Agent Donovan read the coded message from Washington for the third time, the words seeming to rearrange themselves into a new, far more dangerous reality with each reading. The flimsy rice paper felt heavier than a plate of steel.
OPERATION NIGHTINGALE OBJECTIVE RE-TASKED, the message read. PRIMARY GOAL IS NO LONGER SURVEILLANCE OF EMPEROR. NEW OBJECTIVE: ACQUIRE ALL RESEARCH, NOTES, AND PROTOTYPE COMPONENTS RELATED TO DR. CHEN'S RESONANCE DEVICE. UTMOST PRIORITY. THIS IS NOW A MATTER OF STRATEGIC NATIONAL DEFENSE. PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION.
The mission had changed. He was no longer a spy trying to install a listening post. He was a thief, tasked with stealing the secrets of a new and terrible science. He thought of Dr. Chen's sharp, contemptuous eyes, of her intellect that had sliced through his cover story in seconds. He thought of the unseen watchers from Shen Ke's ministry, the silent hunters who had nearly trapped him on the rooftops. A direct break-in of her laboratory was not just impossible; it was suicidal.
He needed an inside man.
He needed Mr. Wu again.
But this was different. He couldn't just threaten the old man into compliance. Coercing him to plant a small, disguised object had nearly broken him. Asking him to steal years' worth of a scholar's research, her life's work, would shatter him completely. A terrified, panicked agent was a useless, dangerous agent. Donovan needed a new approach, a new form of leverage. He had to give the old man a reason to act that was more powerful than his fear. He had to make the betrayal feel like an act of salvation.
He arranged another "accidental" meeting. Not in a dark alley, but in a quiet, secluded teahouse in a sleepy corner of the city, a place of peaceful contemplation. He was in his laborer's disguise again, and he waited until Mr. Wu was seated alone before approaching his table. The old man flinched when he saw him, spilling his tea, his face a mask of pure dread.
Donovan sat down, his movements slow and non-threatening. He spoke in a low, gentle whisper.
"Mr. Wu, please. Do not be alarmed," he said, his voice filled with a manufactured concern. "I am not here to threaten you. I am here because we are worried. We are worried about Dr. Chen."
The old man stared at him, confused.
"Our scientists in the West," Donovan lied, his voice a masterpiece of gentle sincerity, "have analyzed the energy readings from the device you so bravely planted for us. They have also studied her published papers. They believe her research has become… dangerous. She is tampering with forces she does not fully understand. We fear for her safety, Mr. Wu. We fear for the safety of everyone at the university."
He leaned closer, his eyes full of feigned gravity. "We have reason to believe her device, if improperly handled, could cause a catastrophic energy release. An explosion of a kind no one has ever seen before. It is imperative that we help her before she hurts herself, or someone else."
This was the hook. He was playing on Mr. Wu's genuine, deep-seated loyalty and concern for the Doctor. He was reframing the act of betrayal as an act of protection.
"We need to see her research notes," Donovan continued. "Not to steal them. We would never do such a thing. We need to have our own physicists analyze them for flaws, to identify the dangers that she, in her ambition, cannot see. You must help us save her from herself, Mr. Wu. It is the only way."
He slid a small, innocuous object across the table. It was an elegantly crafted wooden case, the kind a scholar would use to hold their calligraphy brushes. It was beautiful, unassuming, and a marvel of miniaturized espionage technology.
"This is a camera," Donovan whispered. "It is silent. It requires no flash. You must photograph every page of her notes. Every diagram. Every equation. It is the only way our scientists can understand the danger and find a way to help her before it is too late."
The old man looked from Donovan's earnest, lying face to the beautifully crafted camera. His mind was a sea of conflict. Could it be true? The Doctor had seemed angry, frustrated with her machine. Perhaps it was dangerous. And these men, for all their threats, had given him the money that would save his grandson. Perhaps they were not purely evil. Perhaps they truly meant to help. He was lost, adrift, and Donovan had just thrown him a lifeline, however poisoned it might be.
"I… I will try," Mr. Wu whispered, his voice trembling.
The opportunity came two days later. An urgent, all-faculty meeting was called by the university's chancellor to discuss a new set of imperial education edicts. The meeting was mandatory, and its timing, just after lunch, had been subtly engineered by Donovan's network. Dr. Chen, annoyed at the interruption, left her laboratory for the great hall, leaving her private office unlocked, trusting her old, loyal steward to watch over it.
This was the moment.
Mr. Wu stood in the silent laboratory, his heart pounding a frantic, painful rhythm against his ribs. He shuffled into Dr. Chen's office. The room felt like a sacred space he was about to defile. Her notebooks were laid out on her desk, open to pages filled with dense, elegant script and equations that looked to him like the language of the heavens.
He took out the calligraphy brush holder. With hands that shook so badly he could barely function, he twisted the base to reveal the tiny camera lens. Tears began to stream down his wrinkled face, tears of pure, undiluted fear and the profound guilt of his betrayal. He was betraying the trust of the one person in this high-minded place who had always shown him a measure of simple human decency.
With a shuddering sob, he began his work. He aimed the camera at the first page and pressed the tiny, hidden button. A faint, almost imperceptible click echoed in the silent room. To Mr. Wu, it sounded as loud as a gunshot. He moved to the next page. Click. And the next. Click. Each press of the shutter was a hammer blow to his soul, driving the nail of his treason deeper. He was a man drowning, and every photo he took was another gulp of salt water.
He was halfway through the second notebook, his mind numb with the repetitive, terrible task, when he heard them.
Footsteps, approaching rapidly down the empty hallway.
He looked up, his eyes wide with panic. The faculty meeting was scheduled to last for at least an hour. It couldn't be over already. But the footsteps were unmistakable. They were the quick, decisive steps of Dr. Chen.
He fumbled with the camera, trying to conceal it, his trembling fingers suddenly useless. He looked around the office, a trapped animal searching for an escape that did not exist. The door was the only way out, and it was about to open.
The footsteps stopped directly outside. The doorknob began to turn. Mr. Wu was trapped in the inner sanctum of the woman he was betraying, the evidence of his crime clutched in his hand, the secrets of a new and terrible science laid bare before him. And the architect of that science was about to walk through the door.