“I have discovered something unusual,” she said.
She could not look directly at him. She didn’t want to disappoint him. Her ice-blue eyes shifted around the drab office, with its grey floors, covered only with Davidov’s small desk and two chairs, and its grey walls, adorned only with a Phrygian flag and the seal of the People’s Defense Bureau.
“Go on,” he said.
“I was conducting a routine audit of a number of field agents,” she continued, “and I discovered that Captain Viktor Krilenko has been assigned directly to General Yevgeni Tupelov. Were you aware of this?”
“No,” Davidov said.
“I did not think so. There was no record of you giving authorization for this transfer, which you would have to have done since General Tupelov is Army, not PDB. I was hoping it was a clerical error, but it seems it is not.”
Davidov stroked his graying goatee thoughtfully and ran his fingers through his thinning, blonde hair. His blue eyes focused on nothing.
“I do not recall receiving any request from General Tupelov for one of our agents,” he said at last. “How long has Ravager been assigned to him?”
“Almost a month,” Svetlana answered.
“Then it couldn’t have preceded my command,” Davidov said, echoing her thoughts. “What is the nature of his assignment?”
“The transfer form does not say. He has been sighted multiple times in Al-Adan in the last few weeks.”
“Are there mission reports?”
“No.”
Davidov stiffened at that news. His face turned pink with anger.
“That is highly irregular,” he said. “Even if he was on loan to the military, we should be receiving copies of his mission reports.”
“That was my feeling as well, Comrade Major,” she said. “What would you like me to do?”
Davidov leaned back and studied the ceiling. He rocked a bit in his chair as he thought. Svetlana waited patiently for him to turn all the possibilities over in his mind.
“I think you should look into this further,” he said. “I would like to know who authorized this transfer and why I wasn’t notified.” He leaned forward on his desk and looked deeply into her eyes. “And I think you should conduct this investigation as discreetly as possible. We are dealing with a powerful military figure here. If there is nothing to this, we can cause great offense to him and great damage to both our careers.
“But most importantly, this smells very wrong. My instincts tell me there is some form of malfeasance at work. If that is the case, we will have to be careful to whom we speak. We don’t know who our friends are. For the time being, keep this between ourselves.”
“Yes, sir,” Svetlana said. “How would you like me to proceed?”
“Start with the mission records. Tupelov’s office should have them. See what you can find out about what Ravager is doing. Then we’ll see what to do from there. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Comrade Major!” She snapped another salute.
“Good. Be careful, Shadowcat. As you well know, people kill to keep secrets. If this is a worst-case scenario, there may be more at risk here than our careers.”
Chapter 7: Ambassador Dasher
(Eleven Days before Revelation Day)
Wolf sat quietly in Bartleby’s office as the chief looked over his report. The old man’s brow was furrowed as he went through the details.
“Well, it doesn’t look like you learned much,” Bartleby said at last.
“Excuse me?” Wolf said, flabbergasted.
“Although you did manage to contribute a tidy sum to your bank account,” the chief continued. “I suppose you’ll be retiring now.”
Wolf couldn’t believe his ears. Was Bartleby really suggesting he’d been fooling around the entire time?
“Is this some sort of a joke?” he asked.
“Is it?” Bartleby replied.
Wolf turned crimson with anger. How dare the chief question his work!
“No,” he growled. “It was a very fruitful fact-finding mission.”
Bartleby appeared unmoved.
“And what facts did you find other than the ambassador uses magic to cheat at cards?” he asked.
Wolf had to take a breath. He was ready to explode, and he knew that would not get him anywhere with the chief. Micah Bartleby took flak from no one.
“First,” Wolf said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that he cheats at cards via some magical means. I am not an expert on elves, but I have not heard of them performing magic without the assistance of spells or enchanted items. They have a greater understanding of magic than humans, but they do not possess an innate ability to use it. Thus, Ambassador Silverleaf has some sort of extraordinary ability.
“Second, he hates Urlanders. The very reason he cheats at cards is to hurt our people. This raises the question why would someone like that be assigned as ambassador to Urland? He couldn’t possibly overcome his prejudice to be an effective diplomat. Moreover, why would he accept the appointment in the first place? He condemns himself to spending a lot of time in a nation he despises.
“Third, he’s arrogant. He believes himself to be better than any of the people who were in the club, and I suspect he thinks there are few beings of any sort on Earth better than he.
“Fourth, his arrogance tells us two things about him: he’s extremely intelligent, and he’s careless. Both points were demonstrated clearly during the card game. His understanding of the green deck and how to play it effectively – along with his skill at cheating to win – demonstrate he’s a keen tactician. However, his assumption I would play grey and his lack of a contingency plan when I chose black show us he thinks he has thought of everything when he really hasn’t.
“Something is going on here. I don’t know what it adds up to, but Shadow Five named one person just before she was murdered: Ambassador Silverleaf. Now we find out he’s an arrogant cheat, who hates Urland. Everything I uncovered suggests we should investigate further. As far as I’m concerned, he’s got the blood of an Urlish Shadow on his hands, and I want him to pay.”
