Friends with Benefits (2)
Suppressing my excitement, I took my eyes off the CCTV monitor. I headed to the VIP room first. A few minutes later, escorted by my men, W entered through the front door. Since we hadn't bothered to blindfold him, the American's eyes darted around, his head turning in slow but deliberate sweeps as he tried to map his surroundings. His psychological state was laid bare. Leaving his eyes uncovered was, on our part, a display of confidence. In other words, it was a powerful way of saying: We want to talk.
I only hoped this American would convey my intentions clearly to his superiors back home. With a subtle nod from me, the men who had escorted him slipped quietly out of the room. Matthew Wyatt Lewis immediately recognized me as the negotiator for our side and began walking across the spacious room. He passed directly beneath the chandelier—the very one that had been shattered during my clash with the mages of the Paris Commune—and made his way straight toward me. I offered a warm, smiling gaze and waved at the approaching American.
"Bonjour, Monsieur?"
"Cut the 'bonjour' crap. I know you speak English."
Hmm, looks like he leaped right over my first little trap. Granted, the difficulty of that trap was practically rock-bottom. Even though the note had a Marseille address written on it, I had handed it to him right in the middle of London. I took a sip of the coffee resting on the desk before speaking.
"You're no fun. Well, do take a seat. This is going to be a rather long conversation."
"..."
Matthew Wyatt Lewis sat on the sofa without a word. I looked at him and asked, "So, Matthew Wyatt Lewis, how exactly did you figure out that I speak English?"
Once again, he flinched slightly. I suppose someone in his line of work, operating in the shadows, would be sensitive about their real name. Then again, putting myself in his shoes, I could understand. If some complete stranger suddenly walked up to me and called me Yerina Bronska, I'd probably jump out of my skin too. The American replied,
"It wasn't exactly hard to figure out. From what I can tell, you were the one who handed me that note in the first place, weren't you?"
"My, you actually realized we were the same person. That means you must have been staring quite intently at my face... At this rate, you're not much different from the Marquis's heir, are you?"
He tried to keep a straight face, but I caught the slight stiffening of his expression the moment I mentioned Benjamin Ashford, the heir to the Marquis of Dunhaven. It was another piece of evidence that lent weight to my theory that he harbored deep dissatisfaction with the Ministry of Magic's succession line.
"I'd rather not hear that from someone who slipped me a shady note instead of setting up a proper meeting," W muttered.
With that, he pulled the note from his coat and flung it toward me using telekinesis. It was the exact slip of paper I had handed him a few days ago on the outskirts of London.
"Oh?"
"You were incredibly thorough. There were no fingerprints on the paper except mine, and even the font was printed rather than handwritten."
I caught the note midair with my own telekinesis. Then, conjuring a small magical spark, I burned the paper to ash.
"Aha, so you ran forensics on it? Doesn't that make you the shady one here?"
"...Believe whatever you want."
It was a battle of nerves disguised as ice-breaking. His attempt to seize the upper hand in the negotiation before we even got to the main point was remarkably sharp. I stopped twirling my hair around my finger and introduced myself.
"I'm Irene Varez. You seem to have a lot of complaints... but since you showed up, I assume you're willing to talk?"
"Irene Varez... Ten to one that's an alias."
"Believe it or not. That's entirely up to you."
I shrugged. There was a high probability that some sort of intelligence-sharing treaty existed between the US Arcane Security Agency and the British Ministry of Magic. Through those channels, they could eventually dig up the existence of the Northern Covenant Syndicate and a woman named Irene Bronska. The former would be in investigation reports on criminal organizations that had fled the Soviet Union to settle in London; the latter would be on the list of prime suspects for the theft of the Rosetta Stone from the British Museum.
But will connecting the two be as easy as it sounds?
The link between me and the Syndicate was something only an insider could easily deduce. To an outsider starting from scratch, it would be incredibly difficult to piece together. I had built a highly plausible alibi for my public identity. Any attempt to link Szczecin-Oder Logistics to the Syndicate, and ultimately to me, would have ended in failure. They might sense something was off about the convoluted paper trails, but unless they dug incredibly deep, they would never find the truth.
