The Cold War Network, Part II
The first task that made the reality of our Cold War network tangible was receiving cargo that had crossed the ocean from East Asia. Even with the Christmas holidays, the harbor docks never slept. Back when I was in East Asia, the person who had vetted the legality of importing those CNC machine tools was none other than the Director of Intelligence. Consequently, I wasn't the only one forced to watch the unloading operations at Southampton from a distance. Since I was on the move, and Delis was with me, it was only natural for Pavel to tag along as well. On Boxing Day, I headed to the port city of Southampton, dragging the lovey-dovey pair along. ...Or rather, was it more accurate to say they were escorting me? I briefly wondered if I should have traveled separately just to give them some space.
In any case, there was no reason to meet any government officials in Southampton. If our syndicate were some sketchy, fly-by-night operation, it might be different, but we were a solid, tax-paying enterprise. Why would they feel the need to inspect us face-to-face? Besides, Szczecin-Oder Logistics had generously lined the pockets of the officials with British pounds during the import process. I heard the metal briefcase stuffed with stacks of banknotes was so heavy it was a struggle to carry. It is a well-known fact that a well-greased bureaucracy functions far more smoothly than an ungreased one. A modest sum of pounds was more than enough to act as the lubricant that made import-export operations exceptionally fluid.
Sitting in the back of a heavily tinted van with my laptop open, I received real-time reports. Everything from transferring the unloaded containers onto the trailers to the trucks departing for Greater London. Our van, carrying the three of us, trailed closely behind the transport, ready to respond to any sudden emergency. Our final destination was, of course, the monastery in Southend that the syndicate had purchased under the name of Logistics. Naturally, we couldn't head straight there due to the risk of being tracked later. We decided to employ a classic trick.
It was a simple vehicle-swap under the elevated highway looping around London. We had positioned an identical trailer, Truck B, loaded with decoy cargo, under the overpass in advance. As soon as Truck A, carrying the machine tools, drove under the overpass, it came to a halt. Simultaneously, Truck B pulled out at a similar speed. To satellites or traffic CCTV networks, the switch was completely undetectable. Truck A waited a while longer before repeating the process a couple more times before finally heading to the monastery. Throughout this journey, the vehicle type, color, and license plates of the transport carrying the cargo were swapped repeatedly. By the time it arrived at the monastery, the massive trailer had been replaced by a box truck and a mobile crane. A trip that should have taken only four hours took an entire day of winding detours.
On the morning of the 27th, as the calendar turned, I finally stood before the machine tools that had crossed the ocean, deep in the monastery's basement. Standing beside me was a member of our technical department who had just returned from Korea after mastering the operation of these massive machines. It had been an absolute nightmare to smuggle them in. A standard, small-scale machine tool found in ordinary factories couldn't even fit the intact Rosetta Stone inside its chassis. Evading the watchful eyes of the British authorities had been equally grueling. If the government officials hadn't been so lax in their duties, it would have easily required more than double the effort. Forced to work during the year-end holidays while all their colleagues were away, simply showing up to sit at their desks was the limit of their performance. It was incredibly fortunate for both me and the syndicate.
To physically process the granite of the Rosetta Stone, we also required specialized diamond-tipped stone-cutting tools. Once again, I merely gave the order, and my subordinates handled the task of tracking down and contacting legitimate businesses that could supply the tools in bulk. After the technician secured the massive slab of stone and inputted the commands into the computer, a small fragment of the Rosetta Stone was sliced away before long. Since it was a purely physical cut without any magic involved, these raw pieces weren't yet suitable to be distributed to the syndicate members, but proving the feasibility of the process was a monumental achievement in itself.
"...Not bad. It should be enough to split the magic engraved on the original Rosetta Stone and infuse it back into these fragments, right?"
"Just say the word, and we can begin immediately, Miss. I suggest we start with trimming away the excess edges first."
"Very well. Let's proceed."
Standardizing the workpiece was essential if we wanted to move away from the crude, manual process that used to take me hours and achieve complete automation. The Rosetta Stone, once the crown jewel of the British Museum, was now destined to be squared off and sliced into pieces in the basement of some remote monastery. I am a person who wouldn't hesitate to dissect a human being to achieve my goals. Why should a mere block of stone be any different, national treasure or not? My only real concern was whether our massive power consumption would give us away. The electricity spike would be far beyond what any ordinary monastery should ever consume.