Wolf fell silent. He was angrier than he expected to be. Maybe it was because Sara was a friend of his, and she didn’t deserve to die gruesomely. Maybe it was because the chief was questioning his methods or his instincts. And maybe it was because he was so bored, and the game with Silverleaf was the closest thing to a mission he’d had in months.
Whatever the reason, he was tired of sitting here doing nothing when he knew he was onto something. His grey eyes bored into Bartleby, daring the Chief to challenge him further. For his part, the head of Shadow Service simply stared impassively at Wolf – as though Wolf had not been insubordinate or raised his voice or even spoken.
“You missed something,” Bartleby said at last. “Silverleaf’s treatment of the girl, Beausoir, and of the staff and the other people in the club indicates a certain cruelty. It’s not just that he thinks he’s better than anyone else. He has real disdain for others. He sees them as nothing more than tools, and he’ll sacrifice them whenever he feels he needs to. We don’t know enough from your observations to declare him a sociopath, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he was.”
Wolf sat flabbergasted. Bartleby was up to something. Why was he suddenly taking what Wolf learned so seriously?
“Why—” Wolf began.
“Because I wanted to see if you understood what it was we learned from this exercise. You’ve been bored and sullen for months. It’s possible your skills had gotten soft. I needed to make sure you’d actually done more than play cards, charm a woman, and win a bunch of money. I wanted to know you were still sharp.”
Wolf wasn’t sure if he was angry, pleased, or insulted. He struggled to react.
“Maybe I wouldn’t have been in danger of going dull, if I’d had a mission in the last year,” he grumbled.
“Oh, spare me!” Bartleby shot back. “You know as well as I that missions come as they come. And the best use for you is investigatio
n and problem-solving. A long-term, deep-cover assignment is a waste of your talents. When something comes up that best suits your gifts, you get the mission. Nothing of that sort has come up in the last year. We’ve got something now. I assume you want the case?”
Wolf was chagrined. He knew the chief was right. The boredom had made him a fool.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’d like the case.”
“Good,” Bartleby said. “Silverleaf has left for Alfar. You will go there as well. You will find out what he’s up to and, if necessary, put a stop to it. And you’re to remember that there is, as of yet, no evidence linking him to Shadow Five’s death. You’re only to go after Silverleaf if there is cause. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wolf could feel his heart starting to race. He suddenly felt a little more alive. He had a mission at last. Soon, he would be back in his familiar world of danger. It was where he liked to be.
“How will I be able to get close to Silverleaf,” he asked. “Will I be continuing to use the cover from the club and tell him I’m on holiday? That seems a little thin.”
“No,” Bartleby answered. “We’ve got something better. You’re the new ambassador to Alfar.”
“What!” For the second time, Wolf couldn’t believe what he heard from the chief. Was he really serious, or was this another ploy? “Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know the first thing about diplomacy,” Wolf protested. “I’ve never been to Alfar, I have only limited understanding of all the subtle points of the negotiations, and I won’t be able to properly represent Her Majesty.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Bartleby roared. “A minute ago, you were crying because you didn’t have a mission. Now you’re telling me you can’t take one I’m offering you?”
“But, sir, I don’t know anything about diplomacy.”
“You’re the son of a noble family,” Bartleby said, his gaze hard. “You were raised to be a courtier and would be now if you hadn’t become a Shadow. You have the appropriate background, which is why I sent you to the Dubonney Club in the first place.
“You’ve read all the briefs on Urland’s tactical position in Alfar. You know what the most important aspects of that position are and that we can’t give them up.
“Most importantly, you know Silverleaf for whom he really is. The best way to get you close to him is to put you in the negotiating room with him, and I want a man who understands how treacherous the Alfari ambassador is.
“Your controller on this mission is well versed in the complexities of the negotiation. She’ll be able to guide you.
“I need you there on the inside, Shadow Six. Someone has murdered one of our Shadows. She linked the Alfari ambassador to it before she died. That, along with what you learned at the Dubonney Club, suggests to me something nefarious is going on. I want to know what it is, and, if it’s a threat to Urlish interests, I want it stopped.”
He ceased speaking and stared at Wolf holding him hard with his pale green eyes. Wolf thought about it. Everything the Chief said made sense. Wolf did seem like an ideal man for the job.
But he didn’t like it. Diplomacy was a lot more complicated than Bartleby was making it out to be, and he didn’t care how knowledgeable this controller was; she couldn’t be in the negotiations with him. Wolf saw lots of opportunities for things to go very wrong. But he also didn’t see that he had much of a choice.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” Bartleby said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Get your things together. You leave in an hour. I want you there soonest.”
Wolf nodded and left the office. His heart was still racing. He just wasn’t sure if it was excitement or dread that was making it beat so.
Chapter 8: Two Phrygians
(Three Days before Revelation Day)
Sagaius Silverleaf sat impatiently in a dirty tavern in the small town of Qesh in northern Jifan. He had exchanged his customary silks for a rough wool tunic and leggings and an even rougher cloak. Everything he wore was brown, even his leather boots, and all of it looked boorish. He kept the hood of his cloak up, so he could not be recognized. While that was principally a security precaution, he also didn’t want to be seen wearing such terrible clothing.