With that in mind, I decided to plant a specific bias in the ASA's mind. If I offered them absolutely nothing, their suspicions would spread like wildfire in every direction. But if I gave them a signpost, that would be the first path they'd exhaustively excavate. They would doubt me, of course. But every piece of "evidence" they uncovered would only serve to prove my sincerity. As this cycle repeated, my genuine desire to burn Moscow to the ground would be communicated loud and clear. Let them pry all they wanted for suspicious details. The more they dug, the more they would realize just how dead serious I was. And so, I introduced myself once more.
"Even if you don't believe the name, I can at least tell you my affiliation. I am Irene Varez of the Northern Covenant Syndicate."
"...And your rank?"
"Prying into our organizational chart for intel even in a situation like this? That's a secret. Just think of me as their negotiator."
A negotiator. That was the title I chose to wear today. Judging by my past experiences, the people I encountered often dismissed me as an insignificant mage. I wondered if it was because I lacked a dick, or because my face and body were a bit too pretty. Well, there was no reason not to exploit that prejudice. I wondered what kind of face Matthew W. Lewis would make if he ever discovered that the negotiator sitting before him was actually the head of the Northern Covenant Syndicate.
The American pondered for a moment, then shook his head and spoke. He raised both hands slightly, a gesture that carried a hint of resignation, as if saying whatever happens, happens.
"Of course I'm willing to talk. When someone manages to slip me a note right under the noses of all the surveillance in London—well, not quite the center of London, but close enough—I'd be a fool not to meet them."
"Aha, I'm glad I left an impression."
"Oh, you left an impression, alright. Though I didn't expect you to be the one sitting here. How on earth did you manage to... well, even if I ask, you won't tell me."
Though I kept my expression neutral, my sense of relief didn't just stem from having made a strong impression. It's also a relief that our first face-to-face meeting didn't immediately devolve into pure hostility. From the perspective of the ASA, which shared intelligence with the Ministry of Magic, they must have watched with great interest as a criminal organization called the Northern Covenant Syndicate suddenly coiled itself in London and repeatedly made a mockery of the British Ministry. But no matter how close the US and the UK were, they were still separate nations. To the Americans, the damage my Syndicate and I had inflicted on the British Ministry of Magic was merely an entertaining spectacle to observe from a safe distance. I brushed his question aside with a vague smile.
"We can get to know each other's secrets in due time. For now, I'd like to tell you why I called you here, 'W'."
He must have had a million questions. Starting from how I had managed to pick out a US ASA agent from a sea of people, to what on earth I planned to do after swallowing London's underworld whole.
"Alright, Irene Varez. What exactly are you offering?"
Fortunately, I could answer the latter part of his unspoken questions. A broad smile spread across my face.
"It's simple. I want to bring down the Soviet Union."
"..."
"Hmm... is it really that shocking? We share a common enemy, so I thought you'd be pleased."
His bewilderment was palpable. He probably thought he was dealing with some petty magical crime syndicate, only for me to suddenly hoist the banner of anti-communism. It was a natural reaction. I reached into my coat and pulled out an object—a highly meaningful item I had brought from London.
"That's..."
The object I placed on the table was the Order of Lenin. The very medal I had stripped from the dying old man in the monastery at Southend-on-Sea.
"Is it too difficult to grasp? Since you're collaborating with the Ministry of Magic, I assume you can easily understand what this means."
The Ministry of Magic knew that I—or rather, the Northern Covenant Syndicate—was responsible for the deaths of the Cambridge Five. Which means the ASA knows too. With that context, it wouldn't take much brainpower to deduce what this medal, bearing the face of the original General Secretary, represented. The American stared at it for a moment before speaking.
"Understand it? Sure. But I think 'blindsided' is a more accurate description."
"Is that so? And here I thought you knew everything... This is troublesome. There's no guarantee that you, 'W', are privy to all the information your headquarters possesses."
