"My heart's getting too weak for this kind of work," grumbled Grock, limping away to a temporary station the Enforcers had set up in the factory.
The towering chimneys emitting dense fumes cast lengthy shadows over them all, stealing the warmth away.
Enforcers swarmed the place like ants, busily checking every nook and cranny of the factory, while the director strolled around, supervising them as if they were little children. Just as he turned back to leave the factory through the iron gates, several Enforcers hurried up to him and reported that multiple bombs had been found hidden away in the most unlikely spots. Of course, this could hardly have surprised Grock— it would've been too strange if only a single bomb was used to blow up one room of the factory. What kind of person seeking to sabotage a factory would think to only use one weak bomb?
"Is the owner of this factory informed of this?" questioned Grock slightly aggressively to the unsuspecting foreman, who answered in a small voice, "Yes sir, I'm sure he already knows. He has a meeting today, but if I remember correctly, it doesn't start until two hours later."
"A telegram has been sent to him, I presume?"
"Yes, sir. I sent the message myself."
Just then, a cab pulled up in front of the gates, and another Enforcer jumped out urgently; he sprinted towards Grock and panted, "There's trouble, sir!" All of the other ammunition factories have bombs set up in them! We need more men to assist us in dealing with the other factories, sir; otherwise, we'll never be able to recover them all in time!"
"I see," mumbled Grock gravely, his face drooping from what seemed like stress.
If we need more Enforcers to join in the hunt, there would be practically nobody to watch the exits of the city. Unless I have some definite way of knowing where Sigerson is at the moment, leaving the escape routes unwatched would be inevitable.
Since nobody except a few of us know what Sigerson looks like, the public and the Royal Constabulary will hardly be useful. I'll need to rely on the Enforcers. If I can hold him here in the city before the guards are down and maintain that position until this is over, then everything will be fine, but how?
Dragging a frightened looking worker by the scruff of his neck violently, one of the Enforcers made his way to Grock, pushing everyone out of his way. Before Grock had even opened his mouth, the officer said, "Sir! I found this man lurking around the corner of the factory's grounds. He claims to have seen a person matching Sigerson's description."
Signalling for the officer to leave them alone for a moment, Grock leaned in and asked, "Is it true? Who did you see at what time? I'll also remind you that lying will be punished by death. So think carefully before you answer my questions."
Shaking from head to toe, the tiny man replied, "I did see and speak with a strange man, but I can't be too sure of who he was…"
"Give me a description of the man."
"Urm… I remember vividly he was wearing shabby clothes— looked to me as if he had worn the same set of clothing for weeks without change. His hair was also quite unkempt, sir; I believe it was a little longer than my own, only black. That's all I can remember at the moment, sir."
Biting his thin lip uncertainly, Grock stared down at the worker disdainfully.
"Are you sure that's it? Did he talk to you at all or interact with you?"
The worker fidgeted on the spot, then admitted, "He did say something, sir, but I'm not sure whether he was talking to me or just muttering to himself."
"Tell me what he said."
There was a slight hesitation— a brief moment of time so unnoticeable, most would have considered it trivial— that followed this question. Evidently, the worker, having below average intelligence, had somehow forgotten the very words he'd heard only about half an hour ago. This, however, did not prompt Grock to give up nor did he let a speck of discouragement enter his mind. He merely coughed loudly and asked again, "Tell me exactly what the man said. It doesn't matter who he was talking to."
"Yes, I remember now, sir," gasped the worker, the memory flashing through his mind. "It was something like 'I'll send another one after I have the answer' or something along those lines."
"Send another one?" repeated Grock slowly, making sure he heard right.
"Yes, sir, those are the words I am sure he'd said. Oh, but there's also a footprint there if you need it."
"Very well. You may go for now, but do not exit the factory."
Straight after this startling new discovery, which caused Grock to begin thinking about the possibility of Sigerson investigating along with him secretly, another Enforcer came rushing to him with a bomb in his hands."Sir! We've found this and— well… Thought you might like to have a look at it, sir."
