Episode 5 - Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy
After wrapping up the investigation with the Magic Tower police at the scene, I returned to the diplomatic mission and received reports on the day's operations.
"The disguise as the wife seems to have worked out. The local police are treating it as a robbery-murder by an unidentified perpetrator and proceeding with their investigation accordingly."
"Source is the foreign affairs police?"
"Yes. And they've requested your appearance soon for a witness interview."
"Hm... fine."
I stretched out on the unfamiliar office sofa. It was the mission's office assigned to me upon taking up my post as military attaché. Pippin and Jake sat across from me, continuing their report.
"According to the counterintelligence exchange officer's report, all collected evidence has been disposed of."
"The target?"
"She's under detention in the safehouse right now."
"Don't touch her under any circumstances. Hell, don't even approach or talk to her if you can help it—just keep eyes on her."
I gave the orders to my subordinates and settled into the sofa, gazing out the window. The Magic Tower sky looked painted in pastel pink, and the sunset was sinking between the glittering city buildings. As I stared silently out the window for a long while, Jake finally spoke up.
"Uh... sir."
"Yeah."
"What now?"
I closed my eyes quietly, sinking deeper into the sofa, and muttered.
"What do you mean, what? The bait's all laid out."
I'd wait till the fish bit.
It was time to hook Fabio Verati.
Episode 5 - Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy
About a week had passed since arriving at the Magic Tower. I'd been handling only cover tasks at first, but now duties as military attaché were starting to pile up.
"Sir, if you could just step a bit to the side."
"Should I smile?"
"That'd be much appreciated. Alright, photo time! One, two!"
It wasn't anything too tough. My first time dealing with military attaché work, sure, but as a rookie rushed into the post with my status, I got some special treatment.
"Thank you for making the effort to come."
"Haha, no trouble at all, Director."
"I've heard a lot about you. Was worried with all the big players in this procurement project..."
The businessman extended a pudgy hand for a shake. He was an executive from a company bidding on new military gear contracts. Most of my military attaché duties boiled down to meeting military-related folks and getting my face known.
Not much different from my Church days. Mingling with suits at banquets, getting cornered by reporters for off-the-cuff "interviews," showing face at events. The form was similar, but the purpose wasn't.
Back then, it was all for Camilla. Now, it was for the nation and the military.
"S-sir, I mean, Advisor. You okay? Schedule looks brutal."
"I'm fine. Gotta do this much to pass as a real military attaché, right?"
Of course, I wasn't purely doing attaché work just to gather military intel or handle military diplomacy. My core role was spook, and military attaché was just the best cover for personal security.
Playing the part was merely to avoid contradicting my assigned identity—staying under counterintelligence's radar. They wouldn't hand me real sensitive attaché tasks anyway. I was temporary, and above all, focused on Military Intelligence Agency missions.
Basically, I was a figurehead.
I leaned back in the diplomatic-plated car's rear seat and asked Jake.
"What's next on the schedule?"
"Lunch, then a meeting with Magic Tower officials."
"Can't you go in my place, Jake?"
"Heh, no way. It's important—ties into the Hero and Saintess."
Protecting Camilla and Lucia was my job. Most of my attaché duties revolved around them, in fact.
No British embassy here to handle the Brit Camilla, no Church mission for Lucia. I was the only one who could look after them.
"Sigh. Stuck playing nanny when I never signed up for it."
"Nanny? They're both adults."
"Shut it."
Normally, something like this would fall to the UN or some international body, but unfortunately, that org was half-comatose (just a month ago, a continent-wide diplomat expulsion wave hit over spy charges). No constructive talks happening.
Plain and simple, I'd gotten stuck with it.
"Oh, right. About those relief supplies from the Church."
"What about 'em?"
"Customs had them in quarantine, but they got lost—or rather, stolen? Just got a memo from the Justice Ministry via text to the attaché office."
Stolen? How the hell does that even happen at customs?
I couldn't hide my bafflement, so Jake, at the wheel, asked Pippin.
"Customs got raided or something? Who did it?"
"Extremist group, apparently? That's the Magic Tower Justice Ministry's line."
"Ah, that one from the Foreign Ministry memo?"
"Likely suspects."
Customs sabotaged by civilians. Activist group or terrorists, who knew. What a mess.
I leaned against the seat and asked Pippin.
"Anything else, Pippin?"
"Number 51's in police questioning. As a victim's family member, looks like a routine summons."
Fabio Verati had finally gotten wind. I had a feeling contact was coming soon.
I nodded and continued.
"Good. And?"
"Police are demanding appearance for the witness thing."
"Blow it off."
"Got it."
*
The op to kidnap Fabio Verati's youngest daughter wrapped up successfully. She's under "care" by counterintelligence staff in their prepared hideout.