He was in an ill mood. Coming to Jifan always made him angry. He hated what the cowardly theocrats had done to his beloved Alfheim – what they had done to him. He recognized the necessity of this meeting, but he detested having it here. He would rather have traveled all the way to Phrygia to meet with General Tupelov.
Absently, he rubbed his left wrist. It had been years since the Jifani terrorists maimed him, but he sometimes still felt the pain.
Presently, the subjects of his meeting arrived. Tupelov was sensibly out of uniform, although his khaki tunic and leggings were similar in color to the Phrygian Army’s olive. Sagaius supposed he was a man who couldn’t stray too far from what he knew. Ravager wore his customary black cloak, tunic, and pants.
The two were speaking when they entered. Sagaius understood Phrygian, but they were talking too low for him to make out the words. After a moment, Ravager spotted Sagaius and nodded. Tupelov followed his eyes and smiled. They exchanged another brief word, and then Ravager moved to the bar, while Tupelov came straight over.
“Privet, Ambassador,” Tupelov said, seating himself. “How are you tonight?”
“Irritated,” Sagaius said. “You’re late.”
“My apologies, Ambassador,” he said. “I was delayed leaving Pushkingrad.”
Ravager arrived carrying four shots of vodka. Sagaius sniffed in disdain at the predictability. He set two glasses in front of Tupelov and kept the other two for himself. He sat down between the two of them.
“Nosdrovija,” Tupelov said, and the two of them threw back a shot.
“So,” Tupelov said after wiping his mouth. “Where are we?”
“We have successfully penetrated the Sons of Frey in Al-Adan,” Ravager said. His voice was flat and dead-sounding. “Starfellow believes I am feeding him inside information on the movements of government officials, so he may send his suicide bombers to wreak havoc. Simultaneously, I have tipped the Elite Guard to the imminence of all but the most inconsequential of attacks. Thus, the Guard appears to be on top of the violence, making it look like they have security well in hand.”
“How does Starfellow perceive these setbacks,” Sagaius inquired.
“He is growing discontent,” Ravager said with a shrug. “He cannot deny the accuracy of my information, but his lack of success at getting a government figure is causing him to have doubts. I threw him a bone, as the Urlanders like to say.”
“What bone?” Sagaius said, concern rising in his mind.
“A new Urlish ambassador arrives tomorrow,” he answered. “I gave him the location and time. He couldn’t resist the opportunity to assassinate an occupier.”
“But that could jeopardize the whole plan,” Tupelov protested. “If the Urlanders grow suspicious—”
“It won’t matter,” Sagaius said. He gazed at the general with disdain. “The Feast of the Revelation begins in three days. So long as the president continues with her plans for a unified celebration, everything will be as we need it. Ravager’s little bone most likely helps matters. If Starfellow is able to assassinate the Urlish ambassador, he will trust us more and be certain to play his role on Revelation Day.”
Tupelov nodded thoughtfully. He played with his empty shot glass, turning it around and around on the table.
“And are you sure the president will continue with her plans?” he said.
“Leave that to me,” Sagaius answered. How dare this human question his part in all of this? “The question is, General, is everything ready on your end?”
Tupelov turned red from his neck to the top of his bald head. Sagaius could see him struggling to control his temper. Apparently, he didn’t care for
his preparations to be insulted either.
“All of my units are ready to march,” he said through his teeth. “My agents in Al-Adan are ready as well. They need only receive the order.”
“I will signal them on my return to Al-Adan,” Ravager said.
Sagaius nodded his approval. It seemed everything was as set as it could be. Now he just had to put the final piece in place.
“Very well,” he said. “Ravager and I will stop at my manor en route to Al-Adan. I have a few things to collect before the final stage. In the meantime, General, you will return to Pushkingrad. Take this.” He pushed a silver ring set with a black stone across the table. “When the stone turns orange, it will be time to start your march. I trust you can penetrate the border and make it to Eranbul with relative ease.”
“That part will not be a problem,” Tupelov said. “It’s what happens after we arrive that may cause trouble. Don’t be late.”
“Never,” Sagaius replied.
Tupelov threw back his second shot. He stood and looked at the two of them.
“May the Great Bear watch over the both of you,” he said.
“As long as I enjoy Frey’s favor, I won’t need any from Ursa,” Sagaius said.
Tupelov scowled at him with his single eye. Sagaius held his gaze, daring him to escalate. The Phrygian general tried to remain defiant, but he wilted after a few moments. It was just too hard for a human to look on an elf for that amount of time.
“Do svidanija, gentlemen,” Tupelov said. He put the ring on his right hand. “I look forward to your signal.”
So saying, he turned on his heel and practically marched out of the tavern. Several elves stared at him as he went. Sagaius shook his head.
He hated depending on others to advance his goals. He much preferred to have control over everything himself. He was doubly unhappy about partnering with an arrogant Phrygian general. The man was used to giving orders, not taking them, and he liked things to be orderly. Sagaius shared his desire for order, but his life had taught him you sometimes had to embrace chaos to make things right. He wondered if Yevgeni Tupelov would be able to adjust if anything went wrong.
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