He handed the bright orange stick to Grock, who accepted it without hesitation.
There's nothing odd about this except… maybe it is slightly lighter than the one I'd defused. Since it's harmless anyways, I'll just break it open to check.
Grock, after fiddling with the bomb for another minute, requested for it to be smashed apart to discover the contents within the thin metal cylinder.
It wasn't long before a sharp crack resounded throughout the factory and an explosion of exclamations reached his ears. The Enforcer sprinted back to him to announce that the bomb was in fact a cleverly crafted facsimile and therefore had no power to do them any harm.
"It was loosely filled with soil, sir," said the officer, scratching his clean shaven chin. "What do you think, sir? Should we keep searching?"
"Definitely. There may still be a few timed bombs scattered around the place. Have you checked every building in this factory yet?"
"No, sir. Only the main storage room remains unchecked now."
"Be sure to comb through every hiding place you can think of. Even a single bomb remaining could put our ammunition supply at risk."
Giving him a final salute, the officer, face set with determination to serve his country, resumed his hunt for unlocated explosives. Only Grock remained sitting behind the makeshift table. A curious thought popped into his mind.
What if… What if the real target isn't the factory buildings themselves? What if the owner's life is the true target?
Mr Paulos, a middle-aged entrepreneur from one of Ecclesia's main allies, had no history of sins against the country recorded. He was, in Crowne's sight, an exceptionally useful tool to use. Not only could he produce large amounts of weaponry and military equipment for the Ecclesia army, but also more importantly, he was the sole thread connecting the country to Sardis, an equally powerful nation located on an island not too far from them. Removing him from the equation would sever their relationship with Sardis, which Crowne and Grock were terribly afraid of.
If only there was more evidence I can use to build up the theory… Something small I might've missed…
Dropping everything he had in hand at the moment, Grock hobbled over to the separate timers as fast as his rusty legs could carry him and inspected each one frantically like a crazed man.
Yes— here was yet another set of evidence to back up his theory! Right in front of him were all the timers they had successfully removed from the bombs. Now, each of them were completely identical in design and their springs, the source of energy powering the mechanism, were all similarly stretched out.
When I was defusing the first bomb, this spring was fairly visible. No doubt, it hasn't changed much after an hour; this must mean that whoever planted them here didn't want them to detonate so early— or not at all. All the other bombs, both real and fake, were just diversions, mere illusions to make me think I was on the right path. I'll gather the last bits of information I need then if they all match up, I'll do what I prepared for.
Ordering a waiting Enforcer on the side to bring the foreman to him again, Grock returned to his table, slowly dropped onto the crate which acted as his improvised seat, and waited with his arms relaxed, his bony fingers tapping a simple tune. The foreman, half curious, half fearful, was swiftly brought before the intimidating boss. At once, his fingers came to a stop and as Grock opened his eyes, the foreman rapidly dropped his gaze, afraid to make eye contact with his interrogator.
For the first few seconds, nobody spoke up; a restive air hovered about. Finally, Grock snapped out of his pensive reverie, cleared his throat and began his questioning in a serious, authoritative tone.
"How is Mr Paulos planning to leave for his meeting? What transport is he going to use and where is he travelling from and to?"
"He's already left, sir, by cab and he's headed for the port."
It was as if a stone sunk into his gut, dragging him down. Security at the moment was lax enough for an attack to be carried out. Most of the Enforcers were rummaging the factories for bombs, with the last few remaining ones guarding the exits of the city, but Grock never acted without a backup plan to fall against.
Unit 7, the most well-trained of the Enforcers, were needed now. They were the last resort he set apart for times like this. Dismissing the foreman impatiently, Grock immediately left his lofty throne and sent an urgent message back to headquarters. Paulos' personal safety was the number one priority right now, along with Sigerson's whereabouts. If an assassination were to be carried out successfully… The war would certainly shift in the worst way possible for Ecclesia.