However, the current British government, the London Electricity Board, and the Department of Trade and Industry had far more pressing matters to worry about. The London Electricity Board was already scrambling to deal with the chaos of privatization; if they had any spare attention, they would be using it to save their own skins. If any unexpected trouble did arise, we could always apply a little more 'grease' to smooth things over.
While the drill—the end mill—moved in three dimensions inside the machine, I tested whether the enchanting process could be carried out without my direct presence. I brought over a diamond tool identical to the one whirring inside. Then, I began grafting a human soul, pre-engraved with magic, onto the small tool. It was the creation of a mini-golem, programmed to repeatedly execute only the engraved spell until the soul shattered and dispersed. Because the density of the human soul was saturated to the point of supersaturation, the scale of the engraved magic was immense. It was proof that tampering with a national artifact was something that even five or six Standard Wizards working together would struggle to achieve without a mage of my caliber.
Just then, the subordinate wearing a dust mask finished operating the machine and approached me. Since the machine wasn't open-air but had a sealed, hinged lid, I didn't need to wear a mask myself.
"The trimming has just been completed, Miss. Shall we swap the tool with the end mill you worked on?"
"Yes, please."
I handed the soul-grafted diamond drill to my subordinate, and a few more hours passed. Only after the sun had dipped below the horizon did I finally lay eyes on about twenty completed, improved Rosetta Stone devices. These artifacts were perfectly primed, requiring no further processing from me. They were so complete that they could be deployed immediately once a drop of a subordinate's blood was absorbed to bind them. When I had worked on them manually, I could only manage seven in half a day, yet in less than half that time, we had produced three times as many. Truly, humans must know how to use tools. It was a deeply satisfying result for the first time in a while.
There was no urgent need to imprint the souls with blood right away. Just as I had previously baptized the syndicate members one by one to set them upon the Walking Magic Path, I could take my time, scheduling it over a longer period by department and region. Resolving this issue, which had been a constant source of anxiety ever since we plundered the national treasure from that giant museum of stolen goods, lifted an immense weight from my shoulders.
The next day, the Director of Finance briefed me on the performance of our recent investments.
"While you were away in East Asia, Miss, we made numerous investments in the companies you advised us on. Please take a look."
The documents handed to me by the finance chief were filled with companies that were currently undervalued but would eventually bring massive transformations not just to the market, but to society as a whole. Nvidia, Amazon, ASML, and so on. They were primarily companies poised to benefit directly from the dot-com bubble. I flipped through the papers and nodded.
"Yes, this is precise. Obviously, completely taking them over is impossible, but I want you to focus on acquiring enough shares to make us major shareholders."
Hearing my positive response, the Director of Finance looked somewhat curious.
"By the way, there is no disagreement that semiconductors will soon become a highly promising sector. Even the Director of Technology strongly agreed on that point."
"And?"
"I understand the other companies... but this 'Amazon' seems to be nothing more than a company selling books over the internet. Is there really any room for them to expand their business further?"
Hearing his question made me let out a soft chuckle. That was indeed the common perception of this era. I simply smiled.
"Just wait and see. Soon enough, they'll be shoveling dollars into our pockets."
Starting the following day, I spent some time sweeping our own backyard clean. Specifically, I went around every nook and cranny of London's back alleys, wiping out the parasites trying to piggyback on our syndicate's growth. The most memorable cleanup took place in Tottenham, north of London.
Sunday, December 28th. It was the evening of the Premier League's 21st round, with Tottenham Hotspur hosting Arsenal FC at White Heart Lane. I was sitting in the passenger seat of a car driven by Pavel near the stadium.
"My, how peaceful. I wonder if he has any idea what's going to happen to him in just a few dozen minutes?"
"Are you sure you will be fine on your own, Miss?"
"Of course. Honestly, I don't even need to step in myself. If it weren't for the need to extract his soul, we wouldn't even need you here—the Equinox squad would have been more than enough."
