Chapter 1.27

Colonel Tirel de Graaf was sitting in his office at home near the fireplace in the early morning hours. There was a bottle and glass of hard liquor on the table beside him. He had been up practically all night in a grim mood. His men had not returned and failed to deliver Captain Stan Baltimore to him. And the colonel didn't know if they were all right. Apparently, something had gone wrong. And now he was only concerned that they hadn't connected his men to him.

The colonel reached for the bottle, but it was empty. He sighed and was about to call the maid for another bottle, but then he heard a knock on the door.

"Yes, who is there?" The colonel asked loudly.

The door opened and his butler came in. Bowing to the colonel, he said.

"Sir, Captain Eric Shtof is here to see you."

The colonel turned and looked at the butler.

"Invite him in."

"In here?" Asked the butler.

"Yes."

After a couple of minutes, the captain walked into the room.

"Good morning, Colonel," bowed the man.

"Is it really good morning, Eric?" The colonel asked him.

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"I guessed something like that," he sighed. "Tell me quickly what happened."

"Captain Stan Baltimore is in the hospital with a moderate wound," said the captain.

"And my men?"

"Two dead, one in a coma, in the same hospital."

That's what the colonel feared.

"Will they be able to trace them back to me?" He asked Eric Shtof.

"I don't know," answered the captain honestly.

"Then they probably can," the colonel sighed. "The one in the coma shouldn't come out of it."

"I'll take care of it," Eric replied. "But, what will you do next, sir?"

"Next? I've practically fired already. That was bluntly hinted to me last night by Catherine. Just a few unfinished things to complete, and I can get the hell out of here, far away," the colonel waved his hand.

"You won't forget me, will you Colonel, sir?" The captain asked him hopefully.

"Don't you like working at the Ministry?"

"Not really," Eric replied. "Is Irene going with you?"

"No," Tirel sighed. "She's just, like her mother."

"But you will take me with you, won't you? I like working for you."

"My loyal Eric," grinned the colonel. "Where would I be without your help."

The colonel looked at his watch; it was early seven o'clock.

"All right," he said, rising from his comfortable chair. "Here's the plan for today. I'm going to leave now on business to prepare for our departure. You, on the other hand, go back to the department and see what's going on. If anyone asks, you haven't seen me yet today. Then go back to your house. I'll pick you up at eleven o'clock or a little later."

"Okay, I will."

"And don't forget about the survivor," Tirel reminded him.

"Yes, sir."

"And at lunch, you and I will need to pay a visit to a certain place."

Mike sat in his cell, finishing another bun the guard had brought this morning. He was frankly bored. The trial was set for the 20th, and it was still two days away. And if nothing changed, he needed to negotiate with Colonel Tirel. And he didn't want to do that.

He was already feeling quite normal. You could even say that physically he was already healthy. Only small scars remained from the shoulder and foot wounds. They were easy to heal, and all he needed was money and time to go to the nearest hospital.

The sound of footsteps was heard outside the door, and a small window on the cell door opened.

"Stand up. Face the wall," the guard commanded, and Mike obeyed his command.

The cell door opened. Mike turned his head to look. To his surprise, it was a visitor - Captain Anderson Foley. In his hands was a folder of papers.

"I didn't expect to see you, Captain," Mike told him as the cell door closed, and they were alone.

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"We need to talk," Anderson said instead of greeting him, taking a seat on the wooden bunk.

"And what do we need to talk about?" Mike asked, turning to face him.

"You have greetings, from Madame Catherine de Graaf Major."

Mike looked at him in surprise.

"She promised to visit you today."

"How do you know?" Mike asked him.

"From a personal conversation, of course."

"And you expect me to believe you?"

"It doesn't really matter," Anderson said. "I'm here for another reason."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"Whatever you think, but I'm a good investigator. And that's why I want to hear your version of what happened."

"I'm happy for you, but how much does that help me?"

"A lot," Anderson said, opening his folder of papers and holding out a sheet of paper to Mike. "First, read this letter."

Mike grabbed the outstretched sheet of paper. It turned out to be a letter addressed to him from Catherine de Graaf. Mike recognized Theo's handwriting. He was probably writing from her dictation. Mike sighed and looked at Captain Anderson.

"What, you still don't believe me?" The man was surprised. "There's her magical signature."

Mike moved aside a sheet of paper and showed Anderson his wrist antimagic bracelets.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," the man said. "May I?" He asked for the sheet back.

Mike handed him the sheet of paper. Anderson took the paper, turning it around so that he could see what was written. A small burst of magical energy and at the bottom, just below the written text, a magical signature appeared on the right side. Mike, of course, recognized it.

"Now do you believe me?"

"Not you, the letter yes," Mike replied.

"Well, at least there's some progress," Anderson smiled.

He put the letter away, and in its place took out another sheet, looking like an interrogation form.

"So? Tell me how it was Major?"

"You still haven't told me how it helps me."

"Yes, indeed… The main thing - it will shorten your time in the cell."

"Will you get me out of this cell?"

"No, it will only speed it up."

"There's not much more to shorten. There's going to be a trial in two days anyway."

