That Doesn't Count as a Result
Meanwhile, a notification chime sounded from Gin's terminal. He picked it up and saw a message waiting from Wanderer: Failed to bring back Kir, but the device has been planted.
Vodka, driving alongside, caught a glimpse of the message's sender and asked curiously, "Aniki, what's that message from Wanderer supposed to mean?"
Gin shot Vodka a glance before explaining. "I gave him an assignment. Once I got the location data on Kir, he was to go to Beika Central Hospital and bring her back. If he couldn't bring her back, he was to find a way to plant a transmitter on her instead — and the transmitter couldn't be discovered by the FBI."
"Oh, got it." Vodka nodded, though a trace of doubt lingered. "You think Wanderer can pull it off alone?"
That place was practically FBI turf — two dozen agents at the very least, and Rye Whiskey himself had once been among them. Could a single kid like Wanderer really complete the mission on his own?
"Of course he wasn't alone. I arranged for someone to draw off part of the FBI's attention."
"Huh? Who?"
Vodka ran through the members involved in the operation. Chianti and Korn were posted outside Beika Central Hospital with their sniper rifles at the ready, and Vermouth was watching the hospital parking garage exit. He couldn't recall anyone else being dispatched to the hospital.
"Bordeaux." Gin's lips parted, releasing an answer Vodka never expected.
"Bordeaux?" Vodka's face went slack with shock. "But Aniki, isn't he a researcher?"
"Hmph!" Gin gave a cold snort. "So what if he's a researcher? No results lately — nothing but wasted time and money. He might as well come help the action team."
"But... but I heard Bordeaux actually made some research progress recently," Vodka said hesitantly, recalling the news he'd picked up from Vermouth a couple of days earlier.
Could Vermouth have gotten it wrong? Could Bordeaux have no results at all?
But when Vermouth had told him about it, she'd clearly known exactly what Bordeaux's research achievement was — and from the look on her face, she'd seemed quite pleased with it, too.
Vodka would sooner suspect Vermouth of making a mistake than entertain even a shred of doubt that his Aniki could be wrong.
"That doesn't count as a result!" Even now, merely mentioning the function of the new drug Alhaitham had developed was enough to darken Gin's face.
"What possible use is a drug that makes clothes vanish or change their color?!"
"Well... yeah, no, it's — it's pretty useless, alright." Faced with his Aniki's pitch-black expression, Vodka agreed with a faint, guilty conscience.
This was the first time he'd ever learned what Bordeaux's drug actually did.
Truth be told, if his Aniki hadn't been sitting right beside him, Vodka would have felt a genuine urge to message Bordeaux and ask for a sample. He thought the drug sounded like a lot of fun.
Just then, another message arrived on Gin's terminal. He opened it:
Gin's face, already darkened at the thought of that drug's effects, grew murkier still — a thunderhead pressing down, ugly beyond description.
Then a second message came through. He opened it. Bordeaux again:
Paradoxically, Gin's expression eased somewhat. He read the message, tucked the communicator away, and returned to planning the next phase of the operation, as though Bordeaux's little texts meant nothing to him at all.
But beside him, Vodka's nerves only tightened. He had a feeling that if there weren't an active operation underway, his Aniki would already be reaching for a gun and heading off to deal with Bordeaux personally.
He didn't dare bring up Bordeaux again. Instead, he went along with whatever his Aniki said, and the two of them turned back to discussing the plan to recover Kir.
Before long, Vermouth contacted Gin. "Three dark-blue vans have left Beika Central Hospital one after another. So — which of the three is our target?"
"Understood."
Gin opened his terminal, ready to use the transmitter Wanderer had planted on Kir to pinpoint which vehicle she was in.
"The last one. Van number three."
The answer came quickly.
Receiving it, Vermouth swung onto her motorcycle and tailed van number three.
Gin then relayed the same orders to Chianti and Korn, instructing them to fall in behind Vermouth at once.
Vodka, hearing his Aniki call out van number three, had already turned the wheel and was following the transmitter's signal.
By now, Vermouth had closed in on the third van and was using her terminal's infrared scanning function to count how many people were aboard.
She soon had her results, and frowned as she contacted Gin.
"Gin, there are only two people in this van — one in the driver's seat, one in the passenger seat. The cargo compartment is completely empty. Are you sure you haven't made a mistake?"
"I haven't. That's the one." Far from wavering, Gin grew only more certain that Kir was in van number three. "The person in the passenger seat is Kir."
By the time he finished speaking, Vodka had pulled the car up alongside Vermouth's motorcycle, close enough to see van number three ahead, driven by Cameron.
Before long, Chianti and Korn arrived on the scene as well.
Meanwhile, Akai Shuichi and Conan — trailing some distance behind van number two in his Chevrolet, intending to throw the Organization off the scent — sensed that something was wrong. There was no sign of the Organization pursuing anywhere nearby?
They realized at once: the Organization already knew where Kir was.
"Looks like that boy failed to take Kir out of there, but he still managed to leave something behind."
Akai Shuichi eased off the accelerator. There was no longer any point in following.
Conan nodded.
He felt a flicker of relief — fortunately, they had always planned to hand Rena Mizunashi back to the Organization anyway. Otherwise, this operation would have to be written off as a genuine failure.
Still, he truly had never anticipated that the Organization would send just two people to face so many FBI agents — and that one of them would be a boy of thirteen or fourteen, unmistakably still a child. That was what had thrown a wrench into the FBI's plans.
Gin's group, entirely unaware of the situation back at van number two, kept hard on the heels of van number three, preparing to fan out and force it to a stop.
But in an instant, the van ahead lurched violently out of control, careening wildly across the road until it finally crashed into the guardrail and skidded to a halt.