An Empire Within an Empire
After giving Delis her discharge gift, I decided to personally deliver the handmade witch relics to the other lieutenants one by one. Rybakov was the only exception. Since I couldn't travel to Northern Ireland myself, I sent Pavel to deliver the gift in my stead. Besides, since it was a gift anyway, I figured it would look much nicer if a son presented it to his father.
When Pavel's trip to Belfast was first decided, a rather puzzling thing had happened. It was nothing major, but I had felt Delis, who was in the office with us at the time, staring at Pavel with a strangely wistful look in her eyes. What was that about? I suspected the clue to understanding it lay in the rumor that Pavel had gone to visit Delis the previous evening. Given the Chief of Intelligence's personality, perhaps she was simply saddened by the temporary departure of the Chief of Security, who usually shared some of her workload.
Then again, running a subordinate ragged right after they were discharged from the hospital wasn't exactly a good look. I decided to comfort Delis, who didn't seem to know how to hide her wistful gaze.
"Don't worry too much, Delis. While Pavel is away, I'll help shoulder some of the Intelligence Department's workload."
"Uh... Yes, thank you...?"
"...?"
Her reaction was a bit lukewarm, but hey, she said thank you. The very day after granting the Chief of Security a brief, pseudo-vacation, I received news from Belfast that left me thoroughly startled—both in a good way and a bad way. Specifically, because I was about to receive real-time combat data on the Improved Rosetta Stone much sooner than expected.
"Are you alright? Neither you nor Pavel were hurt, right?"
"Thanks to you, My Lady, we are unharmed. We immediately dispatched mages from the Equinox unit to neutralize the sniper. I will attach a full report as soon as we clean up the scene."
"That's a relief. I didn't expect to get real-world data in just a single day. Um... I mean, I'm glad neither of you was hurt in the process."
The place where the Improved Rosetta Stone first proved its worth was Belfast. The device I had Pavel deliver to Rybakov had immediately detected a threat to its owners just in the nick of time. At the time, Pavel and Rybakov were talking inside an IRA-owned building. On the surface, they had used the excuse that Szczecin-Oder Logistics was there to secure the shipment of explosives that had been delayed due to the previous Operation Demetrios.
Right then, an assassin targeted Rybakov from the outside, shattering a window with an anti-materiel sniper rifle. Had the bullet connected, his body would have undoubtedly exploded from the inside out. Pavel was the first to sense the anomaly. Having tested the Improved Rosetta Stone with me just a few days prior, he was already accustomed to the bizarre sensation of the relic resonating with his soul. Thus, the moment the early-warning system sounded an alarm in his soul, Pavel grabbed Rybakov and ducked. Despite its massive kinetic energy, the .50 caliber bullet had to settle for merely pulverizing the window and the floor tiles.
"I thought I had weeded them out thoroughly enough, but it seems there are still those who are deeply displeased with me taking this seat."
The very first thing Rybakov did upon rising to the leadership of the IRA was purge the communists. The grievance of "How can the head of an organization representing Irish interests be from the communist bloc?" was entirely expected. Thus, he sought to strengthen his legitimacy by severing those ties completely. Beyond internal IRA governance, this also had the advantage of cutting off the Soviet hounds slipping in through Northern Ireland. This was exactly what I had envisioned from the moment I decided to swallow the IRA and bring it under our syndicate's wing.
"I didn't realize it at first either, but it's far more important than one might think. Strong internal cohesion is, after all, our most vital intangible asset."
The existence of traitors who keep popping up like weeds no matter how many times you filter them out is a massive headache. Fortunately, that was no longer a major concern for us, but for Rybakov, who was trying to pacify the IRA as an 'outsider,' it was invaluable advice.
"For now, I plan to detain all the ringleaders and uncover who is pulling the strings. The rifle they used isn't a type typically employed by the IRA, so we suspect the involvement of a third party who is somewhat familiar with our internal affairs."
The Ministry of Magic was naturally the first suspect, but according to Delis's intelligence, they currently lacked the leeway to focus solely on Northern Ireland. They had far too many other pressing matters to deal with. Therefore, by process of elimination, the only remaining group was—
"The Americans, then? Aren't there quite a few Irish-American mobs over there?"
"That is our assessment as well. With the old IRA leadership wiped out and their connections severed, those bastards from the New World are trying to claim a stake."
I felt that attempting an assassination was a bit too violent to be called "claiming a stake," but then again, that was just how this industry operated.
"The fact that they went out of their way to bring in a Barrett rifle to announce their backing says it all. They have no intention of hiding it, do they?"
"It appears so. However, as you know, My Lady, the funds the Americans have contributed to the IRA are quite substantial, so we cannot simply ignore them."
