "professor" out of respect for his contributions to biology research.
As a liberal arts guy, I couldn't confirm if researchers really used "professor" that way out of respect. This needed verification.
As I pondered who to ask, some researchers caught red-handed breaking regs walked into view.
"...Jail or a slap on the wrist?"
"Whew, wrist."
"Alright then. Let's chat."
I rounded up the group and shook them down. Turns out, "professor" was respectful, but in the lab, chiefs were always called "chief."
"W-Well, if there's familiarity or a mentor bond, we might say 'Professor' off the record."
"Really? Sure about that?"
Not sure if this was institute-specific. But in the report, no reason to call the long-retired Fernan "professor" over "chief."
"Lots of staff here studied at the Magic Tower?"
"Yes, it's where the continent's top mages and scholars gather."
This world's MIT, huh? No clue as a non-STEM guy. Anyway, plenty had studied abroad at the Tower.
By now, suspicion was hardening into conviction, and other details clicked.
First, the spy failed to recruit Fernan. Second, no access to classified data. Seemingly unrelated, but something felt off.
Failing recruitment first? Doesn't add up. In intel, the ones handling agent recruitment are intelligence officers—I/O, handlers, controllers. They spot, recruit, and extract intel from assets.
Procedures vary, but basics: reliability check, access evaluation, double-agent risk analysis. Can they deliver? Trustworthy? Not a plant?
If viable, assess motives based on full background: relationships, family, career, upbringing, religion, politics, hobbies—even affairs, debts, crimes, kinks. Persuasion fails? Blackmail time.
"...Weird."
So yeah, a pro spy failing recruitment? Odd. Failures happen from sloppy recon—missing motives. But a comms-trained spy botching motives? Nah.
"..."
Handlers often get burned. They don't blurt "Hey, wanna work for spies?" but words carry subtext, people sense auras. No normal joe offers cash for secrets. So handlers dig deep—at least enough to gag reports to counterintel.
If Fernan was blackmailed into silence, it half-explains. But from my spy experience? Unlikely. He's under counterintel interrogation, uncooperative—not begging for help, which feels off.
Incident was domestic, at his workplace under heavy counterintel protection. Isolated now, no reason not to report—unless hiding the spy deliberately.
"..."
It clicked. If the spy's his student, old ties explain silence. Or spy knows him inside-out as mentor, tried recruiting, got rebuffed.
"...Makes sense."
Misty fog shimmered silver in the predawn light. Circumstantial evidence built a hypothesis. Thin, though—no authority or proof to pursue.
"Uh, hello?"
...Major? What brings you here at this hour—
"Know anyone at the Magic Tower?"
A few.
And luckily, I had a solid informant.
*
Misty fog shimmered silver in the predawn light. Solid intel arrived—key to nailing a prime suspect.