Episode 5 - Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy
In the dim predawn light, I splashed cold water on my face to shake off the drowsiness and slumped onto the sofa.
"…Yawn."
Skimming through the overnight reports that had come in over the secure line, it was exactly 6:43 a.m. Too early for work or even hotel breakfast. What to do until it was time to head in?
"……."
I pondered it, but nothing came to mind. Everything was already wrapped up.
I flicked on the TV.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
I switched off the TV and lay back on the sofa, closing my eyes.
"…All old news."
Nothing unusual today, either.
Episode 5 - Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy
I've said it before, but intelligence agencies are government organs. Like any bureaucracy, ops follow a set routine, and the day kicks off with a meeting.
Share overnight intel, set task directions based on handlers' calls, hash out details team-wide, disseminate warnings, and so on. Pretty much every intel officer starts the morning this way.
And us? Task Force 73, Project Castle, covert ops unit, call it what you will. No exceptions here.
"Morning, boss. You up?"
"Sleep well?"
"Yeah, you guys here already? Anything overnight?"
The quiet hotel restaurant. Midway through breakfast, Pippin and Jake showed up with trays and slid into seats.
"Yes, sir. All clear, thankfully."
"Good. Lay out the report."
And so the morning briefing began.
*
"HQ sent a memo this morning—says they failed to track Empire-side movements. Branch tried, but no specifics yet."
The Military Intelligence Agency couldn't pin down the Empire military intel outfit's moves. Specifically, they lost track of the agents tailing Fabio Verati's youngest daughter.
The Empire branch is notoriously the toughest in the agency—top-tier handlers and operatives thrown at it. So this? Straight-up weird. Assuming the branch is functioning, anyway.
"Figures, with the branch in the state it's in…."
"Network breach cleanup still ongoing?"
"Slow going, they say. One staffer went missing this time, and prelim detentions kicked off—everyone's laying low."
Last few years, the agency's overseas Empire branch has zero wins. Empire counterintel shredded the whole op.
Common worldwide—Western agencies infiltrating commie hardliners like China, Russia, North Korea, Pakistan, Iran. Starts light: surveillance, kidnap/murder threats, anonymous calls in gibberish tongues, dead animal deliveries.
Ramps up: dox your family. Go nuclear: stage accidents, assassinate or snatch you or yours.
Endless variants. Street brawls leading to arrests, honeytraps with agency plants snapped in bed (adultery smears), fake debts with goons collecting. Daily grind for agency embeds in the Empire.
Quitters bailed. Survivors? Dead, jailed, hospitalized long-term.
"So no way to ID who's tracking Number 51?"
"Nope."
Hmm. Too big for me—higher-ups' problem. No point dwelling; pass it to HQ.
"Drop it. HQ's got it. Anything else?"
"Magic Tower cops seem off our scent. Military attaché cooked up an alibi—your schedule that day was scouting high-risk zones. Plus witness from foreign affairs police on the saintess's aid visit. They're buying coincidence. Leaning robbery-murder or kidnapping, as planned."
"Solid. How's Number 51 holding up?"
Jake chimed in.
"Healthy, no issues. Nutrition fine. Hygiene's the snag."
"No shower there?"
"It's an abandoned factory."
Tsk. Snatched her as a bargaining chip, but she's filthy. Could amp Fabio's desperation, but health risks are bad news.
"No female staff? Or a cleaning artifact?"
"Like we'd have fancy gear like that. …HUMINT team's got a woman—send her?"
"…Nah. Leave it. Op's imminent; no extra hassle."
"Roger. When for the Number 51 debrief?"
"After the alchemist meet."
We finished breakfast chatting ops: Tower cops and counterintel, Patalia National Security, Empire internals amid detentions, agency memos, inter-agency briefs.
Camilla and Lucia came up too.
"Hero and saintess are hunting books."
"Can't the Tower hook 'em up?"
"Checked—old tomes. Libraries say nothing shippable: worn out, checked out, lost."
"Title? Might hit used bookstores—gimme."