While I intended to draw the United States to my side, there was absolutely no need to share all my information. In fact, I shouldn't. It was only natural to conceal my weaknesses, and to bury any sensitive spots that could potentially lead to those weaknesses. This naturally sparked a bit of greed. What if I could establish a cooperative relationship with Matthew Wyatt Lewis, and by extension, the US ASA, while giving away far less information than I had originally planned?
I had made a vow once. Back when I resolved to use the power of imperialists to strike down the communists. Back when I decided to fulfill the achievements left unfinished in my past life while enacting Yerina's revenge. One day, I would look down upon the world from the ashes of the Kremlin and declare, And behold, it was very good.
But to make that declaration, I needed an overwhelming, absolute gap in power—one that would place everyone beneath my feet. The fact that I came from the future? The fact that I could bypass defensive magic security vulnerabilities as easily as melting snow? Those were certainly attractive advantages, but they weren't enough to create an insurmountable gap. From the perspective of global hegemony, the US ASA was ultimately a competitor. It was an undeniable truth that the less America knew about me and my Syndicate, the more room I would have to maneuver. I quickly weighed the options in my mind. As the weights were added to either side of the scale, it finally tipped in one direction.
"Well, I suppose once you receive instructions from your headquarters, you'll find out most of it anyway."
In any case, I didn't have the patience to walk a tightrope right now, probing Matthew W. Lewis to see what he knew and what he didn't. It was too much of a hassle. Besides, I couldn't even begin this conversation without laying bare the fact that the Syndicate was hostile to the Soviet Union. Even if I hid the truth now, it would quickly come to light once W debriefed the ASA. It was better to build trust by being upfront about this. Without waiting for his response, I continued.
"As you might know, the Northern Covenant Syndicate is made up of people who fled because they hated the Soviet Union. We just wanted to make some money freely by selling national artifacts to the British, but our organization ended up shattered because of it."
"That sounds like an incredibly vulgar motive to call a 'yearning for capitalism'."
"Think what you like. But what can I say? It's the truth. Everyone in our organization, myself included, is sick to death of socialism and communism."
The best way to persuade an American was, of course, to stroke their national ego. Perhaps because they were Yankee bastards with neither roots nor history, their worship of "democracy" and "capitalism" was second to none. The fact that their current title of "world police" was built upon the blood and bones of Native Americans didn't matter to them in the slightest. Matthew W. Lewis's posture seemed to soften slightly. I couldn't let my guard down, knowing that as a veteran magical intelligence agent, even this could be an act, but at least on the surface, he looked satisfied.
"To bring down the Soviet Union... So, what does the Syndicate want? Technological support? Or financial backing?"
The American's tone grew increasingly confident. Perhaps he felt that we were the ones in the weaker position. But I had absolutely no intention of playing the subordinate. I was the one who would manipulate the world, not the other way around. The corners of my mouth curled upward as I replied.
"What we want? Well... nothing in particular."
"...Nothing?"
"Exactly what I said. Our organization is, in a manner of speaking, waging a war of independence."
And it wasn't far from the truth. There were striking similarities between our Syndicate—driven out of Kaliningrad to set up a temporary headquarters in London—and the history of that Far Eastern peninsula nation, driven out of their homeland to establish a provisional government in Shanghai. I gently planted the seed.
"I'm sure you know what happens to nations that win their independence solely through the strength of foreign powers."
"Are you trying to say they only end up with a change of masters?"
Look at him, knowing his history. Unsurprising, I suppose, coming from the descendant of a nation that snatched the Philippines and Cuba from Spain. I rose from my seat and walked slowly toward Matthew W. Lewis.
"Precisely. So if there is one thing I would ask of you... even if the United States cannot offer us aid, at the very least, do not stand in our way."
I bent my knees slightly, lowering my gaze to meet his. Our eyes locked. Even though my Charm magic only triggered partially, hitting a sudden wall, I didn't care.
"We've only just escaped being slaves to fate. We have no desire to be bound to another loom."