Ch.311Episode 13 – There Is No Country for Wizards

After the War on Terror began, distinguishing between friend and foe in the global village was rarely an easy task.

This tendency intensified especially after military concepts like fourth-generation warfare and cognitive warfare emerged, and the boundaries between conventional and unconventional warfare, as well as wartime and peacetime, became blurred.

That change affected intelligence agencies as well.

However, in my judgment, while the War on Terror brought numerous changes, it may have caused revolutionary shifts in the realm of intelligence warfare but failed to alter its fundamental foundation.

Intelligence warfare was always a dirty, messy domain.

Some say that “Call of Duty” is just a game, far removed from reality. That the fantasies about the CIA and U.S. military merely serve as material to stimulate consumers’ rich imaginations, rather than reflecting the actual reality of these organizations.

But the intelligence operations conducted by American agencies like the CIA and the military were certainly no worse than any game developer’s scenario, making it difficult to dismiss them as mere entertainment.

Since the Cold War, those guys have been quite skilled at overthrowing governments through coups when they felt like it and inserting special forces into hostile environments to extract informants.

Britain? Canada? France? They were just as bad, if not worse. The same goes for Soviet and Chinese intelligence agencies that led the Cold War hegemony as leaders of the Eastern Bloc.

Especially China. These bastards have always been troublemakers since my father’s active duty days.

They collaborated with the U.S. to intercept Soviet forces in the Far East, yet supported North Korea’s Kim family to stir up trouble. After the Three Links Policy was implemented, they infiltrated intelligence officers into Taiwan, and from the 2000s onward, they scattered industrial spies everywhere, drawing international criticism.

Of course, while that deserves criticism, it wasn’t really my place to judge, considering I was on a spy’s payroll from the South Korean government. South Korea itself had stolen and diverted quite a few industrial technologies from developed countries, though they didn’t make it obvious. And the fact that most of those technologies came from allies and friendly nations like the U.S., Britain, and France made it even harder to say anything.

But what can you do? In this field, the victim is treated like a fool.

International society doesn’t wipe away the tears of victims. You’re lucky if they don’t just hit you over the head asking why you deserved the beating in the first place.

That’s why nobody criticized Israel when they bombed Syria’s nuclear facilities. Not even the Syrian government that got bombed.

There was no reason to criticize, nor to be criticized.

The only thing that felt shitty to me was that the immense intelligence-gathering capabilities and meticulous analytical skills underlying it were the complete opposite of the internet’s common portrayal of “Northeastern Asian troublemakers and primitive mainland Chinese.” The internal information report I seized after smashing a Chinese intelligence officer’s head with a wrench was more sophisticated and in-depth than any analysis material I had ever seen.

Knowing that this wasn’t just a lucky break but the result of decades of investment and countless tears of blood shed by Chinese intelligence officers made me feel twice as shitty. That feeling multiplied when our human intelligence network in China began getting destroyed one by one by Chinese counterintelligence operations shortly after I joined.

Nevertheless, the shittiest part was that all these phenomena were “relatively less severe” compared to the Cold War era.

People always said that everything had definitely decreased compared to the Cold War—the number of intelligence officers dying, special operations forces infiltrating coastlines to extract informants inland, and the operations they participated in.

I heard this at the funeral of a senior colleague who had been out of contact for months before being reported missing, only to return to his hometown a year later. For reference, the person who said this was my father’s junior and the recruiter who came looking for me.

But one fact never changes.

Since the Cold War, no, from long before that, intelligence warfare has traditionally been a battlefield where distinguishing between friend and foe is difficult.

That’s how it’s always been and how it will continue to be.

So.

“It’s been a while, Sophia. How’s business these days?”

“Going well. Very well, in fact.”

Which means this friend who suddenly appeared during my vacation might actually be an enemy if I look deeper.

Episode 13 – There Is No Country for Wizards

The appearance of my friend Sophia was sudden but not particularly surprising.

After all, I had expected that if I came to Fatalia, Sophia would definitely show up before me.

“Since when were you planning to meet me? From the time I got my visa at your embassy?”

Sophia nodded without hesitation, confirming it. That was answer enough.

