Ch.190Episode 10 – Turn Your Course to the North-Northwest

a) Before the vacation ended, Leoni instructed me to extract an informant.

It was a defection operation.

The targets were three people in total, including the informant, his wife, and daughter.

The mission objective was simple.

The safe escape of a local intelligence asset.

That’s all.

Episode 10 – Turn Your Course North-Northwest

Leoni entrusted me with an operation to help an intelligence asset defect from the Kiyen Empire to Abas.

I received the operation plan just before my appointment as military attaché, developed a detailed strategy, and secured cooperation from the embassy after consulting with the ambassador.

The embassy’s assistance was essential for a successful defection.

And finally, the crucial moment to take the first step toward defection arrived.

“Are you Assistant Vasily Karachev?”

“Yes, that’s correct, Military Attaché Nostrum.”

Vasily Vladimirovich Karachev.

He resides in an apartment on Ulitsa Street in Petrograd, the imperial capital, with his family consisting of a wife and a daughter.

His occupation is policy assistant to a member of parliament. In terms of the Republic of Korea’s National Assembly, he would be equivalent to a Grade 4 assistant. For reference, the parliamentarian he serves is a three-term senior member of the ruling party and secretary of the National Defense Committee.

Of course, now he’s simply an intelligence asset of the Military Intelligence Agency who wishes to defect, nothing more, nothing less.

I began speaking in a comfortable voice. Though my voice was hoarse from only three hours of sleep, this was the gentlest tone I could manage.

The assistant smiled like someone whose tension had eased somewhat. Judging by his dark circles and dry skin, he seemed to have had a sleepless night.

“I’ve kept the business card you gave me last time. I wanted to meet with you separately soon, but here we are running into each other.”

With a smile that reached his eyes, he surveyed the people around us.

Like the assistant, his wife’s face also looked completely worn out.

Judging by her pale complexion, the wife seemed to know something about the defection. Since it was a life-or-death matter, the couple had likely discussed it beforehand. Their daughter, in her late teens, was too busy taking in the splendid venue to pay attention.

Okay. I’ve got a general sense of things.

After checking the anti-eavesdropping equipment placed under the table, I went straight to the point.

“First, I need to confirm your intention to defect. This conversation is being recorded, and you must testify directly in your own voice for it to be valid. Do you understand?”

The assistant’s face hardened at the sudden mention of defection. His expression suggested he hadn’t expected me to discuss this so openly in the middle of an event venue where imperial citizens were milling about.

I reassured him with a composed face, gently lowering my palm to calm him down.

“Don’t worry about eavesdropping. We’re safe right now.”

“…Yes, I understand.”

“Then let me ask you. Is it correct that Vasily Vladimirovich Karachev has chosen to defect of his own free will?”

“…That is correct.”

“To which country do you wish to defect?”

“The Kingdom of Abas.”

“Let’s move on to the next question.”

Sitting at the table with the assistant, I exchanged several questions and answers. Was he defecting of his own will? Which country did he want to go to? Was there any external pressure or coercion in his decision-making process?

These questions seemed too formal and theoretical to be asking someone who had already decided to defect, but unfortunately, these were the regulations.

If they defected and the Empire later claimed, “They weren’t actually defecting but were kidnapped by Abas intelligence agencies,” it would cause a diplomatic dispute.

Keeping these records would give us something to say if that happened.

“That will be all for today’s questions. The next time we meet, I’ll record what you’ve said today again, have you complete paperwork including a defection statement, and then provide assistance.”

“…Aren’t we defecting right away?”

“I wish I could arrange that, but there are still procedures to follow. We also need to prepare to help you.”

Actually, this is a lie. The preparations for defection were completed long ago.

The defection operation consists of three stages.

The first is writing a defection statement at the embassy and paying the “price.”

In exchange for defection, I’ll receive information, and then I’ll help the assistant and his family leave for a third country. That’s the second stage.

The third stage involves either entering the Abas embassy in the third country or taking a warp gate directly to Abas, but the key is to get them out of the Empire and moving somewhere.

But they don’t need to know all that.

What’s important is that if they go to the embassy right now to defect, I’ll come under suspicion since I was the last Abas diplomat to contact them.

For my own survival, I need to keep my distance from them. That’s why I’ve been putting on a show—attending events, meeting people, and getting by on three hours of sleep.

Anyway.

“The next step will take some time and needs to be done in a secure location…”

I trailed off, stroking my chin thoughtfully.

“Would it be possible for you to come directly to our embassy?”

“……”

The assistant’s face turned corpse-like.

A policy assistant to the secretary of the National Defense Committee, who handles all sorts of military secrets, visiting an enemy nation’s embassy?

If he had a legitimate reason, perhaps, but the moment he offered even a slightly flimsy excuse, it would be over. Especially if the Imperial Guard got wind of it—it definitely wouldn’t end well. He probably knew this all too well.

