"Alright, if we can pull this off, then it would bring us one step closer to slaying the multi-headed dragon that's been haunting our country for decades. If not… it was good to know you two a little better."
Sigerson shook hands with both of his comrades, wishing them the best while boosting their morale by reminding them of their rewards at the end.
This was it. Arrest or even death threatened them if they made one wrong step. After parting ways for what Sigerson hoped to be the final time, he carried the letter tightly in his coat, adjusted his thick, grey scarf, and trundled over to a respectable row of dainty houses.
In this quiet little street, there was definitely somebody he could entrust the message to. Somebody he could use to become his messenger.
Inspector Branch, Sigerson's former colleague, resided peacefully in one of the homely units. From experience, the detective knew his honest, gullible personality made him the perfect candidate for a job like this. As he checked his watch continually to make sure he was on schedule, the detective waited patiently with his focus as intense as a hunter luring out prey with tempting bait. There was a slight bit of movement, then nothing.
Now's the time. He must be having breakfast. In about ten minutes, he'll leave to walk to the station, arriving at around eight. He has to receive the message before that in order to bring it straight to the director without notifying Blight's men.
With two great leaps, Sigerson dropped the neat envelope with instructions scribbled on it into the mailbox visibly and took off like a rocket before anyone could realise who the letter came from. Strolling alongside the curb, Sigerson, wrapping the scarf even tighter around his neck for the weather was absolutely harassing him to the point of freezing him completely, began to reevaluate everything that was about to unfold in a shadowy space in his mind.
The director of the Enforcers, or Mr Grock I believe, has details and records of every crime investigated in this country. He should have no difficulty in spotting the inconsistencies between the rebels' crimes and Blight's. Even if he's unaware of their identity, I'm sure he's deduced existence of a mastermind behind the war…
The only problem is how he'll react to the news… Will he arrest Blight on the spot? If he does read my warning, surely he'll understand the danger of being intercepted by Blight's spies… One more option remains— Grock's next move after receiving the message will be to investigate further, collect up definite evidence to bypass Blight's Custodian status protection, and avoid unnecessary conflict with him. That'll provide me with enough time to regather and analyse my current data…
Watching the inspector take out the envelope from his mailbox, an audible gasp escaping his lips while he tucked it away safely into his pocket, Sigerson found the green light he was waiting for. He took one last fleeting glance at the peaceful street, then dissolved like a shadow.
—
Sprawled across his mahogany polished table was a group of letters, each one carrying identical rows of what seemed to be random digits. Grock, the dark shadows under his eyes becoming more prominent with every passing day, yawned and picked up one of the letters lazily, closing an eye as if to let half his brain sleep while the other read the letter.
Only minutes before, he was still swearing and smoking profusely with nothing to help him on his investigation while pressure came from every side by the rebels. All of a sudden, a raging flood of envelopes began to surge in, delivered by a variety of people, Enforcers and ordinary citizens alike. The multitude of faces, numerous as the stars in the sky, shone with distressed anticipation as if they were summoned to meet the devil.
To be fair to the crowd present, the curved nose stuck onto Mr grock's face made him seem like some ancient bird-like demon as he glowered at the new arrivals at his office door menacingly. When he finally dismissed them all, Grock took one look at the fresh pile of envelopes and began to tear them apart, one by one. Within the next minute, his table was filled with countless coded messages, all of them transcribed neatly upon the letters.
"So he's decided to ask for my help now," muttered Grock, his keen eyes already having scanned the digits, only to find the same message encoded again and again using different words.
In rushed the same officer Grock had given instructions days ago, the same who was now arguably second-in-command over the operation to capture the runaway detective. His dull grey uniform, gilded with thin golden threads, hung neatly on his body as he puffed his chest out proudly and reported that the remaining Enforcers available were organised and ready to take action. Grock blew out his last cloud of smoke and ordered the officer to close the door before sitting in silence again.
For a while, the officer, brushing his neat brown head unnecessarily, held his tongue until he could no longer stand it. Jumping to his feet, he said, "With your permission, I'll be taking my leave now, sir."
Just as he reached the door-knob, a soft, airy voice glided from the armchair behind him.
"If you will put up with me for a little longer, I would greatly appreciate it. Please remain where you are."
The officer repressed a violent shudder. That unpleasant feeling… Yes— he could understand why the prisoners were always repulsed when speaking to Grock, more so since he knew of his deeds.
"Y–Yes, sir. Of course."
Watching the officer out of the corner of his eye, Grock amused himself by sweeping off a few nonexistent specks of dust off his desk before finally speaking again, a faint shadow of a smile painted on his thin face.
"Did you know, officer, that Sigerson used to work for the Royal Constabulary prior to these events?"
"Yes, sir, I've heard something of the sort from another officer."
"Do you know what his last, and still ongoing, case is then?"
"N–No, sir. I haven't paid any attention until you mentioned it, sir."
Grock nodded slowly, almost sorrowfully as if this was a grave mistake on his part. He picked up a letter and pushed it to the front of the desk.
"This letter is one of the dozens that came about half an hour ago. As you might have noticed, it's clearly coded. Now the trick to decoding it is rather simple; the message, however, is what intrigues me.
Judging from the sheer number of envelopes delivered as well as the variety of deliverers, we can see that Sigerson must be determined to get this message to me. His selection of Enforcers also greatly puzzled me until I decoded the full message. Do you know why?"
Although the question was obviously rhetorical, the officer chose to shake his head jerkily, inciting Grock to elaborate.
"I asked myself, "Why would Sigerson use the higher ranking Enforcers to deliver his message when it would have been so much easier to use inexperienced ones or simple civilians?" It was obvious— he wanted the Enforcers who had been in the organisation from the beginning, those most loyal to the government."