If Paulos dies, not only will our diplomatic alliance with Sardis crumble, but we'll also be put right into Blight's palm for coal to power the ammunition factories, since Sardis will refuse to lend us theirs as they are doing now with Paulos. Every one of our facilities are practically in his control; only the ammunition factories remain untouched by his influence. Blight certainly has the motive to kill him… I believe it now… I'll arrest him before he can slip away; the trail leading back to him and motive should be enough to overrule his Custodian status for the time being…
A pair of Enforcers burst into his vision, accompanying yet another shaking messenger.
Holding a grubby folded-up piece of paper in his weak hands, the man gave a sort of wobbly bow out of respect for the austere figure in front of him and gave up the paper, gazing down at his feet.
Instantly paralysed at the mere sight of the words written down, Grock was the one trembling now. Written clearly on the paper was a full explanation of the events that had passed so far: from the bombs scattered around, to the supposed assassination attempt that was bound to happen. The eeriest part troubling him weren't the matching descriptions of the culprit or the perfectly detailed reasoning, but rather the amount of information revealed through the message. It was as if… Sigerson himself was standing next to him, hearing everything he could hear…
Seeing everything he could see…
Reading his mind…
This was the most unsettling feeling Grock had experienced for years.
Composing himself in an instant, he called for the pair to stay while sending the messenger away, who looked around himself cluelessly.
"How did that worker come into possession of the piece of paper?" he demanded in hushed tones, after making sure the man had left.
"He claimed he received it also from a shabby, black-haired man and was ordered to deliver it to you, sir."
It was confirmed— Sigerson was within his grasp once more, and better yet, he also had a way to frame Blight now.
If I can catch Blight's henchmen in the act as they try to assassinate Paulos… That will be more than enough to trace them back to him and convict him…
"What is it, sir?" asked one of the officers with him, reading the almost victorious expression on Grock's face.
"This," answered Grock, tapping the paper, "is the message that confirms Sigerson's position; he's somewhere in the vicinity."
The effect was instantaneous. At once, both officers straightened up and surveyed their surroundings with uneasy looks pasted onto their faces.
"How do you know, sir?"
"In the message, Sigerson provided a full explanation on why and how Blight is organising these false bombings so far. However, the information he used to form his deductions was only revealed during these last ten minutes, so how could he possibly know anything so quickly without being secretly close to us all this time?"
"What if he has accomplices relaying information to him while sitting safely somewhere else, sir?"
Grock glared at him harshly as if the officer had just suggested a ridiculously foolish idea. He shook his head slowly and replied in a scornful voice.
"Impossible. There's no way for information to be relayed in a span of a few minutes, other than by using the telegram, and I've made sure to close down every place that has access to telegrams, so anyone other than an Enforcer would never be able to use them.
Additionally, Sigerson's own handwriting was on that paper; I recognise his distinct way of writing. It is simply impossible for Sigerson to be a far distance away and still be able to deliver his message ten minutes after receiving the news about Mr Paulos. He could never have gotten this information from anywhere else, so the only conclusion is that he's been in the vicinity of this factory and has been secretly eavesdropping on us, probably by an accomplice. If I were him though, I'd have made my escape as soon as I had delivered the message."
"Shouldn't we go after him then, sir?"
"Of course; I've already made preparations. Unit 7 will be protecting Mr Paulos from harm during his journey to the port and across the sea, while every other Enforcer left will join our hunt for Sigerson. Tell the men to reassemble in the courtyard after every bomb, whether real or fake, has been uncovered."
There's no need to watch the exits so carefully anymore; this will increase our numbers, but I can't be careless… A few Enforcers will watch over the trains and ships, taking turns to board every one leaving the country, minimising the number of men needed to stay behind to guard. As for the roads… Even though it's exceptionally unlikely because of the lack of unwatched cabs, a single checkpoint should be enough to cover them in case he decides to flee by foot.
As Grock crossed his arms and indulged in reverie again, he couldn't help but let out a small, smug chuckle.
Sigerson couldn't have gotten far yet. This time, Sigerson was trapped; his last efforts to catch Blight had turned against himself.