Essentially imprisoned.
And my deception op was progressing flawlessly too. Magic Tower police chalked Military Intelligence Agency activity up to straight-up violent crime, and the Tower's counterintel hadn't sniffed us out.
'The line's still live, looks like. Good.'
I'd been dragging my feet on the police's witness summons. Diplomats need mission coordination for foreign police interviews.
'Heard the news. Attaché office coordinating?'
"Yes, sir. Told them official duties make it hard to squeeze in time."
Officially, I'm military attaché, schedule managed by the mission. We passed word to the Tower to coordinate with the attaché office for max cooperation, but at my request (read: Military Intelligence Agency order), they played busy with excuses.
Passing the buck's standard bureaucracy, right? Solid cover, so I was stonewalling the summons.
Of course, I had my own plan.
'What's 51 up to now?'
"Confirmed she showed at the station 11 a.m., questioned till 5 p.m. Intercepts show she's on leave at home."
'Hm. So when do we move to phase two?'
"They'll reach out first soon. Latest, contact within two weeks."
Tech intel had Fabio Verati phone-hopping after hearing about the kidnapping. Police, counterintel, Justice Ministry, Communications Ministry—you name it.
Grabbing case files from police, intel from counterintel domestic ops, foreign resident checks via Justice, comms logs from the scene via Communications.
Flailing like a madman to find his daughter.
Fish was nibbling; I'd watch and reel him in.
"Analysis says he's half out of his mind. Not a psych expert, but voice alone tells it."
Clevins stated the facts flatly in his gruff tone.
'Parents stay sane when their kid's kidnapped?'
"You'd find one or two."
'That's crazy talk. Why you gotta be such a softie?'
Me, soft? Where's a nicer guy than me?
I was dumbfounded, words stuck.
"What? What'd I do wrong? I just followed orders."
'Didn't you plan it?'
"Well... yeah, but."
A tongue-click came over the comms.
'Sometimes you seem too much, like you think catching people is easy.'
"You're the one who caught and tried 'em, Colonel. Investigator, right?"
'Not what I meant.'
"That's exactly what I meant."
Clevins arrested and tried people; I roughed 'em up for intel. No wonder he didn't get it—different lanes his whole career.
Our styles clashed, so this reaction made sense.
Anyway.
"Drag it out, and they'll contact first."
'Yeah. Handle that. How's the hostage?'
"Not a scratch. Healthy as can be."
The youngest was fine. Locked up, sure, but untouched—even hair intact. Plenty of leverage.
"Guarantee safety in exchange for intel handover. Should let us steer him long-term. That's my take."
Hostage play, straight up. Hand over secrets or kiss the kid goodbye. Movie cliché, but intel agencies loved it—worked like a charm.
'Ongoing control... Kid's life on the line, but he might stonewall.'
"......"
'Plan B?'
"Well..."
Torture, kill...
"Plenty of ways. We'll make him talk."
*
Wrapped the day's schedule and headed back to the hotel. Swanky 5-star courtesy of the Magic Tower. Plainclothes cops patrolled the perimeter with spot checks; armed hotel security at the entrance round the clock.
"Good work. Surveillance stays on for now—head to the mission office starting tomorrow."
"Yes, sir. Get some rest."
"You too."
I sent Pippin and Jake off first and headed upstairs. Op success meant laying low on suspicion—focus on attaché work awhile.
Meals with Tower bureaucrats, photos with execs, schmoozing foreign officials. Time would fly.
Just surveil Fabio Verati. When he reached out, squeeze with the kid, dig into the Talent Development Institute.
Win-win. He reunites with daughter, Abbas gains diplomatic edge over Tower, I add a line to my service record.
Happy ending for all.
Except the Magic Tower.
"......"
Through the elevator's glass, I gazed at the Magic Tower cityscape—modern towers blending with old-style homes.
Each lit building born of someone's blood and sweat. Struck me: my spying could sway the Tower's fate.
Violating treaties wasn't light; Tower had more to lose than ever.
But exposing that fell to government and Foreign Ministry, not Military Intelligence Agency. Not my call.
Irrelevant to me.
Night had me overthinking. Dragging my tired body to the room.
Attaché duties ramped up tomorrow—lots to prep.
As I opened my bag to pack...
"......?"
Something off.
"......"
Bag open, I strode to the closet, checked hanging clothes. Shoulders, sleeves, pockets, inside jacket and shirt.
Searched the room thoroughly.
Moments later, a gasp escaped.
"...Fuck."
Bag contents rearranged. Hair I'd planted on clothes on the floor.
So,
"...Which bastard was it?"
Someone had searched my room.