To get a visa from an embassy, one must go through a certain level of background check. They investigate whether you have a criminal record or if you’re likely to cause trouble after entering the country.

For reference, the agency that issues criminal record certificates is usually under the Foreign Affairs Bureau of the National Police Agency, which falls under the Ministry of Interior. Considering the nature of the Foreign Affairs Bureau’s work, I don’t need to explain where that information goes.

And logically, would there be any idiot in an intelligence agency who thinks spies would brazenly apply for visas? Of course not.

Naturally, the fact of my entry would have reached the ears of the National Security Bureau from the moment I applied for a visa. And that information would have reached Sophia’s ears as well.

I took a sip of the cocktail served as an aperitif and spoke. My second question was predictably obvious.

“That immigration officer was one of your people, right?”

“Yes. The youngest on our team. What did you think of him? Pretty good, right?”

Sophia asked with a bright smile.

“Everything else was fine, but his lines were a bit cheesy. Tell him if he’s going to make a move, he should do it more convincingly. What kind of immigration officer drags things out with such personal questions?”

At my criticism, which wasn’t even much of a criticism, Sophia let out a small sigh and shook her head gently. An awkward smile hung on her lips, as if to say it couldn’t be helped.

“He’s our newest recruit. I admit he still lacks experience. He knows it too.”

“Oh, he was a rookie? Was this a test then?”

“Something like that.”

For senior members of intelligence agencies, newcomers (or as my Marine Corps intelligence colleague liked to call them, “fresh meat”) are always headaches.

Not because they’re troublemakers or fools. Rather, they’re like children left by the water’s edge.

They’ve completed basic training and education, but when it comes to deploying them in the field, you worry about what might go wrong. That’s why intelligence officers generally give simple tasks to rookies fresh out of intelligence school.

Nothing too difficult.

“Talking about assignments reminds me of the old days. I once had a mission to keep an old man company at an expo.”

“Keep company?”

“You know how it goes. Senior officers tell you to find out about someone, and after you investigate and report back, they use prepared materials to point out all your mistakes.”

“Ah, I know what you mean. I did that a lot as a rookie too.”

The immigration officer’s antics seemed to be a similar test.

When Sophia first received information about my entry, she probably instructed her rookie to conduct a test.

Based on the information she knew and what came through the embassy (information I provided when applying for a visa), she likely ordered him to pose as an immigration officer to collect data on me. And then she told him to pass his personal number to me at the end.

The problem was…

“How was he?”

“Terrible.”

To be honest, the skills of Sophia’s rookie were quite poor. His conversation technique seemed to follow what he’d been taught, but he made many mistakes in other areas.

“Tell him to work on controlling his expressions. And did you give him my information in advance?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder he kept steering the conversation in strange directions. As if he was confirming information he already knew.”

I sighed deeply and put a cigarette in my mouth.

“Take him back and retrain him. He’ll cause an incident if he goes into the field like that.”

“Thanks for the advice, Merlot.”

Sophia gestured to a waiter. As the waiter scurried over, she was about to order a cocktail when she said,

“Should I buy you a drink to celebrate your arrival in Fatalia?”

“Sure.”

She ordered one for me as well and handed the waiter a tip.

*

Regardless of nationality, intelligence officers have a rule against drinking alcohol during overseas assignments. This is partly to prevent the disclosure of confidential information through drunken ramblings, but also a warning to be careful about what might be in the drink.

However, this rule is broken when drinking with intelligence officers from friendly or allied nations.

“Ah, it really feels good to come to Fatalia for a vacation.”

“Looks like your assignment was quite exhausting? You’ve already had four drinks.”

“Don’t even mention it. You know how nasty those Imperial bastards can be, right?”

“Seems they haven’t changed. Were you marked from day one?”

“Yes. And I caused a major incident on the first day too.”

Personally, I don’t completely trust the National Security Bureau or Sophia. I’m from Abas, and Sophia is from Fatalia.

But regardless, Fatalia is Abas’s greatest ally and friend, proven by the 100-year history between the two countries.

So I was able to enjoy a decent drinking session for once.

“What kind of incident?”

