Cointreau Resurfaces
On the other side of town, a good while after Rena Mizunashi and the others had left, she finally stepped out through the door herself.
As she pulled it shut, fate—cruel, meddling fate—arranged for her heel to land squarely on the transmitter and bug Conan had planted outside the door earlier, which had fallen to the floor.
"Hello. Sorry about earlier—there was a little... situation, but it's been taken care of now." Once she reached the underground garage, Rena took out her phone and called Gin to brief him.
"Right. Then let's stick to the plan—see you at ten, Gin."
At that very moment, Conan, still on his way back, was listening through the bug taped to the sole of Rena's shoe. The last name she called out rang clearly in his ear—Gin.
That Rena Mizunashi was a member of the Black Organization left him utterly stunned.
Never in a million years had he imagined that Miss Rena would have any connection to the Organization. And when he thought back to the genuine warmth in her voice as she comforted that little boy who'd been ringing doorbells, Conan found it hard to believe that this woman was some cold-blooded killer who slaughtered innocents without a second thought.
At the same time, the sheer, terrifying luck of it all thrilled him—an accidental brush with a direct line to the Organization's secrets. He was so swept up in it that he briefly forgot the promise he'd made to Xiayu and Charlotte about what they were supposed to do today.
First, Conan called Professor Agasa and asked him to come pick him up. Then he dialed Xiayu and, feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself, cooked up an excuse—something had come up, he couldn't make it back for a while, so the earlier investigation would have to go on with just her and Charlotte.
Barely a minute after he hung up, the familiar shape of the Professor's car came into view.
Before he'd even opened the door, Conan spotted Haibara sitting in the back seat. He shot the Professor a withering look and climbed into the passenger side.
Seriously. Hadn't he just told the man, explicitly, not to bring Haibara along?
Under the weight of Conan's accusing stare, Professor Agasa managed only an awkward, apologetic smile.
She was already in the car; he couldn't exactly make her get out and walk home. He had no choice but to let it slide.
Fortunately, whatever she'd experienced during that incident at the port seemed to have shifted something in Haibara. She didn't spout pessimism or try to talk Conan out of anything the way she used to at the start.
Conan gave them a quick rundown of everything that had happened yesterday and today, then kept one eye on the transmitter's location through his glasses while listening intently to the sounds bleeding through the bug.
Just past ten o'clock, he heard the car come to a stop—an indoor parking garage, by the sound of it.
Rena rolled down her window and glanced at the car parked in the space beside hers. Gin.
Gin was very obviously displeased that Kir had arrived late for their meeting.
"I'm sorry. I noticed some odd cars tailing me—probably those FBI people you warned me about yesterday. But don't worry, I took a roundabout route and shook them off completely," Kir explained.
"No problems, then?" Gin asked.
"None." As she answered, Kir's eyes flicked toward him. "So—can you put away that Beretta you've got aimed at me from behind the car door?"
"Relax. We've got people watching the whole area—if any suspicious vehicle shows up, you'll be the first to know. No need to be so paranoid." Out of nowhere, a clear, pleasant male voice cut into the exchange between Kir and Gin.
Kir blinked in surprise as a hand reached out from the back seat of Gin's car and clapped Gin on the shoulder. Gin's face went cold at the familiarity, but he said nothing—after a moment's thought, he even holstered the gun.
Kir's eyes widened slightly. I've never heard that voice before. Who is he? He must be close to Gin... an old-timer in the Organization?
Running through everything she'd heard lately, a suspicion began to take shape: this man might be the rumored Cointreau.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Cointreau." A gentle, good-looking face then appeared at the rear window, introducing itself to Kir—and confirming her guess.
"Hello," Kir said with a nod.
She studied him quietly—the man she'd heard so much about and never once seen—and found his appearance not at all what she'd expected.
She'd heard every kind of rumor about Cointreau from Organization members over time, some true, some not, but most agreed on two things: exceptional ability and a cold, distant nature. She'd pictured someone cut from the same cloth as Gin.
Instead, here was a young man who radiated warmth at first glance. But the illusion didn't last long. Kir's sharp eye caught it quickly: though he was smiling, there was not a trace of humor in the eyes that rested on her. They were a sunny gold, and yet looking into them felt like staring into chunks of ice.
Kir quietly raised her guard around Cointreau.
Then another car pulled up beside Kir's, and Chianti and Korn gave her a cursory greeting.
But the moment Chianti heard Vermouth's voice—Vermouth, sitting next to Cointreau—she couldn't hold herself back. She jumped out of the car, marched straight up to Vermouth, and launched into a one-sided tirade about Calvados.
Still, Calvados hadn't died this time—he'd only received some punishment—so while Chianti's resentment toward Vermouth remained, it hadn't quite reached the point where she couldn't stand the sight of her.
Chianti, Korn, Gin, Vermouth, and Cointreau...
As Conan listened to those codenames drift through the bug, he lowered his head, brow furrowed. They'd mobilized this many codenamed members for a single operation? Whatever the target was, it had to be enormously important to them.
He recalled the operation details he'd just obtained: time, one o'clock; location, Eddie P; mission target, someone called DJ. Who was this DJ?
And that voice—Cointreau's voice. It nagged at him. Familiar. He was sure he'd heard it somewhere before.
Conan racked his memory—and then, like a flash of white light, it came to him.
It was him!
The man who appeared out of nowhere at the Twilight Mansion, and again at the port!
So he was Cointreau.
At that realization, Conan twisted around toward Haibara, urgency creeping into his voice. "Haibara—have you ever heard the codename Cointreau?"
"Huh? I've heard of it, but I don't know much. All I really know is that he's an old-timer in the Organization, and apparently he only recently came back to the country." Though she had no idea why Conan would suddenly bring this up, Haibara searched her memory in earnest. "Beyond that, nothing. Why do you ask?"
...
"You're telling me the man standing next to Vermouth at the port—that was Cointreau?!" Haibara cried out in shock.
"Y-yes, that's what I'm saying." Conan flinched at how sharply her voice had jumped. Her reaction made no sense to him. "Is something wrong?"
"He's too young." Haibara forced herself to calm down and put her unease into words. "As far as I know, Cointreau has been in the Organization for at least ten years. But the man we saw couldn't have been much past his twenties. If he really is Cointreau, then..."