The B-loot-ish Museum, Part 4
"Ugh... What do we do about this, Pavel?"
In a corridor somewhere inside the pitch-black British Museum, the Head of Information for the Northern Covenant Syndicate tilted her head and asked the Head of Security.
"We had no choice but to kill them the moment we crossed paths, but this is quite troublesome."
Even the Head of Security, on the receiving end of the question, didn't seem to have any brilliant ideas. They had intended to slip in as quietly as possible, destroy only the generators and the UPS, and slip back out. Of all things, why did they have to run straight into combat mages from the Ministry of Magic?
"For the record, I tried my best to stop them, okay? I kept telling them that assessing their strength was our priority, but these idiots insisted on picking a fight right then and there."
Delis pointed at the mages' corpses strewn across the floor as she said "these idiots." Pavel could see her gesture clearly—or more precisely, through the green-tinted lens of the third-generation night-vision goggles, a smuggled piece of syndicate gear.
"I'll take your word for it. But now that things have turned out like this, wouldn't it look incredibly suspicious if you're the only survivor?"
"True, but..."
"It wouldn't be ideal for you to be detained by the Ministry under any circumstances."
Hearing his concern—or what passed for it—Delis smiled with her eyes, a hint of anticipation in her voice. "What's this? Are you worried about me?"
"It's a matter of the syndicate, not you. You haven't undergone structured torture resistance training yet."
"..."
He wasn't wrong. If the Ministry of Magic began to suspect Delis, the very foundation of the young lady's plans would crumble. Naturally, they would have to prepare for the worst-case scenario in every direction, so the Head of Security couldn't help but worry. One wrong move, and the entire syndicate would find itself like a candle in the wind once more, and it was hard to be optimistic about weathering the storm safely this time.
Still, he felt a sharp, stinging glare from somewhere, though with all visible threats neutralized for now, it was surely just his imagination.
Enough complaining. It was time to find a solution.
Delis spoke up first, lifting her skirt slightly as she made a proposal. "By the way, Pavel, is the thigh a relatively safe spot? Non-lethal?"
"You'd have to avoid the femoral artery, but compared to major organs in the digestive or respiratory systems, yes. Why do you ask all of a sudden?"
At his answer, Delis spoke with a look of grim determination.
"Shoot me. But make it hurt as little as possible."
"Are you serious?"
"I'm always serious. If it clears me of suspicion, it's a net positive for us. Besides, who else could I ask to do this but you? The fem... what was it again?"
"Femoral artery."
"Right. You're the only one I trust to shoot me carefully enough to miss it."
Pavel let out a heavy sigh. "And then what?"
"Simply saying I got hit by a stray bullet during the firefight... won't be enough. If all the other mages are dead and I'm the sole survivor, they'll definitely suspect something."
He couldn't deny that. They desperately needed a follow-up move that would completely dispel any doubt. Without waiting for Pavel's reply, Delis continued.
"So, I'm going to head toward Lady Yerina."
"To the young lady?"
"A scenario where, even with blood dripping from my thigh, I dragged my limping body to confront the culprit trying to steal the national artifact... sounds rather compelling, don't you think?"
"Wait, does that mean—"
"It's also a way to solidify my position within the Ministry of Magic even further."
He sighed again. Why did his superior and his colleague both seem to enjoy living on the edge like this? Yet, her logic was undeniably sound, even if it meant she had a reckless disregard for her own safety.
As the Head of Security, however, he had no other choice but to indulge the Head of Information's childish stubbornness.
Pavel clicked his tongue and made one final check.
"Even if it's not life-threatening, you'll be hospitalized for at least four or five days. And you'll be on medication for weeks after that. Are you truly prepared for this?"
"Of course. I knew what I was getting into."
Delis showed unwavering resolve. Since there was no turning back now, the best Pavel could do was offer a few practical tips.
"You don't need to stand so far back. It's a subsonic round anyway, so shooting you from close range actually minimizes the margin of error."
"Okay, I trust you."