The funds flowing from the New World were truly astronomical. One only had to look at the sheer scale of the lobbying done by Jewish groups, both overtly and covertly, or the massive amount of dollars sent back home by Italian and Irish immigrants. As long as the influence of those across the Atlantic remained, completely seizing control of the IRA would be no easy feat.
After a brief moment of contemplation, I delivered our general course of action. "It can't be helped. It's been on my mind for a while, so let's just cut them off entirely this time."
"With all due respect, My Lady..."
"I know. I'm well aware of how sweet those donations are, coming from Irish-Americans who never forget their roots, day or night."
Of course, I had absolutely no intention of just stirring up trouble without a plan. Isn't it common sense that if you want to change a system, you must present an alternative? Countless organizations had collapsed precisely because they failed to do that.
"For starters, ten million pounds. That's the amount we can inject immediately as an emergency transfusion. Is that enough?"
"Ten million...? Where on earth did you secure such a fortune...?"
It was only natural for him to be shocked. In Korean won, it was roughly fifteen billion won. Since the signs of the Asian financial crisis were slowly beginning to emerge around this time, a perfect one-to-one comparison was impossible, but it was still a staggering sum.
Yet, looking at the figure itself, fifteen billion won was a sum that could be considered either massive or trivial depending on the perspective. Unlike our actual syndicate or our front company, Szczecin-Oder Logistics, the IRA was merely an independence movement with no profitable business model of its own. Within a few months, this money would inevitably evaporate into thin air, like pouring water into a bottomless pit.
Even so, I didn't regret pouring money into it. It was capital that had to be invested sooner or later for the IRA to be completely restructured as a subsidiary of our syndicate. Furthermore, expelling the foreign influence from across the Atlantic was an inevitable step. The sooner, the better, and now was the perfect opportunity. Besides, at this point, temporarily mobilizing ten million pounds was hardly a challenge for us.
"This is a one-time thing for now. Once you firmly consolidate your power, Rybakov, we will begin a thorough restructuring of the organization."
"Thank you for your generosity, My Lady. I will drive every last one of them out."
"Then I'll be waiting for good news. Keep up the good work."
After ending the call with Rybakov, I began drafting plans to expand the syndicate's reach even further. The syndicate could no longer remain confined to Britain; we had to surpass our past glory and become a tool to exert pressure on the Soviet Union from all directions.
"So, you intend to cross the Channel."
Delis, who had been quietly listening to my conversation with Rybakov from her seat on the office sofa, spoke up. The hesitant, awkward subordinate from the day Pavel left for Belfast was gone; in her place was the same highly competent Delis, handling her duties as flawlessly as she had before her injury.
"Yes. We can't just leave the people we left behind abandoned forever. Besides, we now have a perfectly plausible excuse for an international business trip."
Strictly speaking, I wasn't the one who had left them behind, but as the second leader of the syndicate, it was my duty to rescue our isolated subordinates scattered across Western Europe.
"All the preparatory work you mentioned is proceeding smoothly. I am also working with the Chief of Finance to cleanly launder your travel expenses."
"Ah, you mean the dummy accounts? The Chief of Finance must be working hard lately. Mostly in a good way, I assume."
"Indeed, it sounded like a scream of pure joy. He mentioned that every single investment lately has turned into a ten-bagger."
A "ten-bagger," a term borrowed from baseball, was a colloquial expression for a tenfold return on investment. When we first established ourselves in London, the syndicate's total mobilizable capital was less than a hundred million pounds. Our actual cash reserves were even lower. Since our primary source of income was smuggling luxury goods, the nature of our business made it incredibly difficult to liquidate those assets in the legitimate market.
Yet, in just four short months, that capital had multiplied more than tenfold. Most of it came from investment returns, which in turn were largely the result of me whispering bits of financial knowledge from the future—which I vaguely recalled—into the Chief of Finance's ear. This was exactly why mobilizing ten million pounds on short notice was no trouble at all. Our liquidity ratio had instantly leaped from the brink of profitable bankruptcy to the level of a robust, mid-sized enterprise.
"Is that all? What else did Finance have to say?"
"He also mentioned that New York is far better than the City of London. It seems he's completely lost his mind to the sweet taste of US dollars."
Well... if you spent your entire life in the Soviet Union and then experienced capitalism like that, it was only natural to react that way. In the original timeline, until the dot-com bubble burst and planes crashed into buildings, the Nasdaq was god and invincible. Even in this era where the Soviet Union remained intact, the dot-com bubble—the golden age of IT companies—showed no signs of deflating. When money was practically being shoveled into your lap, you'd be an idiot not to take it. If anything, generating profits was the easy part; the real challenge lay in cycling through numerous dummy accounts to bypass the legal system without catching the eye of the financial authorities.