"Yes, but there are a couple of nuances. First, if we ignore the responses to the requests that your Colonel Tirel wrote, you are almost guaranteed to be convicted on the material in this folder."

"Thank you, I'm happy for myself."

"Secondly, if the responses to the requests are allowed, you still be convicted. But the trial will drag on. Not by much, since you've confessed to the murder of a capital guard."

"As an active officer in the Ministry of Foreign Intelligence, I was defending my life."

Anderson pulled another piece of paper from his folder and showed it to Mike.

"Read what your colonel wrote."

Mike began to read the piece of paper handed to him.

"Major Michael de Graaf has not been an active member of the Ministry of Foreign Intelligence since 2 p.m. on the 15th day of the 5th month of the year 50143..." Mike looked up at Captain Anderson. "What? What kind of nonsense is that!"

"That changes everything, doesn't it?"

"That's a lie! I wasn't fired."

"Well, you'll discuss that with Catherine de Graaf, if she comes to see you."

"Does she know about these papers?" Mike asked him.

"Yes, I showed them," he replied.

"So?"

"I don't know," Anderson shrugged. "That's your in-house dispute. Maybe she can help."

"Okay. Anything else?" Mike asked him.

"Oh yeah," Anderson remembered. "There certainly is. I don't know who's behind it all with your case. But I've got the opportunity, and most importantly the desire, to get to the bottom of it all right now. If you drag it out to trial, in the case of a follow-up investigation, the whole case could be assigned to another investigator. With the result unknown to you."

"Are you saying there will be a trial anyway? Even though it's all faked, even Tirel's paper?"

"What's wrong with Tirel's paper?"

"Does it have his magic signature on it?"

Anderson quickly took the sheet from Mike, and after a small burst of magical energy… Nothing happened. No signatures appeared on the sheet.

"I don't understand," Anderson said. "Why didn't he put his signature to the signature?"

"Dear Uncle is just overprotecting himself," smiled Mike. "Trying to keep himself safe in case something doesn't go the way he planned. Does that change anything for me?"

"No, there's going to be a trial anyway," Anderson said. "The information on you has already been passed, and the date of the court hearing has already been set."

"What a headache," Mike grasped his head. "Catherine's going to eat me alive. It's going to be a big deal for the whole capital."

"I'm glad you finally figured that out," Anderson smiled. "Unlike my superior Colonel Timothy de Rogan, who has no idea what he's gotten himself into."

"All right, I'll tell you how it was," Mike agreed. "But I have no idea how that helps."

"I have no idea either," Anderson agreed with him. "And until I hear your side of the story, we'll never know."

"Okay, I get it. Do you know Captain Stan Baltimore…"

"From the Central District of the Capital Guard?" Anderson interrupted him.

"Yes, that's him! Do you two know each other?"

"No. We don't know each other personally. I've heard of him, and this morning he was in the daily reports for the capital."

"Something happened?" Worried Mike.

"He was attacked late last night," Anderson said.

"What! Is he okay?"

"He's in the hospital, with a moderate hand-wound."

In the center of the capital, Louie de Brian sat at a reserved table in an expensive restaurant. He was waiting for a lady guest who should be arriving at any minute.

The restaurant room he was in was a large, elongated hall with a rectangular shape and a dozen round tables. One side of it faced the street and was of solid patterned translucent glass, depicting various historical events and personalities. On the other side of the hall was a small concert stage on which a singer was now performing. Her name Louie did not know and did not want to know. On the sides of the stage sat musicians, accompanying the singer.

The hall is lit mostly by artificial light, despite the south-facing glazing. In the capital, the sun is often hidden by clouds, as it was this time. On the ceiling were a dozen and a half lamp. They created the right atmosphere, including semi-darkness, if the performers needed it. Despite the presence of almost two dozen musicians and not much distance from them, the sound from them was muffled, not interfering with normal conversation. This was achieved thanks to a magical sound barrier that separated the musicians and the stage from the rest of the hall. The barrier was an engraved magical weave on both the floor and the ceiling, encompassing the musicians and the stage, and forming a wall of spells.

Around the tables in the hall was a similar engraving with similar functions. A conversation at one table could not be heard at another table, and vice versa. This was done to respect the privacy and comfort of guests. Sound from the stage this barrier let through and could be controlled by the magic crystal in the center of the table. Another function of the magical barrier around the tables was to create a real non-transparent screen, isolating what was happening at the table from prying eyes.

All the tables in the room were occupied and occasionally waiters came over to change dishes or drinks. On Louie's table, the silverware was prepared and there was wine on the table. At the first instruction of the guests, food was delivered to the table.

Louie finished looking around the room and the guests present. Now he just listened to the singer who was playing another song.

Two people headed toward his table. The waiter was followed by a tall, gorgeous brunette. Tall, slender, with black hair hanging below her shoulders. The one-piece close-fitting dress fell almost to the floor, with a long cut to the hip on one side, a rather deep neckline on the chest, and fully exposed arms to the shoulders. The color of her dress matched the color of her eyes-a dark amethyst.

As they approached the table Louie stood up from his seat to greet his lady guest.