A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Before the vacation ended, Leoni ordered to extract an information agent.

It’s an exile operation.

The target includes the agent and his family, making a total of three people.

The objective of the operation is just one.

To ensure the safe escape of local intelligence assets.

That’s all there is to it.

—

Episode 10 – Change Course to Northwest

Leoni assigned me the operation to exile intelligence assets from the Kien Empire to Abas.

Just before taking my post as a military attaché, I received the operational plan, devised a detailed plan, and secured the cooperation of the embassy after consulting with the ambassador.

To successfully achieve the exile, the assistance of the embassy is crucial.

And finally, the important moment of taking the first step towards exile had arrived.

“Is this Vasiliy Karachev, the advisor?”

“Yes, that’s me. Colonel Nostrim.”

Vasiliy Vladimirovich Karachev.

He resides in an apartment on Uritsa Street in Petrogard, the capital of the Empire, with his wife and one daughter.

His job is that of a policy advisor to a member of parliament. You could equate it to a level 4 advisor in the National Assembly of South Korea. Just for reference, the parliament member he serves is a veteran of three terms in the ruling party and the secretary of the Defense Committee.

Of course, right now, he’s merely an intelligence asset of the Military Intelligence Agency hoping for exile, nothing more, nothing less.

I opened my mouth in a calm voice. I had only gotten three hours of sleep, so my voice was a bit hoarse, but this was the smoothest tone I could manage.

The advisor laughed a little, seemingly easing up. Given the dark circles under his eyes and his dull complexion, it seemed he’d had a rough night.

“I’ve been keeping the business card you gave me last time safe. I was hoping to meet you separately soon, but here we are.”

He flashed a smile while glancing over the members of our party.

Just as with the advisor, his wife’s face looked quite off.

Given her pale complexion, it seemed she knew a bit about the plan to exile. Since it’s a matter of life and death, it appeared they had discussed it in advance. Their daughter, in her late teens, was too busy gawking at the splendid venue.

Alright. I roughly understood the situation.

Checking the eavesdropping prevention device stored under the table, I moved straight to the main topic.

“First, I need to confirm your intention to seek asylum. The conversation we’re having is being recorded, and it will only take effect if you personally attest to it in your own voice. Do you understand?”

The sudden mention of exile made the advisor’s expression harden. He looked as though he hadn’t expected to discuss such matters openly in the midst of a gathering with diplomats and Empire citizens.

I maintained an understanding expression, calmly gesturing with my palm facing down to put him at ease.

“Don’t worry about eavesdropping. It’s safe right now.”

“…Yes, understood.”

“Then I will ask you. Vasiliy Vladimirovich Karachev, it is correct that you are choosing exile of your own free will?”

“…Correct.”

“To which country do you wish to seek asylum?”

“The Kingdom of Abas.”

“Let’s move on to the next question.”

I exchanged a few more questions with the advisor seated at the table. Is it indeed your will to seek asylum? Which country do you wish to go to? Were there any external pressures or coercion during your decision-making process?

Although these questions felt overly formal and basic for someone wanting to escape, unfortunately, that’s the procedure.

If they were to claim back in the Empire that “They weren’t seeking asylum, but had been abducted by the Abas Information Agency,” it would lead to a diplomatic dispute.

So I needed to keep a record of this for future reference.

“Well, that concludes today’s questions. If we meet again, we will record what you said today once more and complete the paperwork, including an application for change of affiliation, and then assist you.”

“…Aren’t we seeking asylum right away?”

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

Truth is, that was a lie. The preparation for exile had already been completed long ago.

The exile operation consists of three main stages.

The first stage is to write an application for change of allegiance at the embassy and pay the ‘price’ for the asylum.

Once I receive the information as payment for the exile, I would send the advisor and his family to a third country. That’s the second stage.

The plan would diverge depending on whether they enter the Abas embassy in the third country or take the warp gate directly to Abas, but for now, the third stage is simply to get out of the Empire and move anywhere.

But that wasn’t their concern.

The crucial issue is that the moment they go to the embassy to seek asylum, I become a suspect. After all, the last Abas diplomat they encountered was me.

To survive, I had to keep my distance from them as much as possible. So I’ve been running around attending events and meeting people, functioning on just three hours of sleep each day.

Anyway.

“The next schedule will take some time, so we need to meet in a safe location….”

I rubbed my chin and trailed off.

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

“…….”

The advisor’s complexion turned as pale as a corpse.

The policy advisor to the head of the Defense Committee, who handles military secrets, going to the embassy of a rival nation?

