Episode 3 - Fantastical Vacation
As the meeting wrapped up, the investigators filed out of the conference room one by one. With fewer than ten people, the room emptied in no time.
"Hey, over there. Get us a warrant from HQ."
"Yes, sir."
"Yeah, good luck."
The deputy team leader massaged one investigator's shoulders as he sent him off, then scanned the room before giving a nod and closing the door behind him.
Click.
"…."
Silence descended. The quiet conference room, filled only with the sound of breathing, had transformed into a small, private chamber.
"Major."
"Yes."
"Could I have a word with you?"
Episode 3 - Fantastical Vacation
I'd half-expected some heavy, secretive talk in this weighty setting, but the conversation unfolded in a relaxed atmosphere.
"Here, have some."
"Thank you."
The team leader offered me a cup of instant coffee and took a seat. As I sipped the steaming brew, it suddenly hit me—this was Magic Tower brand. It was a bit comical that the people hunting Magic Tower spies were using their product.
"You've been a great help."
"Oh, it's nothing…."
"We're shorthanded as it is, and you've passed on intel too. We're grateful."
At the awkward praise, I calmly sipped my coffee mix, while the team leader stroked his chin in silence.
Slurp.
Still tasted like crap—no sweetness at all. So why was he dragging this out? I had a rough guess, so I chewed on the edge of the paper cup and waited.
How long did I wait? Just as the cup hit empty,
"Major."
"Yes, Team Leader."
He broke the silence.
"Could you do me one favor?"
"Go ahead."
"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like you to handle tailing surveillance for this operation."
It was exactly what I'd expected.
No matter how dazzling technology gets in the 21st century, human work doesn't change much. Every year, support departments and labs roll out new spy gear and tech, but field activities—covert ops, counterintel investigations, intel gathering—are the same as ever. The methods don't evolve. No matter how cameras improve or actors change, Sean Connery's James Bond or Daniel Craig's are still out there with a pistol, chasing tail. Intel agencies are no different. A prime example: tailing surveillance.
"You mean tailing?"
"Yes."
Tailing-surveillance, or tail for short, is a staple for intel and investigative agencies alike. It's mainly to track suspects' movements, contacts, residences, etc., and unlike wiretaps or searches, no warrant needed—handy that way.
"Handy in theory, but it's basically diving headfirst into the dirt. Murder on investigators."
"Haha…."
I got it as "spinning our wheels like idiots."
"You're asking me to handle the tail?"
"Yes."
Tailing was routine for overseas operatives like me, so familiar enough. He'd know that, which is why he asked. But what puzzled me was….
"I'm not an investigator."
Why ask me? Intel work overlaps sometimes—domestic spies flee abroad, or tech leaks from overseas hit home. Departments collaborate under support control. This case too: our overseas intel fed domestic investigators, and related agencies passed info to Military Intelligence.
But.
"I'm not an investigator."
This was different.
"As you know, I'm just handling liaison and support, not investigating like you or your team."
"…."
Direct investigation and arrest versus support are worlds apart. Tailing wasn't my lane.
"Chain of command, performance metrics, liability issues too, right?"
"…."
"If shit hits the fan, who's taking the blame?"
Sadly, intel agents are civil servants with families to feed. Discipline hits your eval, tanks promotions, sidelines you, forces retirement. No resume flex in our line—pension or bust. Nobles might skate, but common folk? Family side-eye, failed businesses, even recruitment by foreign agencies. We get touchy about accountability. Nobody wants to get canned from a cushy gig.
"Better request more detachments for manpower or liaise with other agencies—"
"No, no, that's not it."
He waved it off, cutting me short.
"Pardon?"
"Not about liability."
"Then…?"
"A bit political."
Every intel agency worldwide has subtle tensions. They cooperate for national interest, but overlaps spark friction. Legally, comprehensive agencies coordinate sector ones, but reality? Nah. Specialized orgs prioritize secrecy, turn insular, clannish. Intel's the most secretive, so egos run sky-high. Even bureaucrats strut. Shadow guardians? Pride's our armor. I know it's a spy, but egos still bruise. Overinflate, sure, but anyway.
Round up those egos, and turf wars erupt over "vibes" and dominance, beyond metrics or blame. FBI vs. CIA, classic. Korea too.
"How much do you know about counterintel, Major?"
"A fair bit."
The Military Intelligence counterintel team leader downed his coffee copy.
"Counterintel deals with civilians a lot—not just military. Defense firms, banks, corps."
"Yes, I know."
"Joint ops with police or other outfits."
Other outfits.
"Rivals, you mean?"
"Yes."
Modern states run multiple agencies. US has 16 in the community; UK, France, Germany, Israel, China, Japan, Russia, Korea—at least three or four each. Tensions simmer.
"Royal Intelligence, Cabinet Security Office, Special Investigations caught wind."
Us too.
"Pushing joint instead of solo."
"…Joint?"
"Yes."
The counterintel guy said.
"You're with the Church, so maybe out of the loop, but HQ planned quiet closure. Partial blame on us."
Hmm. As expected.
Magic Tower spy infiltrated Advanced Military Magic Lab. Means HR failed. Primary fault on lab's personnel and internal affairs, but Military Intelligence can't dodge—we handle vetting.
"Lab staff background checks and facility security audits are Security Division turf."
"Just field unit audits?"
"Mainly, but labs and defense firms too. Military-related."
"Hm…."
Picture formed. Sloppy Security Division or rogue staff? Either way, their mess. Media hit? Not "Security Division screw-up," but "Military Intelligence fail." Public skips details; press sells papers. Rep tanks, army trust craters. We're army intel.
Management flak inevitable. Brass get reamed in command meetings. Everyone fucked. Morale plummets, momentum dies, Clevins starts term battered. Rivals feast.
No wonder "rivals."
"But isn't the lab Military Intelligence turf? Why rivals meddling?"
"Really don't know?"
He eyed me oddly, poking at my gut. I twitched a finger.
"Why?"
"Hero's at the lab."
"…."
"Lab's ours, but not the Hero."
Camilla Lowell.
I'm army, but Camilla Lowell isn't military. Stateless (no UK here), but Hero status gets her lab exams. Problem: spy in the lab.
By regs, lab probe ours. Collaborate if needed, but no need now.
But Camilla's there. Royal Intel freaks—top-secret body/ability intel at risk to Tower.
Joint probe? Fair pitch. We're sector; Royals comprehensive—must obey orders.
But Military Intel hurt? Bad for me. I'm their op; power means support. They crumble, I do.
Just settling ops—HQ falls, I'm street meat. Happened before. Real talk.
Wrap fast, before suits flip HQ.
Selfish org-thinking? Maybe delusion. I pondered.
Could I tail clean? Nab spy solo? Judgment sound?
One sure thing….
"Spy's still roaming the lab, Hero right there."
"…."
Spy bastard messing near Camilla Lowell.
"What'll it be, Major?"
"…I'll do it."
Reason enough to grab the bastard.