“They came all the way to my accommodation and circled around in a car. When I jumped out, they drove straight at me.”

“Really? What happened then?”

“What do you think? I grabbed onto the car, got into a collision accident, and got scratched up all over.”

The injuries were too severe to be described as mere scratches, but I let it slide. I couldn’t really protest about why they tried to run me over with a car because of my status.

Officially, I’m a military attaché and Camilla’s colleague, but unofficially, I’m an intelligence officer. The Military Intelligence Bureau placed me in the attaché position to ensure my safety in emergencies, not to give me immunity to commit crimes.

In that context, from the Imperial Guard’s perspective, I was just a spy who had crawled into the Empire. And a brazen one at that, sticking my head out openly. Sadly, that’s the reality.

To this, Sophia from the National Security Bureau spoke in a calm tone.

“It can’t be helped. Given your status. But think about it from the other side—what would you have done?”

“I would have run them over with a car too.”

“That’s not really something you should say…”

“But it’s true.”

“Even so, openly saying you’d run someone over with a car is a bit…”

Anyway, this was the reality.

If I had been behind the wheel, I would have stepped on the accelerator just the same, and the Imperial Guard intelligence officer would have clung to the car and cursed just like I did. The reason is simple. The other person is a spy who came to spy, and I’m the person who needs to stop them.

Whether it’s war or a fight, fundamentally, both events are just about beating up someone you don’t like. The relationship between intelligence officers and investigators is roughly similar. One side needs to steal secrets, and the other side needs to prevent those secrets from being stolen, so inevitably someone has to bleed.

So what can you do?

“You have to fight and win. Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘If you’re going to be a fool either way, be a victorious fool’?”

“But you’re still a fool either way.”

“It’s different. At least one side has won.”

“…Are you drunk?”

“Uh… no?”

I answered while gulping down the half-finished cocktail. My answer came out muffled through the ice, glass, and alcohol.

Seeing this, Sophia shook her head.

“Even if it’s just an aperitif, it’s still alcohol. If you drink carelessly, you might get knocked out.”

“Where to? Heaven?”

“Well… I don’t know where you’d go if you died, but I doubt heaven would accept someone who died from drinking.”

Is that so? As I tilted my head in confusion, I finished the rest of my cocktail.

“Then I’ll have to pay the Holy Lady to get me a one-way ticket to heaven. Even if I’m a human who died from alcohol poisoning, wouldn’t she accept me if I’m one of the most beloved descendants of the Celestial God?”

“Maybe you’re right.”

Sophia responded in a deflated voice, as if tired of the jokes. It was quite a pointless conversation.

*

After downing four cocktails and two glasses of sparkling water, and smoking a cigarette while enjoying the night view of the seaside, the appetizers we ordered were placed on our table.

Thinly sliced raw meat. The taste of the flesh marinated in lemon juice and dressing was excellent. The slight sourness, the tender texture of the meat, and the crisp texture of the vegetables harmoniously stimulated the appetite.

“How is it, Merlot?”

Sophia, who had placed salmon, tomato, and olives on a slice of bread, asked for my opinion.

“This is my first time trying Fatalian food, but it’s not bad. Pretty good.”

“It’s much better than the food of those Frangia bastards. The same goes for Abas food.”

Sophia criticized the food culture of neighboring countries while eating the appetizer. Honestly, I didn’t particularly like the food of any country, but I nodded in agreement, fearing that one wrong word might cause not only our alliance to crumble but also the couple at the next table and the waiter to hang me upside down at a gas station.

The meal went on for quite a while.

After stimulating our appetites with aperitifs and appetizers, pasta came next, followed by meat and fish. For reference, the pasta came first. The meat and fish were served only after we finished that.

We ordered additional items as needed, enjoying a leisurely meal with drinks. With work thoughts set aside, my head felt much more at ease, just as Clevins had said.

And not long after, having finished all the meat, fish, and side dishes we ordered, when we were about to order dessert.

I finally heard a real question from Sophia.

Raising her wine glass, she casually dropped it as if it were nothing important.

“How is Ranieri doing these days?”

Francesca Ranieri’s current situation.

