Ch.50Episode 3 – Fantastic Vacation

Evidence has emerged.

A crucial piece of evidence that can prove the espionage charges.

“We need specialized equipment to decode this microfilm.”

“We can’t examine the contents right away, but just possessing this item is enough grounds for arrest.”

The investigators’ response was immediate.

The captain immediately left the scene to report to the team leader, the sergeant channeled his inner forensics officer to photograph the scene, and I continued searching for additional evidence.

The first place my gaze landed was a desk covered with countless storage devices.

Brick-shaped devices, long tubular ones, and thin plate-like ones reminiscent of floppy disks.

I examined them slowly and asked the sergeant:

“Can we access these storage devices now?”

“The diskettes? Not here since we don’t have the equipment. We need to take them to the office and insert them into a terminal. Please handle them carefully as they’re sensitive to impact.”

I see.

“Tsk…”

I put down the disk, clicking my tongue.

I really don’t like how poorly equipped this place is.

We should be hacking RFID chips just by walking past them, planting hacking tools on smartphones through spam emails, and cracking computers by simply removing their hard drives. Having to take everything back to the office for verification is incredibly inconvenient.

It’s an unreliable and uncomfortable way of handling things, but what can I do? When you don’t have teeth, you have to chew with your gums.

While I was searching for evidence in the cluttered room, the captain who had gone outside returned through the door. Seems his report was already finished.

“Did you make contact? If the support request is done, we should get moving.”

“No, I can’t reach the team leader right now.”

What’s this about? Is the person who should be sitting in the office directing operations away from their post? That shouldn’t happen.

Seeing my puzzled expression, the captain quickly clarified:

“I’m told he’s gone up to the surface with Team 1. Something must have happened up there.”

Episode 3 – A Fantastic Vacation

It seems some important evidence has surfaced above ground.

Considering that an intelligence agency team leader is typically a Grade 5 civil servant or field-grade officer (specifically, a lieutenant colonel or major), whatever evidence they found must be extremely significant.

The reason is simple. The team leader is a middle manager.

Team leaders must document information brought by agents and report it up the chain, while also adjusting and directing team operations according to medium or short-term objectives. In other words, the paperwork and information they handle increases exponentially compared to their days as field agents.

That’s why most team leaders typically send their team members to the field while they remain at the office.

Of course, this isn’t universal. Intelligence agents are human after all, and some team leaders prefer fieldwork over desk work. For major operations like joint missions or following orders from above, team leaders must be on the ground.

I was a good example. Wasn’t I just running around overseas for two months on intelligence agency orders?

However, the investigation team assigned to the Counterespionage Department, or more precisely, the Advanced Military Magic Research Institute, was different.

Why couldn’t investigators move freely? The answer could be found in the nature of counterespionage work and field conditions.

Due to the nature of counterespionage, investigators must never be spotted by spies, who might flee or resist if they notice surveillance. Similarly, investigators shouldn’t be noticed by civilians either, who might become nervous and withdrawn if suspicious individuals are lurking around.

That’s why investigators always operated not in the research building but in the administrative building, specifically in its most secluded corner. They even ate in their office, only used the bathroom right in front, and slept in the adjoining duty room.

But now the team leader suddenly leaves the office and heads to the surface? With only minimal staff remaining?

Though I didn’t know the details yet, if the team leader was moving personally, clearly some serious evidence had emerged. Or perhaps a major incident had occurred.

But what mattered now wasn’t what evidence had been found.

What mattered was that the team leader had left his post, the communication network connecting the surface and underground was being monitored by the institute’s internal affairs department and military wiretapping units, and therefore someone needed to go up and bring the team leader back to prevent a security breach.

“It’s not that we don’t trust internal affairs, but we should avoid communicating through the institute’s internal network. Team leader’s orders.”

“Someone needs to go up to the surface.”

Taking the elevator up, passing through security, and calling the team leader from the residential building would take at least 15 minutes. That’s assuming you don’t go through security and run straight to the residential building.

“Major, how much time do you have left?”

“About 20 minutes.”

That’s barely enough time to bring back the team leader, explain the situation, and formulate an arrest plan.

It’s even tighter considering the time needed to return to Camilla Rowell.

The sergeant, who had been quietly listening, neatly summarized the situation.

“It looks like we need to split up. Major, please return to monitor the spy, and one of us will go up to bring back the team leader.”

After the sergeant finished speaking, the captain volunteered to bring back the team leader.

“I’ll go up.”

“Get through security as quickly as possible. We can’t hold her for long because of the next examination.”

“I can pass through security with my intelligence agency ID, so I’ll be back quickly.”

He spoke with such conviction, and I had no reason to object, so I just told him to go ahead.

Meanwhile, the sergeant handed the film containing the scene photos to the captain, and the captain pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.

“What’s this?”

“A talisman with anti-magic protective spells. You should take it, just in case.”

“But why would I—”

I was about to ask why he was giving me such an obviously dangerous item, but I was too late.

The captain quickly explained:

“Because you’ll be closest to the spy.”

*

I’m closest to the spy, so I might be in danger.

We are ordinary people, and our opponent is a magician.

Keep this for any emergency.

The captain didn’t elaborate on why he gave me the talisman, but his intentions could be summarized in about three lines.

Although we belong to different departments, as workplace seniors and juniors, it’s reasonable to warn someone who might get hurt while helping with a job.

But there’s a vast difference between simply giving a warning and providing a talisman. No, the difference was as great as that between heaven and earth.

This was equivalent to saying “take a stab-proof vest because you might get stabbed during surveillance.”

Considering that magic cast by a magician is more threatening than a criminal’s sashimi knife, it was like giving me a bomb disposal suit rather than just a stab-proof vest.

