A Puppet's Fight for Freedom, Part 3
Now, the Syndicate possessed hundreds of mages who had just begun their journey down the path of magic. Most were stationed in London, with the rest scattered across key cities in the United Kingdom. This imbalance would only be resolved once I had swallowed the British Isles to some extent.
Every single one of these mages served me as the master of their souls. In a way, I was the sole partner with unlimited liability for the entire organization. Yet, the title and position of leader were not handed to me for free. It was a role that required constant proof through results, making it somewhat similar to a salaried executive. It bore a closer resemblance to a prime minister in a parliamentary system than an absolute monarch.
Thus, I opened the door to the magical path for my subordinates—a first step that ordinary individuals could never even dream of. They were now capable of wielding basic telekinesis, however weak, and a futuristic defensive magic devoid of any security vulnerabilities served as a means to greatly enhance their survivability. From the perspective of the frontline members, the mere fact that their chances of dying or getting injured had plummeted was more than enough to inspire awe and loyalty toward me.
But it was still not enough. I had to continuously engrave my authority and legitimacy into the minds of every single member. Therefore, I had no choice but to lead the campaign in person. There was no reason to let my most powerful asymmetric weapon sit idle.
The Northern Covenant Syndicate established a mage guild under a separate paper company and contacted the Provisional IRA, which was actively recruiting mercenaries. Although we had fabricated their history slightly, we presented ourselves as a newly formed mercenary company, keeping our rates dirt-cheap—practically a steal for employing mages. The mage guild used the cover identity of our Head of HR as its front man. Naturally, every single member of this guild was one of my subordinates.
Meeting with the Head of HR, I asked, "How is the work treating you? I was worried I might be placing too heavy a burden on your shoulders."
"Not at all, my lady. Have you not already entrusted heavy responsibilities to the other four? I felt as though I was the only one idling away, which made me feel rather guilty before."
His words were the plain, unvarnished truth. I had indeed assigned major duties to the other four pillars of the Pentarchy—the heads of Security, Information, Technology, and Finance.
The Head of Security had, by some twist of fate, ended up as my superior, while the Head of Information had infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and was now firmly settling into a stable double life. The other two were no different. Intercepting the inventory lists of relics from the British Museum's exhibition halls and vaults would have been impossible without the assistance of the Technology Department. Meanwhile, handling financial matters and multiplying the Syndicate's capital through the purchase of the Southend monastery and proxy stock trading in the City of London was entirely the work of Oleg Lazarev, our Head of Finance. Even before that, it was the Technology Department that had pinpointed the convoy's location during the Blackwall Tunnel raid, and the Finance Department that had managed our bread-and-butter smuggling and trafficking operations.
"Is that so? As long as you're fine with it."
Even putting aside fairness, it was only right for the HR Department to handle this matter. We had handpicked subordinates who showed a talent for magic and placed them in the guild. Thus, having HR evaluate their performance in the upcoming offensive over the next month and reflect it in their personnel records was a perfect fit. In this manner, the achievements and authority of those who had come from our Kaliningrad headquarters had to be continuously elevated. From an organizational management perspective, this was a point that could never be overemphasized.
After sending the Head of HR on his way, I immediately spoke with Rybakov. Since I had already declared to the other side that I would remain in Belfast until the shipment was handed back to us, meeting Rybakov in person was not difficult.
"How are our hired boys doing? I sent only those who are proficient with both firearms and magic. Was the other side satisfied?"
"Your judgment was spot on, as always. Their verdict was that our lack of history and established trust was more than compensated for by sheer skill."
"I'm not particularly fond of how they slashed our rates... but since we'll be taking over the IRA entirely soon enough, we can settle the score then. It's no big deal."
The mage guild, Equinox, which had the Head of HR as its front man, was ostensibly established ten years ago, in 1987. The backstory was that its founding had been resolved under a solar eclipse during the autumn equinox, hence the name. Although magic had little to do with astronomical phenomena, the remnants of crude medieval alchemy and astrology were still deeply engraved in the psyche of mages. Thus, it wasn't an entirely implausible setup. It also roughly coincided with when the Northern Covenant Syndicate's operatives dispatched to the UK had first begun their activities.
"You can put your mind at ease. With preparation this thorough, it would be harder to fail than to succeed. The Head of Information's work has been absolutely superb as well."
Just as Rybakov said, Delice had made immense contributions to gathering information on the IRA, not just the Ministry of Magic. Even though I hadn't asked him first, he had utilized his growing authority within the Ministry to obtain internal IRA documents. Some of these were files Rybakov couldn't access due to jurisdictional differences. Including these indirect channels, the number of official government documents the Syndicate could access had increased by several orders of magnitude since we recruited Delice. Truly, the more I thought about it, the more I felt I had found the perfect subordinate, bringing a proud smile to my face.
Nevertheless, I replied with a tone that showed no room for complacency.