If there was at least a justifiable reason, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but the moment he comes up with even the slightest clumsy excuse, it’s all over. Especially the moment someone from the Imperial Guard hears about it, it won’t end well at all. He probably knows this too well.

So, this was the last hurdle.

A question that asks if he is willing to risk his life, abandon his homeland forever, and start again in a different world.

After a moment of consideration, he finally reached a conclusion.

“I think it’s possible.”

—

After our initial contact, as soon as the event ended, I holed up in the embassy to prepare for the next stage.

Through the ambassador, the head of the diplomatic mission, I sought the cooperation of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and contacted the ambassador and the military attaché to request support in case of emergency. For reference, these two are the Royal Intelligence Department’s base chief and the Military Intelligence Agency’s branch chief.

While preparing for the operation, I focused as much as possible on diplomatic duties. Since surveillance from intelligence agencies was ongoing, it was essential to act as naturally as possible.

In the meantime, the advisor applied for leave.

With the busy schedule finally winding down, he made up an excuse that he would go on a family trip abroad for about three days, taking advantage of the weekend. Fortunately, the leave was accepted without any objections. This was the fruit of the strong trust he had built over decades working under the parliament member.

The problem was finding a pretext to visit the embassy…

But I quickly found a solution.

[The Defense Ministry’s approval for the deployment of foreign military attachés to the northern conflict zone has met with fierce backlash. Members of the Defense Committee, regardless of party affiliation, are protesting strongly, claiming it violates international law and has proceeded haphazardly while excluding international organizations….]

[Concerns about military security are escalating. Today, members of the Defense Committee visited the Abas embassy to lodge protests….]

Members of the Defense Committee visited the Abas embassy. Those who were displeased with my northward deployment had come directly to protest.

Of course, this was merely a political performance.

The members of parliament couldn’t contain their overflowing patriotism, splitting their busy schedules to protest, but in reality, it was a desperate struggle to prove their loyalty to maintain their positions in a dictatorial country.

As I watched members of the Empire’s Parliament dragging in loads of journalists to take photos while meeting with the Abas ambassador, I clicked my tongue.

“What a scene this is, first thing in the morning.”

“I know, right?”

“I heard rumors among the aides for a few days now, but I didn’t expect them to actually show up.”

While eavesdropping on the idle chatter of the diplomats who came out for a break, I retrieved my target from among the advisors who followed the parliament members into the embassy.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Haha… Not at all.”

On the day before leave, the policy advisor, about to finish his last schedule, smiled weakly.

It seemed that his experience as an information agent hadn’t dulled his quick thinking skills.

“Now, let’s see….”

I muttered as I peeked at my watch. I could hear the advisor swallow hard.

“After the meeting with the members of parliament and the press conference, we should have about two hours to spare.”

“……”

“Follow me.”

I closed my watch and started leading him deeper into the embassy.

Thus, we moved into the secure zone.

—

Diplomatic missions have secure zones.

Similar to the office of the military attaché on the fifth floor and the information management room belonging to the Royal Intelligence Department, most secure areas in such institutions are connected to intelligence agencies, restricting access for anyone not authorized.

Not even cleaners or clerical staff, and even diplomats rarely go there. Usually, not even the ambassador will visit.

Inside the secure area of the Abas embassy located in the Kien Empire, there was an office.

With a steel desk and two chairs placed inside, one wall was fully glass, reminiscent of an interrogation room, where the advisor was seated.

I took a sip of the low-quality coffee from the magic tower while glancing through the glass wall.

“Ugh.”

It still tastes awful. I had hoped for a better flavor since it was a new product, but it was just bitter and astringent.

I idly pondered if those analysts, Pippin and the others, adding excessive sugar to their coffee was a frantic effort to salvage this tasteless muck. While lost in such trivial thoughts, the office door opened.

“Director, I’m entering now.”

“Recording preparation. Three, two, one. Begin.”

—

Click!

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

The information officer, wearing headphones, confirmed the audio quality and expertly manipulated the device, pen in one hand, resting his chin in the other like an audience member at a movie.

I checked the state of the lie detector and filming magical tools while observing the interrogation room of the military attaché with the other attachés.

In case the exile operation failed, a military attaché whose identity had already been exposed—(not that I intended to hide it since he was already a department chief)—took charge of the meeting himself. Originally, I was supposed to take over the meeting, but just then, I received orders from above, stating that the military attaché would step in instead.

It seemed that the Military Intelligence Agency had issued an order concerned about my identity being exposed if the agent were caught.

While sipping coffee and warding off drowsiness with my headphones on, the flustered advisor’s voice began to pour out.

“Uh… Where did the other person go?”

“If you’re referring to the military officer who brought you here, I can only say that he hasn’t entered this building.”