"I still don't follow you, sir."
"Well… Think of it this way. What would be the most methodological approach to take if someone needed steady information from an organisation?"
Ideas came flowing in and out freely like an electric current, each one less likely than the last. Suddenly, an epiphany slapped him hard in the face.
"Y–You don't mean…"
A grim smirk stretched across his pale lips.
"Yes… There're certainly spies hidden in the Enforcers, or at least, that's what Sigerson thinks. Whether the Enforcers in question are aware of relaying information to the enemy or not, it will be one of our main tasks to find out who they were."
"Then who is the enemy you speak of, sir?"
"Elysius Blight."
The officer sucked in his breath.
"Blight? Isn't he one of us? He's a Custodian, isn't he, sir?"
Shutting his eyes painfully, Grock exhaled calmly and asked, "Are Custodians faultless? Certainly not. From the day the Custodians and Enforcers were created, I already knew that the Custodians would be able to use the Enforcers for their own selfish reasons.
Trusting in others is pointless, if that somebody is a Custodian. Even if they don't betray you, there's a good chance you're being used. Blight certainly would be able to sneak within our ranks and extract information from the more inexperienced Enforcers among us without attracting much attention. He is who I'll be keeping an eye on from now on."
Sweating only by listening to Grock's cold tone, the officer gulped again.
"W–What should we do then, sir? Shall I assemble the others for an emergency meeting or do you prefer to be left alone, sir?"
Grock's reply was laconic— brief but carrying great weight with every word.
"Bring them into the meeting room."
Sigerson was within his grasp. Blight, who was supposedly the source of the war, was now exposed. With the last remaining pieces, it was finally time to put them together.
It would be wiser to investigate a little closer on Blight to make sure he's really the target I'm looking for and not just a decoy used by Sigerson. Launching an arrest attempt on Blight would be quite foolish anyways, since he's untouchable as of now because of his Custodian status.
There is one other point of interest though… Why is Sigerson still fleeing from me? Is he still hiding something? Never mind that… I'll hear it from his own lips after I capture him…
"Sir! We've found Sigerson! His letters were traced back to Brighton's post office and a worker there recognised him from the description! Should we block off the streets, sir?"
"He's shown himself? Strange… He isn't usually so sloppy as to give away his location by accident…"
The messenger of this uncertain piece of news stayed dead silent, as if unable to speak in front of this cunning fox in front of him. The tense silence stimulated Grock's mind soothingly, causing him to come up with a multitude of theories, none of them without gaping holes.
"No…" He muttered. "There might be one plausible answer. What if Sigerson used his sudden appearance as a sort of guarantee for the authenticity of the letters? After all, without any proof in the actual envelopes, there was no telling who actually wrote them."
This was enough to prompt Grock to action once more.
"You there, tell your unit to be ready for the meeting in—"
He checked his ancient brass watch on his gaunt wrist.
"—about half an hour. Make sure you're all ready for instructions then."
A salute, followed by a click of the heels, and the officer took off like a rocket. In under a minute, Grock had encased himself in a tomb of thick, strong smoke again.
The letter claims that one of Blight's henchmen will be present in room 54 in the Crown Hotel tomorrow at midnight. It seems like Sigerson's already trapped the man; I'll only need to arrest him. Surely this also means Sigerson will be waiting to hear the news? After all the effort, he'll want to have it confirmed before moving on to anything else. Well, I'd better be ready to explain this in a few minutes. Hopefully, they're all gathered in there and waiting.
As the last puffs of smoke spiralled to the ceiling in a spring-like pattern, the aged bony man heaved himself from the armchair before heading to the meeting room with his hands behind his back in a sombre manner, an unquestionably fiery spirit boiling in his frail bones, ready to devour the puny obstacles in his way.
—
"So do you all understand what I've been explaining?"
"Yes, sir!" chanted the numerous officers in unison. One of them raised a wavering hand, hesitating a little before speaking.
"Sir! Pardon me for asking, but how are you so sure he won't attempt to escape as soon as his trap is complete with us surrounding the target?"
After an hour passed in the meeting, and as the plan was about to be executed, an officer, three golden stars shining on his uniform, raised a question, which in turn forced not only Grock's attention to him but also the other hostile officers present.
"How, you ask?" repeated Grock imperatively, scaring some of the Enforcers sitting next to him. "Would you really want to know?"
"Your methods are quite interesting, sir, and if I may say so myself, I prefer to learn from the best, sir," returned the bold officer, not standing down from the discontent growls of his peers. Grock's eyes locked onto his as if daring him to speak another word. When he saw that the officer truly was determined to get his answer, he gave a dry chuckle and replied, "Very well, but I'll only repeat this once.
In war, it's essential that the citizens obey us without fault. How can we make sure their morale is high enough to prevent them from launching an all-out rebellion against us? We must tell them that we're winning the war. Mr Crowne especially will accept any scapegoats he can use to convince the crowd of this. The moment he hears of this arrest, he'll be guaranteed to announce it to the country.
Now Sigerson's exceptionally sharp, and he's been in close contact with Crowne and us, giving him a good idea of the methods we use. He will link these points without a doubt, and when he does, there'll be nothing stopping him from attaining the news.
Will he actually stay for the news? Well, I've gone through his records and from everything I've seen in his career, the man has yet to fail a case. His unyielding perseverance always pushed him past his limits even with opposition from Custodians or the Royal Constabulary itself— I don't see why it wouldn't now."
Grock finished the sentence with an impressive nod. Certainly, Sigerson, a good distance away from their headquarters, had already put one and one together. All that was left was the arrest itself— a showdown between the greatest minds of the country.