As breakfast wrapped, a new topic bubbled up, slightly off-script.
"Oh, right. That preventive meet you mentioned? Set for this morning."
"Preventive?"
"The alchemist."
Francesca Lanieri. The alchemist sit-down was finally on.
"Next Friday lunch. Locked in, but coordination pending—could slip."
"Security and protocol snags?"
"Yep."
*
The alchemist meet was locked, but no instant face-time. Mountains of issues.
Biggest: security and protocol. Tower treats Camilla, Lucia, and me like heads of state. Francesca's a Tower VIP too—no skimping.
And the Tower's mid-protest riot. Extremists and groups blasting anti-gov demos (mages see Tower as sovereign). Unstable times, VIP meet? Location and security critical.
Lucia's Church-sent amps it.
But the real killer? Politics.
Church-Tower relations at rock bottom. Even if Lucia's "private citizen," centuries of bad blood run deep. Tower takes heat solo—no allies against Church and Empire fire.
Official Tower event gives Lucia VIP treatment? Disaster. Voter backlash inside. Skimp? Diplomatic whispers abroad.
Church and Empire go feral on world stage. No gov eats domestic flak to snub a saintess concession. Tower gets slammed internationally, protesters rage for Oracle heads.
No voter loves a gov punched by enemies without reply.
Checkmate. Damned either way. Politically fucked no matter what.
Church's trap. Someone draws the short straw.
Guess who? Me.
"Tower's in a bind. Even I see it."
I called the Church contact as defense attaché.
"Mm… gotta admit, we pranked a bit hard…."
"Prank? This is a prank?"
"Not full prank… just a gentle nudge…?"
To Veronica.
"Jeez… two nudges and you'd topple the gov."
"What's wrong? Perfect playground—no intel to cramp the fun."
"That your line?"
I snapped back curtly. Veronica's my informant, Church political player, international lobbyist. Only one who could fix this.
Or rather, only one to ask.
She knew it, answering with a laugh.
"Why call me early for complaints? And after bothering, just biz talk?"
"What else?"
"Our Lucia…?"
Why our Lucia?
"…No, I mean, uh."
"Can't even joke?"
I rubbed my face with my free hand. Church antics tangled the schedule. Tower's gaffes sparked protests, worsening their spot.
Blame Imperial Guard mismanagement for Tower independence talk, but politics judges results.
"Loser’s a loser. Results matter, right?"
World stage is politics too—no pity for Tower's thrashing. Their bad.
Like Veronica said.
I leaned into the comms. "Isn't it time to quit while ahead? You've had your fun. Week-plus, can't even see my soon-to-be teammate."
"Hmm… Church insiders grumbling too—too hardline? Empire polls worry Tower border aid cuts."
"……."
"Other nations watching. Church and Empire have politics…."
Translation: Church and Empire getting cold feet. Whispers rising topside.
I tallied mentally, gauged positions, relayed our Foreign Ministry line.
"Just bend a little this time. You've sucked 'em dry."
"Sounds like I screwed the Tower."
"You're the saintess."
Her laugh crackled through.
She knew she held cards—arrogant throughout. But I was desperate.
"Please. Do me this solid."
"Whatcha offering?"
"Name it."
"Hmm… dunno~?"
She trailed off teasingly, toying like a clown dangling then yanking candy from a kid. Debt kept her from crossing lines, but she toed them, screwing with me.
No panic from Church-Tower mess now—just smug, stringing me along.
Outdone a decade of agency scum.
"Fine. Sister's ask, plus debt—I'll play nice. Convince State Council for soft protocol. But you own security. Got it?"
"Obviously."
"Details tonight. Free?"
"…Not at dawn like last time."
Imperial Guard-level wouldn't storm a summit, but informant asks get nods. Evening deep-dive promised; call ended.
I wiped clammy sweat—or whatever—from my face. Felt a decade older.
"…Whew."
One psycho down; time for the next.
"……."
"…Yes, Sophia, international bureau."
"Where?"
"Merlo? What's up, calling me?"
"Meet quick. Face time."