The blunt response from the military attaché continued.

“Vasiliy Vladimirovich Karachev. Before we proceed, I’d like to ask you a few questions. It’s correct that you chose asylum of your own volition, right?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to inquire about your life. Could you please describe how you have lived, as far back as you can remember?”

The military attaché started questioning the advisor.

Ordinary questions about upbringing, personal relationships, workplaces, and family status first.

“Recently, it seems you’ve encountered financial issues, where your expenditures surpassed your income. What happened?”

“Just, uh, a lot has come up that costs money.”

“Could it be that the expenses in question are related to meeting an intern secretary from another parliamentary office?”

“……”

“Of course, forming a free relationship with someone you meet in a social club is not a major ethical issue in the Empire. However, it is viewed differently in Abas, hence my inquiry.”

“…We were merely friends for a little while. We parted ways amicably.”

“It seems you were more distressed than you let on about that breakup. Rumor has it your demeanor has changed significantly since shortly after the split. So you secretly invited a doctor to your home for psychiatric counseling, didn’t you?”

“No, how would you know that—”

Questions ranging from extravagant spending habits to awkward issues about infidelity.

As I listened, I could roughly gauge how this man was coerced into the Military Intelligence Agency.

He probably couldn’t sustain his expensive habits on a public servant’s salary and ended up accepting money offered by an information officer.

Reviewing the records, I noted that the information officer who previously managed the advisor had retired last year. An official facade from the Empire’s embassy, who in former years had posted overseas, appeared to be staying at home due to health issues and prolonged recovery.

While reading through the information prepared by the Military Intelligence Agency, the questioning continued.

The military attaché painstakingly dragged out every minor flaw from the advisor’s life one by one.

Once the fact of the advisor’s exile became known externally, malicious rumors would undoubtedly start spreading, so if he had serious issues, it might be easier to wrap him up at this juncture.

The talent for pinpointing weaknesses was just like Leoni’s style. Considering how suddenly the military attaché was transferred into this role, it seemed Leoni had given detailed instructions.

The military attaché pressed the advisor further while gauging my discomfort at the scene. Surely it was a humiliating moment for him, but the advisor managed to endure.

Ultimately, the military attaché took a step back.

“Alright then. Thank you for your candid responses, Vasiliy. Now, let’s move into the main topic.”

To either relieve the tension or create a more relaxed atmosphere, the military attaché cracked a few jokes as the mood softened.

With a slightly amiable smile, the information officer began to inquire about the reasons for seeking asylum.

“What motivated you to decide to seek asylum?”

The advisor replied without a hint of hesitation.

“It’s concerning my daughter’s health.”

“Your daughter’s health? What problems is she facing?”

“She has heart issues. It’s an incurable disease, which means treatment costs a lot, and moreover, while the Magic Tower is conducting research, clear treatment methods haven’t been developed yet….”

So he was seeking asylum for the sake of his family’s health.

While not a common case in advanced countries, it is somewhat familiar in developing countries. I’ve heard from seniors about defectors from North Korea seeking asylum for health reasons.

According to the details in the Military Intelligence Agency documents, the advisor’s daughter apparently did have legitimate health issues. It was noted that she often complained of heart pains during physical education classes at the academy.

But something seemed off.

“…Isn’t the Empire’s medical system supposed to be decent?”

While the Kien Empire’s healthcare system certainly has its shortcomings, it’s not as if it was completely backward like the remote regions of Africa or the Middle East.

It regularly produces highly skilled professionals, and its medical research outcomes are recognized internationally as quite impressive.

That’s why medical students from pro-Empire dictatorial nations aspire to study in the Empire, and occasionally, medical professionals from Abas and Patalia return after attending studies here.

Surely, heart-related illnesses are critical issues, and if the exorbitant costs were a result of structural flaws in the medical system, it wouldn’t be entirely surprising for them to make such a decision, but it still seemed odd that he would suddenly seek asylum.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with that thought, as some of the other staff also tilted their heads in confusion.

“I’m sorry to hear about your daughter’s situation. But is that all?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m asking if your reason for seeking asylum is purely for the treatment of your daughter.”

The military attaché’s voice again turned brusque.

“If you’re lying, it could lead to issues during the subsequent investigation. In the worst-case scenario, you might even be expelled from Abas.”

“……”

The advisor’s expression darkened slightly.

In that fleeting moment, as though struggling with a myriad of thoughts, the advisor seemed like someone who had finally made a decision, speaking in a lowered voice.

“…It’s not just that. There are other reasons as well.”

“Please elaborate.”

“My daughter has become subject to conscription.”