The only crime committed by our prey, who was about to enter the stadium wearing an Arsenal jersey, was 'encroaching upon our syndicate's sphere of influence.' He hadn't caused any explicit trouble; we simply wanted to nip them in the bud because the growth of the gang he belonged to was unusually rapid. In fact, in other circumstances, the syndicate would often support such groups directly or indirectly to help them grow to a certain extent. The brighter the light, the deeper the shadow, but the shadow drawing the attention of the Ministry of Magic and other authorities didn't necessarily have to be my syndicate. The more puppets we had operating on the front lines to draw attention away from us, the better.
In any case, their rapid growth meant that even without our support, that gang was quite promising. Left to their own devices, they might have grown into... well, not exactly major players in London's underworld, but at least a minor nuisance. In this miniature garden called Britain, only the beautiful, neatly pruned plants of my choosing should grow; there is no room for such weeds. The Metropolitan Police should really be thanking me. By taking care of these societal pests on their behalf, I was saving them a great deal of police resources.
Pavel agreed with my comment that the Equinox squad would have sufficed if the soul hadn't been our primary objective.
"Indeed, that is true. Please call me when you are finished. I will bring the car around."
"Right. I'll be quick, so don't worry too much."
The man I was targeting was a wizard affiliated with that gang. Since a wizard's soul was far more valuable than that of an ordinary human who had never stepped onto the magic path, I had decided to harvest his soul personally. It was similar to how I had approached the IRA wizard in Northern Ireland. The only difference was that back then, I hadn't bothered to harvest his soul. The reason I was actively hunting for souls now was because our stockpile of traitors' souls was visibly running low. Ever since we established the mass-production system for the improved Rosetta Stone, we had been consuming them continuously. Aside from that, my own magical research and experimentation also demanded a steady supply.
I planned to throw the gang, now stripped of its magical core, to Delis. Discovering evidence of an unregistered wizard active in the underworld right at the start of the new year would be a highly profitable venture for her. With the Ministry of Magic's firepower mobilized, the gang would be wiped out in no time, and Delis would claim a massive share of the credit. The bomb we had planted inside the Ministry of Magic would continue to grow in the new year. Before long, it would detonate spectacularly.
About ten minutes later. Before me lay a middle-aged man, groveling on the ground with tears and snot streaming down his face.
"I-I'm sorry...! Never... I will never encroach on your territory again! Please, just spare my life...!"
His coat lay discarded in the alleyway, and his garishly bright red Arsenal jersey was tattered and riddled with holes. He had rolled around on the ground so pathetically that it was almost painful to watch. I leaned down and replied,
"Well, that's a rather empty promise, isn't it? How am I supposed to believe that? It's far too tedious for me to keep checking if you're keeping your word."
He begged for his life so desperately that I briefly considered making a wager. For instance, sparing him if his beloved Arsenal won tonight's match. But since my brain wasn't so thoroughly rotted by dopamine that I was some sports-betting addict, I simply knocked him out, called Pavel, and locked him inside the car.
"Shall we head to Southend?"
"Let's do that. I should extract his soul before it's too late."
As we sped down the road, Pavel suddenly asked,
"By the way, what do you plan to do with the body?"
"I was thinking of feeding it to the magical beasts as usual, or maybe dissolving it chemically. Why? I could keep him alive in storage, but there's no real need to. As you said, it's cleaner to deal with a corpse."
When I tilted my head in curiosity, Pavel explained,
"It's just that if there is only evidence of a wizard working with the gang, but no actual body of the wizard, it might raise some suspicions."
"True. But we agreed to proceed so Delis could at least claim some credit for wiping them out, didn't we?"
"An incomplete result is better than nothing, but a complete one is always preferable."
"Hmm, and?"
"Wouldn't it be better to extract the soul, preserve the body, and then arrange for it to be discovered later as concrete evidence?"
Ah, I understood his concern. He was pointing out a blind spot I had completely missed. He was suggesting we go through the extra trouble of delivering the corpse.
"From the Ministry of Magic's perspective, the wizard's whereabouts would indeed be the most critical detail. If we leave plenty of traces but the wizard simply vanishes, it might draw unwanted attention."
"Exactly. Leaving definitive proof of death is the only way to ensure the investigation is closed cleanly."
It was a highly valid point. It was truly a blessing to have family who could point out the flaws I might have spent days overlooking on my own.