That was the first thing she said to me at the table with only dessert remaining. And that was the purpose of Sophia’s visit today.

I smiled slightly, put down my drink, and interlaced my fingers.

“Is that why you came? To hear about her?”

“Well… not exactly, but I thought I’d ask while I was at it.”

That was clearly a lie.

There’s a technique diplomats use when having private conversations with foreign diplomats. They invite the diplomat to dinner, feed them well, get them drunk, and then make a request at the moment when a slight drowsiness and tipsiness sets in.

Even requests that would normally be carefully considered and politely declined are often accepted with a nod at that moment. That’s human psychology.

“What are you worried about? What did your superiors order you to do that you’re bothering me on my first day of vacation?”

Sophia smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, but this is my job. I wanted to avoid it if possible, but it’s come to this.”

“Let’s not drag this out. Is Francesca’s current situation all you want to know?”

“Yes, Ranieri’s current situation. That’s enough.”

I nodded. Then I blurted out.

“Let me hear the reason.”

The reason why the National Security Bureau was suddenly curious about Francesca’s situation. That’s what I wanted to know.

This wasn’t the first time Sophia had asked me about the northern front during this dinner. Like a proper intelligence officer, she had asked about the overall situation in the north, and I had given her as much information as I could (without violating security regulations).

And that information included stories about Veronica, Lucia, and Camilla, who had suddenly left the country, causing a stir among both the Church and high-ranking Imperial officials.

But this was the first time she had asked about Francesca.

I cleared some crumbs from the tablecloth and spoke.

“Without an intelligence network in the north, it must have been difficult for your agency to collect information. But you could indirectly monitor developments through your Imperial branch, couldn’t you? You certainly have that capability.”

“Information gathered through local intelligence networks ultimately comes through several layers.”

“So the information might be distorted?”

“Exactly.”

The reason human intelligence networks declined in the 21st century is partly because technical intelligence, represented by signal and image intelligence, replaced human intelligence, but the main reason is the inherent flaws in human intelligence itself.

What is human intelligence? It’s information collection through humans.

Intelligence officers go in directly to gather intelligence, hire informants in third countries to bring back intelligence, and then compile and process that intelligence. That’s the core of HUMINT.

The problem is that this method is extremely vulnerable.

“I don’t mind if an operation fails because an informant can’t approach the target. We can find alternatives. But who knows if an informant inflates their achievements, or an intelligence officer deliberately manipulates information for promotion, or if we’ve received fabricated counter-intelligence from the start?”

The advantage of HUMINT is that it collects information through humans, and the disadvantage is that it collects information through humans.

That’s why a significant portion of intelligence collected through HUMINT is either cut at the intelligence officer level or disappears while passing through the hands of analysts. It’s often useless despite being collected at great risk.

That’s why any decent intelligence agency launches satellites, even at great expense. At least photos taken directly and signals collected directly don’t lie.

It’s a sad story, but that’s reality.

“So to summarize, your agency is dying to know about Francesca’s current situation.”

“Yes.”

“You’re worried that information might be distorted if it comes through your network.”

“That’s right.”

“And since it’s not feasible to send someone directly to the north now or to recruit people around her, you want to pump me for information since I’m in the closest position?”

“Yes… that sounds harsh, but…”

She meant the essence was correct.

I nodded calmly and began.

“Then make a formal request for information sharing. What are you trying to do? Does your agency always work so rudely?”

“…”

“I’m here on vacation, and I’m not in a position to tell your agency anything right now. No, even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn’t. My agency would discipline me if I shared information without authorization.”

Sophia stared at me silently, and I leaned back against the chair. Then I continued in a serious tone.

“Tell me the real reason. Why are you doing this?”

Sophia, who had been staring at me silently, briefly looked away and sighed.

She raised her head to look at the night sea, then looked back at me with sharp eyes worn by fatigue.

“If I tell you the reason, will you tell me?”

“Let me hear what you have to say first.”

“…Alright.”

Sophia gently pushed her wine glass to the side.

Then, after scanning the people around us with her eyes, she leaned her upper body toward me and began whispering in a low voice.

“The agency wants to eliminate Ranieri.”