"And there's no need to lift your skirt. Who gets shot like that in the middle of a battle?"
"Ah, right..."
It was Delis's first time staging something like this, so she was understandably a bit awkward. Still, in Pavel's eyes, she was doing a decent job for a beginner.
Even if this is what she wants... we need to minimize her time away from work.
The Head of Information's responsibilities within the syndicate were vast. While she was hospitalized, even if the other chiefs and the young lady divided her workload among themselves, the Information Department would practically grind to a halt. He had to make the shot as clean and non-lethal as possible. He would aim for the thigh, but completely avoid the artery and the bone.
Thus, when Delis said, "You're the only one I trust to shoot me carefully," she meant exactly that. There was absolutely no room for any other interpretation.
"Bloomfeld, hold still."
Leaving behind the groan that escaped her lips the instant the trigger was pulled, Pavel and his strike team quickly vanished down the corridor.
Something utterly unacceptable had occurred. It was not merely unacceptable; it was something that could never be tolerated.
An unprecedented crisis. A terrorist group had infiltrated the very heart of the Empire and stolen a national artifact in its entirety.
Even setting aside magical politics, the theft of the British Museum's crown jewel meant that a massive uproar was inevitable, not just within the British magical community but among the general public as well.
In fact, the chaos among the latter was bound to be far worse. Compared to the handful of mages, the civilian population numbered sixty million.
"Lord Ashford, Her Majesty's government will not back down from its current stance until we receive a satisfactory explanation from you."
At 10 Downing Street, one of the few places that governed not just the British Empire but the entire world, the elderly female Prime Minister directed her polite yet icy fury at the Minister of Magic.
"Prime Minister, as I have said repeatedly, this was akin to a natural disaster. The Ministry did everything in its power during the incident."
Even conceding a hundred times over that failing to foresee the attack was the Ministry's fault, the Marquis believed that their response on the day itself should not be questioned.
And indeed, that was the case. Although the combat mages dispatched to the museum had fallen after a fierce battle, a newly appointed talent sent for administrative duties had survived to become a crucial witness.
"Ha! So you are saying you cannot take responsibility? No matter how secretive your department is to the public, that is hardly a fitting response from a Minister, is it?"
"Prime Minister, your words could easily be misunderstood by an outsider."
"Misunderstood, Marquis?"
"Although she is currently unconscious and hospitalized at St. Thomas' Hospital, we have a survivor who confronted the culprit face-to-face. Once Miss Bloomfeld regains consciousness, everything will be resolved."
It was nothing short of a miracle. Delis Bloomfeld was the sole Ministry official to survive an encounter with the culprit—or rather, their group. Despite being shot in the thigh, the bullet had completely missed both her artery and bone. Though she was unconscious, the doctor's diagnosis attributed it simply to accumulated fatigue from overwork.
An excessive workload was a chronic disease plaguing the entire Ministry of Magic, so it seemed like a good opportunity for her to get some rest. Once she returned, a mountain of paperwork would undoubtedly be waiting for her.
Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, who had been taking such a hard line with the Marquis, softened slightly at the mention of Bloomfeld's name. After all, following in the footsteps of her father, a former Chief Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police, the daughter was literally working herself to the bone for the Empire.
Judging by the trail of blood leading from the museum corridor, it was assumed that Bloomfeld, despite her limping leg, had dragged herself toward the exhibition hall with the sole determination to protect the Rosetta Stone. Who could possibly criticize such a patriot?
"Very well, Marquis. Let us leave it at that for now. But we cannot leave everything on the shoulders of a single person, can we? We need a plausible explanation to satisfy the public."
To make matters worse, several unexploded homemade bombs, clearly smuggled from Northern Ireland, had been discovered on the scene. It had been a mere twelve days since she had delivered a national address calling for a hardline response against the IRA. At this rate, her approval ratings, which had already crossed into a dead-cross, were bound to plummet even further.
But the Marquis scoffed inwardly. What a tenacious old hag, unable to let go of power even after securing an unprecedented fifth term. Her desire to make the public understand the theft of the Rosetta Stone was, in the end, nothing more than a bid to preserve her own political survival.