I flipped through the documents Delis handed me, muttering in exasperation. "What a pain. Once records are computerized, they become so much harder to manipulate."
"At least the efficiency remains high. Once all this talk about the Euro and whatnot becomes a reality, we won't be able to exploit the loopholes in the computerized networks like this anymore."
"There's always a way through, isn't there? Perhaps the chaos of a major upheaval will bring its own opportunities."
The primary money laundering method currently employed by the syndicate was foreign exchange trading. Under our umbrella lay various front companies, with Szczecin-Oder Logistics being the most prominent. The laundering process began with fabricating ledgers to show that these companies had exchanged their British pounds for other major currencies. In reality, no such exchange took place, or only a fraction of the money was deposited in the banks. Later, when exchange rates fluctuated to a point where converting the local currency back to pounds would theoretically result in a loss, a reverse exchange was recorded in the fake ledgers. Once again, there was no actual exchange, or it was done on a much smaller scale. Through these two simulated foreign exchange transactions, the syndicate ostensibly suffered a foreign exchange loss.
While the ledgers recorded a loss, the syndicate's actual expenses were limited to the small-scale exchanges used as camouflage and the kickbacks paid to local accomplices who had no idea who we really were. All things considered, it was a highly tolerable cost—essentially just a laundering fee. As a result, I was left with pounds that were officially "lost" but practically free for me to use. It was a sort of reverse hawala, aimed at generating losses rather than profits.
Although obstacles similar to foreign exchange control laws existed, we bypassed them simply by creating a vast number of front companies. The Chief of Finance wasn't exactly a tech wizard, but with enough prodding, he made it work. Laundering dirty money by recording fabricated losses on ledgers was an age-old trick, so there was nothing particularly groundbreaking about it. Only the medium—foreign exchange—was different. It wasn't even a method I had invented. Though our syndicate's current influence was limited, forcing us to pay higher-than-average fees to local accomplices, once we expanded across Western Europe, "zero transaction fees for life" wouldn't be a mere pipe dream. Even if the Euro was introduced and the entire Eurozone adopted a single currency, we could easily adapt. The British pound and Swiss franc would still exist, and if push came to shove, we could always switch to an entirely different method. By then, our syndicate would be far more powerful, offering us incomparably more options.
Delis flipped through the documents and remarked, "Still, it is a relief. If I may say so, doesn't this sort of work require a fairly deep understanding of the capitalist market economy?"
"A caveman isn't necessarily dumber than a modern human, is he? Besides, the Chief of Finance and the others are exceptionally clever cavemen."
Aside from Delis, the core lieutenants of the syndicate had been living in a secret Soviet city just a few months ago. No matter how deep their "expertise" in smuggling was, they were bound to have a limited understanding of a normal capitalist economy. In fact, the local British recruits we hired probably knew more about it than they did. It was a stroke of luck that the core lieutenants who had sailed with me from Kaliningrad were highly capable. If they hadn't been, I would never have been able to seize control of the syndicate and elevate it to its current height. We would have been captured long ago in the monastery of Southend, the safehouses of Greenwich, or the back alleys of Belfast and Londonderry. Or perhaps we would have been quietly extradited back to the Soviet Union by the communists operating in the shadows of Britain. A single misjudgment, and my end would have mirrored my past life. And considering Yerina's current gender, I might have suffered a fate far worse than a simple death this time around.
As we went over the syndicate's affairs, Delis suddenly asked a question. "By the way, Lady Yerina, why did you schedule our trip across the Channel for September? I would think it best to rescue the Paris branch as quickly as possible..."
Just like the financial support I had sent to Rybakov, sooner was obviously better. The longer we dragged our feet, the more isolated members would be arrested by the local police or defect to rival organizations. Uncrossing my legs, I replied:
"A high-ranking British figure is going to die in Paris soon. I have no desire to be in France during that time and draw the attention of the Marquess and the Prime Minister."
"A high-ranking British figure...? What do you mean by that...?"
"There are only a few days left. You'll see when it happens."
If certain events were destined to occur even in this twisted history, I might as well exploit them to my utmost advantage. I had no intention of letting the British authorities' superficial vigilance against me escalate into active surveillance. The moment I finally revealed myself to the rulers of Britain had to be the moment I delivered the death blow to the heart of their empire. Until then, I would bide my time, cultivating my own little empire within their empire.
And so, two days later, on August 31st. Diana, Princess of Wales, died in a car crash in Paris, France.
As she watched the breaking news bulletin, Delis stared at me with eyes filled with sheer, unadulterated shock.
"Lady Yerina... can you truly see the future...?"
My reply was brief.
"Yeah, something like that."