Even though arrest wasn’t my responsibility, and I was only asked to assist with surveillance.

As always, the future is unpredictable, and human affairs are uncertain, so I silently folded the talisman carefully and placed it in my inner pocket.

Of course, receiving the talisman didn’t miraculously ease my burning anxiety.

“…Why that expression?”

“What?”

“No, you’re sitting there looking like you’ve bitten into something sour…”

My expression too.

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

When I answered curtly, Camilla Rowell stopped questioning. But still curious, she tilted her head quizzically while touching her dripping wet hair.

Watching her, I let out a short sigh.

“It’s just some personal matters.”

“A privacy issue, I see.”

Due to the nature of intelligence agencies, it’s strictly forbidden to disclose one’s identity, mission, or internal affairs to unauthorized individuals unrelated to the mission.

This applies not only to unofficial undercover agents, commonly known as black agents, but also to official undercover agents whose identities are somewhat open.

Naturally, I couldn’t tell Camilla Rowell that “we need to catch a spy roaming around the institute.”

That would be truly insane.

If the intelligence agency caught me saying such things, I would immediately be removed from all duties and dragged to the inspection room. Then I’d go to prison for leaking classified information, and after release, I’d be expelled from the military without retirement benefits. Or possibly executed.

Anyway.

I changed the subject before saying anything foolish.

“What kind of examination left your hair soaking wet?”

“Nothing special, just had to shower because I got some monster blood on me. There was also a slight burning smell… Can you still smell it?”

Camilla Rowell held out her hand clutching her hair and asked me. Moist crimson hair. More vivid, more deeply red than when we first met.

I raised my hand and pushed her outstretched hand away.

“I can’t smell because of my rhinitis…”

I reflexively tried to say I couldn’t smell, but then realized this body doesn’t have rhinitis.

“—not that I can’t smell. But still, this is a bit…”

“Oh.”

Camilla Rowell let out a short sigh, then blushed and apologized to me.

“I’m sorry! I used to play these pranks with my former colleagues…!”

What kind of workplace would make jokes by shoving freshly showered hair in someone’s face?

“What kind of company would smell a colleague’s hair…?”

“Well, it was a company that often went to remote areas. Hygiene management was difficult, so we joked around like this.”

“Where exactly were these remote areas…?”

“Africa! No, you probably won’t understand if I just say that…”

Camilla Rowell rambled on, trying to help me understand this region called Africa.

In fact, Africa was an area I knew very well, but I kept my mouth shut to avoid seeming strange. What followed was a comedy of errors. She tried to explain Africa to me, while I pretended not to know what I already knew and made efforts to understand her explanation.

“The entire continent is a mess because of civil wars and terrorism. Not every country is like that, but most have unstable security and dysfunctional administration…!”

“I see. So it’s a politically unstable and underdeveloped region.”

“Electricity and water don’t run 24 hours, and when you open the tap, muddy water comes out…!”

“From what I hear, many countries aren’t functioning properly. Security must be unstable and medical services terrible. Are there epidemics or parasites in groundwater and rivers that require boiling water before drinking?”

“Yes! And the highways are just two lanes with poor road conditions…!”

“With dead animals occasionally lying on the roads?”

“Exactly!”

So it is the Africa I know.

Camilla Rowell held me captive with her stories about Africa, explaining, or rather trying to convince me, why she played such pranks.

To summarize her lengthy explanation, it was a region where proper bathing was difficult, and the work was hard, so sometimes they would shove their hair in each other’s faces to make people laugh. I couldn’t understand how emitting a foul smell constituted a joke, but I just accepted it.

She’s British, after all. Nothing a Brit who puts sardines in pies does should surprise me.

In the end, I silently decided to overlook her faux pas.

“I understand. Living in harsh environments sometimes leads to crude jokes. I get it.”

“…Really?”

“Yes. I’ll take it as a sign that the relationship between Ms. Camilla Rowell and myself is close enough for you to shove your gunpowder-scented hair in my face.”

“Oh, come on!”

I doubt even SpongeBob and Patrick’s conversations could be less dignified than this.

They probably weren’t.

*

My conversation with Camilla Rowell not only helped gather information about her background but also greatly relieved tension.

Nothing provides mental stability quite like conversing with someone from the same world, even if not exactly from the same hometown, especially after 28 years.

Until now, I’d been living with the mindset of an illegal foreign worker who didn’t quite fit in. Talking about something related to home made me feel a bit better. Information gathering was half professional habit, so that couldn’t be helped. Anyway.

As our conversation of over 10 minutes was wrapping up, the person I’d been waiting for appeared.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Am I very late?”

The senior researcher of the biological analysis lab, Giada Bianchi.

She appeared with a very friendly face and greeted us.

“How are you feeling, Hero? I heard you were covered in monster blood.”

“I’m fine, I showered right away. How did the examination go?”

“We’ve completed 34 out of 37 test items. All the data has been recorded, so starting next week, we plan to examine how your body’s magical energy reacts when you use your abilities—your magic.”

“That sounds good! When will the results be available?”

“It should take about 5 days.”

Giada Bianchi pushed up her glasses and responded to Camilla Rowell with an incredibly intellectual expression.

Watching her interact with Camilla Rowell was exactly like seeing a doctor with a patient.

However, one cannot judge a person by appearance alone. Considering she had hidden dozens of disguised coins containing microfilm in her mattress, it was impossible to guess what lay beneath that smiling face.

She was a woman capable of smuggling out at least dozens, perhaps hundreds, of documents.

But I already knew she was a spy, while she was unaware that the investigation net was closing in around her.

So I could smile and take her hand.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Senior Researcher.”

Nice to meet you, you little shit.