Even if he was thirty years older than the Prime Minister, there was no contradiction in him calling Margaret Thatcher an old crone.
This is why guardians of ochlocracy are so tiresome...
As was typical of mages, a deep-seated distrust of elected politicians was practically hardwired into his brain. A sense of elitism was practically a basic requirement for any mage. To a high-ranking noble, democracy remained an incomprehensible concept. Why on earth did they have to justify anything to the common rabble?
Besides, if one were to trace the root cause, wasn't the government far more to blame for insisting on displaying a national artifact out in the open in a public museum? Indeed, none of the other artifacts kept in the deep vaults had been touched. Magical relics belonged under the direct custody of mages.
Leaving the management of national artifacts to those ignorant of the magical arts was precisely why this disaster had occurred. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Though even Lord Dunhaven himself had not expected it to arrive so suddenly, and in such a violent manner.
Regardless of his private thoughts, the woman standing before him was technically his superior in the government hierarchy. Swallowing his irritation, the Marquis replied.
"Indeed. It may be a natural disaster to us, but the public will hardly see it that way. Rest assured, the finest minds of the Ministry are working day and night to uncover the culprits."
Of course, even without pointing it out, the identity of the mastermind was as clear as day.
"It must be those people from the Soviet Union, isn't it? What on earth is the Ministry doing to not have found a single trace...?"
And isn't the same true for MI5 and MI6?
That organization—the Northern Covenant Syndicate—certainly didn't handle everything through "magical" means. Matters outside the Ministry's jurisdiction were supposed to be handled by the Imperial government. Both sides had come up completely empty-handed, yet she chose to throw a tantrum only at the Ministry. It made it seem as though mages were being pushed around by ordinary humans who existed outside the magical path.
To the Marquis, who was absolutely convinced of the "superiority" of mages, this was an intolerable insult.
Still, they had managed to secure the footage up until the power outage cut the CCTV feed. Just before the blackout, there were exactly 149 visitors in the Great Court, excluding museum staff. Among them, they could launch a targeted investigation focusing on suspicious individuals, whether Eastern Bloc tourists or suspicious locals. Lord Dunhaven had already received a pre-filtered list.
"Do not worry. We have already obtained the list of visitors who remained in the museum until the very end. We will have a lead shortly."
"If that is the case, nothing would please me more. And my trust in you, Marquis, would be restored."
In a way, this was a blessing in disguise. They could turn this crisis into an opportunity, seize that organization by the throat, and use them as a frontline penal unit against the Russian Reds. Judging by their sheer competence, they were certainly no ordinary group. Although he hadn't visited the scene yet, the written reports alone had been chilling.
He would point the blade of such talented individuals toward the materialists in Moscow. Once they fought each other to the brink of death, the Ministry of Magic would step in to claim magical hegemony over the Eurasian continent. Let those United States bastards in the New World play in their own little sandbox. As long as they didn't cross the Atlantic, it was none of his concern.
"We also plan to take a statement from Miss Bloomfeld as soon as she regains consciousness. As the sole witness, she will undoubtedly be of great help to the investigation."
"Very well. I expect concrete results by the third quarter... no, before the year is out. I will not hesitate to offer full support for this matter."
There was no point in badgering him further. Besides, she was sick of looking at his snow-white beard. Thatcher let out a long sigh, took the shortlisted names, and dismissed the Marquis.
"Ha."
Scanning the list, which had been whittled down from 149 names to just 10, Margaret Thatcher couldn't help but chuckle in disbelief.
Irene Bronska...
Even if magic manifested regardless of age or gender, she was still just a young girl. This was absurd. The mere fact that such a young girl had been flagged as a prime suspect was utterly ridiculous.
An Egyptian harboring historical grudges or a radical IRA operative would make far more plausible suspects than a child like her.
She casually tossed the list to the corner of her desk. As the Prime Minister of the Empire, she had far too many pressing matters that demanded her direct attention.