So, this was the final test.

A question of whether he was truly ready to risk his life, turn his back on his homeland forever, and live in a different world.

The assistant pondered my final question.

And after much deliberation,

He reached his conclusion.

“I believe it would be possible.”

*

After the first contact, as soon as the event ended, I holed up in the embassy to prepare for the next phase.

Through the ambassador, the boss of the diplomatic mission, I secured cooperation from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and contacted the minister and the head of the military attaché office for support if needed. For reference, these two are the station chief of the Royal Intelligence Service and the branch director of the Military Intelligence Agency.

While preparing for the operation, I focused as much as possible on my diplomatic duties. Since we were under surveillance by intelligence agencies, I needed to act as naturally as possible.

Meanwhile, the assistant requested leave.

He made the excuse that now that his busy schedule was winding down, he wanted to take a three-day overseas trip with his family over the weekend. Fortunately, his leave request was accepted without any objections. This was the fruit of the thick trust relationship he had built over more than a decade working under the parliamentarian.

The problem was finding an excuse to visit the embassy…

But a solution came quickly.

[[There’s strong backlash against the Defense Ministry’s approval for foreign military attachés to be dispatched to the northern conflict zone. Members of the National Defense Committee, regardless of party affiliation, have strongly objected, claiming that it violates international law and was hastily implemented without involving international organizations…]

[Concerns about military security are growing. Today, members of the National Defense Committee visited the Abas Embassy directly to protest…]

Members of the National Defense Committee visited the Abas Embassy. Parliamentarians who were displeased with my going to the north came in person to protest.

Of course, this was just a political performance.

It wasn’t that the parliamentarians couldn’t contain their overflowing patriotism and made time in their busy schedules to protest—it was their desperate attempt to prove their loyalty to preserve their positions in a dictatorship.

I clicked my tongue as I watched the imperial parliamentarians who brought a string of reporters to their meeting with the Abas ambassador and posed for photos first.

“What’s all this commotion so early in the morning?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“I heard rumors from parliamentary secretaries a few days ago, but I didn’t think they’d actually come.”

While listening to the idle chatter of diplomats who had come to watch amid their busy schedules, I extracted my target from among the assistants who had entered the embassy with the elderly parliamentarians.

“Thank you for coming all this way.”

“Haha… It’s nothing.”

The policy assistant, performing his final duty before his vacation, smiled weakly. Judging by his dark circles and dry skin, he seemed to have had a sleepless night.

“Now, let’s see…”

I murmured as if humming to myself, looking at the watch turned inward on my wrist. I heard the assistant gulp audibly.

“With the parliamentarians’ meeting with the ambassador and the press conference, we should have about two hours.”

“……”

“Follow me.”

I covered my watch and began guiding him deeper into the embassy.

And so we moved to the secure area.

*

Diplomatic missions have secure areas.

Like the 5th floor of the Magic Tower Embassy, which houses the Defense Attaché Office and the Information Management Office (a branch of the Royal Intelligence Service), these secure areas within the premises are mostly associated with intelligence agencies and access is restricted to authorized personnel only.

Janitors, administrative staff, and even diplomats rarely come here. Even the ambassador seldom visits if it can be avoided.

In a certain office within the secure area of the Abas Embassy to the Kiyen Empire:

The assistant sat in a room with a metal desk and two chairs, with one wall made entirely of glass, reminiscent of an interrogation room.

I sipped a Kiyen-made instant coffee mix while peering through the glass wall.

“Ugh.”

Still tastes awful. I had high hopes since it was a new product, but it’s just bitter and astringent.

I wonder if Pippin and the analysts pouring sugar into their coffee back in the day was an attempt to salvage this tasteless mud water? While I was lost in such pointless thoughts, the door to the office opened.

“Director, I’m coming in.”

“Recording ready. Three, two, one. Start.”

-Click!

With the sound of a button being pressed, the tape began to spin.

The intelligence officer, wearing headphones to check the sound quality, skillfully operated the equipment, then rested his chin on his hand with a pen in the other, like a moviegoer.

I checked the status of the lie detector and magical recording devices while observing the interior of the interrogation room with other military attachés as the head of the office conducted the questioning.

To prepare for the possibility of the defection operation failing, the head of the military attaché office, whose identity was already exposed (he never intended to hide it as a branch director anyway), conducted the interview personally. I had originally planned to conduct the interview myself, but he suddenly said orders had come from above and stepped in as a substitute.

It seemed that the Military Intelligence Agency had issued separate instructions out of concern that my identity would be exposed if the informant was captured.

As I wore headphones and sipped coffee to fight off drowsiness, the confused assistant’s voice began to flow through.

-‘Um… where did that person go?’