"That is precisely when we must exercise the utmost caution. There's no need to wag a tail that's grown too long, is there? In fact, there will be several occasions where I'll have to step onto the front lines myself."
The fact that I would be stepping onto the front lines was no secret to the other high-ranking members of the organization.
"You mentioned you are still meeting with that man, McDermott. He hasn't tried anything funny with you, has he? He's quite infamous throughout the IRA for being a womanizer."
"He's still well within my expectations. Besides, he is now almost completely a captive of my Charm. Pavel was worried about the same thing—like father, like son, I suppose."
It seemed that for the first-generation members, the image of me as the spoiled, wild only daughter who received all of my father's love was more deeply engraved in their minds than my role as their leader. Since ruling solely with an iron fist would have its own side effects, perhaps having a certain portion of subordinates who remembered my childhood wasn't entirely a bad thing. I gave a soft smile and dismissed the meeting.
Just as I had told Rybakov, I met with the Quartermaster, McDermott, several more times after cutting into filet mignon at the restaurant and signing the supplementary contract to reroute the bombs. Although these were ostensibly business meetings to verify that quality control was proceeding smoothly, McDermott, dreaming of a potential tryst, seemed to have other ideas. As we sat in a hotel bar—him sipping whiskey, and me usually nursing apple juice or cola—I drew a dagger I had kept hidden all along. An ice pick concealed amidst the casual ice-breaking.
"By the way, Quartermaster, you seem to be planning something rather interesting. Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"
"Hmm? Something interesting?" McDermott asked back, slightly tipsy.
Setting the mood just right, I let slip a word in a slightly troubled tone.
"I am referring to 'Operation Demetrios.' Surely you haven't forgotten?"
As I leaned in slightly and locked eyes with him, his sheer panic was laid bare. Even the most composed of men would have found it difficult not to waver under such circumstances, so what hope did this idiot have?
"What... what do you mean by...?"
"Don't bother denying it. What would you do if I were to run off right now and risk everything to inform London of this?"
"Ah..."
"I don't know much. Only that you plan to stage some sort of armed demonstration in this city in the near future, and that you'll need the very bombs you sold us for it."
In truth, revealing this was a considerable gamble on my part. What if he panicked so thoroughly that he abandoned the operation entirely and threw everything away? There was no guarantee this man wouldn't make a foolish decision to undo all his hard work.
But I could read his mind as clearly as glass. He felt he had invested far too much to back out now. It was the classic sunk cost fallacy—like an investor buying more shares to lower their average cost even as their portfolio continuously plunged into the red. Knowing the irrational nature of humanity all too well, I grabbed the reins before McDermott's psyche could veer in a more destructive direction.
"Of course, I have no intention of doing so. The benefits of maintaining a positive relationship with the IRA and you in the future far outweigh the risks of exposing this to London."
"Is that true...? So, you won't expose us...?"
Look at him. The moment a way out was presented, he immediately tried to cling to it. I responded with a smile that had now become second nature.
"For us, it means gathering valuable real-combat data. Thinking about it coldly, we have no reason to refuse."
"..."
"The sea where our logistics company sells its wares seems to be turning red slower than expected, so having even one more piece of combat data means we can command a higher price."
"Is that how it works...?"
"That is indeed how it works."
He let out a soft groan. Giving him no time to breathe, I pressed on.
"Well... there were talks at headquarters about holding you strictly accountable, but the Executive Director and I held them back. We shouldn't be so short-sighted, should we?"
This was a classic good cop, bad cop routine. Though the bad cop didn't actually exist here, McDermott, who was practically my captive, now firmly believed I was the good cop.
"What do you want... Miss Irene Bronska, what on earth do you want...?"
The look McDermott directed at me was now laced with a hint of fear. I had known what I wanted from the very beginning. I intended to demand a position where I could closely observe the entire operation alongside my subordinates from Equinox.
"I want to verify the combat data myself, so please allow the Executive Director and me to accompany you on-site."
"At the end of the day, we are a corporate group. Even if our partner deceives us, we don't particularly mind as long as we can reap a greater profit from it. You can simply compensate us for the lost opportunity cost later, Quartermaster."
Ultimately, it was economic logic. A posture of: Since you deceived us, we will extract even greater benefits than what we lost. Since the only alternative was having their plans exposed to London and being wiped out beforehand, McDermott could never refuse my proposal.
The fact that I had absolutely no intention of informing London's Ministry of Magic was completely irrelevant to McDermott's decision-making. The only thing that mattered was the fact that *I had the power to do so*. Believing this implicitly, McDermott had no other choice.
"If you do that, we will never hold you accountable until the operation is complete. If you wish, I can connect you with the Executive Director on the phone right now."
I stood up slowly and asked, "Well, do we have a deal?"
All I could see before me was a male monkey nodding his head repeatedly.
With this, every single piece of the puzzle to swallow Ireland and Northern Ireland had been secured. All that was left was to fit them together.