-‘If you’re referring to the military attaché who brought you here, I’ll only say that he couldn’t enter this building.’

The gruff voice of the head of the military attaché office continued.

-‘Mr. Vasily Vladimirovich Karachev. Before we get to the main point, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Is it correct that you’ve chosen to defect of your own will?’

-‘Yes.’

-‘First, I’d like to ask about your life. Could you explain what kind of life you’ve led, as much as you can remember?’

The head of the military attaché office began questioning the seated assistant.

Starting with ordinary questions about his background, relationships, work life, and family status.

-‘You’ve been experiencing financial problems in recent years. Your expenses have exceeded your income—what happened?’

-‘Just… various expenses came up.’

-‘Could those expenses be related to your relationship with an intern secretary from another parliamentarian’s office?’

-‘……’

-‘Of course, in imperial society, it’s not a major moral issue for a nobleman to have a free relationship with someone he met at a social club. But it’s different in Abas, so I’m asking in advance.’

-‘…We were just seeing each other briefly. We met because we both wanted to, and we parted on good terms.’

-‘It doesn’t seem like you parted on such good terms, considering how your personality changed right after the breakup. I hear you secretly brought a doctor to your home for psychiatric counseling.’

-‘How did you-‘

From frivolous spending to uncomfortable questions about infidelity.

Listening to the questions, I could roughly gauge how this man had been recruited by the Military Intelligence Agency.

Unable to sustain his consumption habits on a civil servant’s salary, he eventually accepted money offered by an intelligence officer.

Looking at the records, the intelligence officer who had been handling the assistant retired last year. He was an official cover who had worked at the imperial embassy but was now recuperating long-term in his hometown as his body could no longer handle fieldwork.

The interview continued as I read through the materials on the assistant produced by the Military Intelligence Agency.

The head of the military attaché office persistently picked at even the minor flaws in the assistant’s life.

It seemed he was trying to determine if there were too many problems to cover up, with the intention of cutting him loose now, since negative propaganda would surely begin once the assistant’s defection became public.

This style of vetting people was typical of Leoni. Considering that the director suddenly stepped in to handle the interview, it seemed Leoni had given detailed instructions herself.

The head of the military attaché office tormented the assistant to the point where I felt embarrassed watching. Though it must have been a humiliating moment for him, the assistant managed to endure steadfastly.

Finally, the head of the military attaché office backed down.

-‘Very well. Thank you for answering honestly, Mr. Vasily. Now, let’s get to the main point.’

Whether to ease the tension or not, the head of the military attaché office cracked a few jokes and created a somewhat softer atmosphere.

With a slightly warm smile, the intelligence officer asked about the reason for defection.

-‘What made you decide to defect?’

The assistant answered without the slightest hesitation.

-‘It’s because of my daughter’s health.’

-‘Your daughter’s health? What kind of problem does she have?’

-‘She has heart issues. It’s an intractable disease that’s expensive to treat, and more importantly, while the Magic Tower is researching it, they haven’t yet developed a clear treatment…’

Defection due to a family member’s health.

Not a common case in developed countries, but fairly common in less developed ones. I’ve occasionally heard from seniors about North Korean diplomats who defected to treat illnesses.

Looking at the appendix of the Military Intelligence Agency’s documents, it did seem that the assistant’s daughter had health issues. It noted that she had often complained of heart pain during physical education classes at the academy when engaging in even slightly vigorous activity.

But something seemed off.

“…The imperial medical system isn’t that backward, is it?”

While the Kiyen Empire’s medical system has its share of problems, it’s not completely underdeveloped like some remote area in Africa or the Middle East.

It consistently produces high-quality personnel and its medical research achievements are internationally recognized as quite excellent.

That’s why medical students from pro-imperial dictatorships consider studying in the Empire their dream, and occasionally medical professionals from Abas or Fatalia also study there.

Of course, heart-related illnesses are life-threatening, and if excessive costs due to structural problems in the imperial medical system are the issue, it’s not an entirely incomprehensible choice, but suddenly defecting still seemed somewhat suspicious.

I wasn’t the only one who thought so, as several staff members tilted their heads in confusion.

-‘I’m sorry about your child’s situation. But is that all?’

-‘Pardon?’

-‘I’m asking if your reason for defection is purely for your daughter’s treatment.’

The voice of the head of the military attaché office became gruff again.

-‘If you’re lying, it could cause problems during the subsequent investigation process. In the worst case, you could be expelled from Abas.’

-‘……’

The assistant’s face darkened slightly.

As if a thousand thoughts had crossed his mind in that instant, the troubled assistant opened his mouth in a subdued voice, like someone who had made a decision.

-‘…It’s not just because of that. There is another reason.’

-‘Please explain.’

-‘My daughter has become a conscription target.’