Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1473 The Hidden Blade (Second Update)

The antique mechanical clock, handcrafted by French artisans during the reign of Louis XIV, boasts exquisitely detailed silver sculptures of human figures and a Baroque enamel finish. Its opulent gold, silver, and black-and-red hues make this state-of-the-art timepiece appear priceless. The hands of the clock ticked softly in the silent air through the arched glass window. Mycroft Holmes, seated in his high-backed chair, gazed intently at the clock. Sir Arnold Abingson's hints had left him pondering for a long time without providing an answer—the mystery he faced wasn't the solution offered by the former cabinet secretary, but rather how many people supported that solution, and who those people were. Unable to find a solution, he could only turn his attention to future conversations and urge the Prime Minister to focus on harmless matters, such as protecting the raccoons of London.

Those little troublemakers might be Russian spies.

Another conversation had no designated location, and Mycroft Holmes wasn't even sure if it would take place as scheduled; he could only wait here for further notice. Unwilling to sit there helplessly, he knew his weak position in these negotiations. He knew the Brexit referendum was a self-directed drama; no one cared about the interests of the British Empire, and even the civil service, after the interventionist purges and the sabotage by its own self-serving members, had completely sided with the politicians. He desperately wanted to do something to change the situation, but he didn't know how many people in MI5 and MI6 remained loyal, and he didn't even dare entrust the investigation to those intelligence agencies.

"Are you requesting a dialogue?"

A cold voice came from behind him, like a shove of ice into his back. His adrenaline surged, and Mycroft Holmes jumped to his feet and turned towards the source of the sound. He hadn't heard anything before, and he was certain that anyone stepping on the old wooden floor of the house would make a sound; no one could approach him silently. But the laws of physics seemed to have failed him. A woman in a suit stood by the window, gazing at the damp alleyway and the condensation on the glass.

"Who are you?" He fought off the dizziness and the darkness around him, stealthily reaching for the pistol on the table. But as soon as he grasped it, he sensed something was wrong; the pistol felt lighter than before. After a brief moment of surprise, he forced himself to regain his composure, trying not to let his body language betray his thoughts. The woman turned to look at him, scrutinizing his subtle movements.

"Do you wish to request a dialogue?" she repeated the question.

Mycroft Holmes put the pistol back under the woman's gaze.

"Yes, but I don't welcome sneaky guests."

"Aren't you going to use this weapon?"

"There's no need. You or your companion emptied the magazine and chambered the gun while I wasn't looking." Mycroft Holmes glanced around, a sense of urgency making him tense. "Or are you alone? I can't guess how you got behind me. Would you mind explaining?"

"We hired raccoons as spies; their dirty little paws are everywhere."

Mycroft Holmes forced a smile, assuming it was a coincidence. "If you're speaking on behalf of that person, at least give me a title. It's a basic communication issue; without titles, we can't communicate at all. And how will I know you have the authority to negotiate? I don't want to waste my time talking to some low-level agent."

"Nothing here will be recorded." The woman in the suit had a deathly pale face, devoid of any expression, as if the air itself had cooled with her emotions. She had long seen through Mycroft Holmes's trickery and made no attempt to reveal her identity. "There is no room for negotiation, Mycroft Holmes," she said in a banshee-like tone. "You will accept the mission."

Why?

“Our Lord will not simply walk into Buckingham Palace and dethrone the House of Windsor, nor will He abolish the executive, judicial, and law enforcement powers of the British government,” the woman said. “He possesses power and the law, doesn’t He? Wales and Scotland long for Him to set foot on this island, and many in England also hope that He will come to the people.”

Mycroft Holmes asked impatiently, "What do you want?"

"After the Hong Kong Police Force Special Branch was disbanded in 1995, all classified information was sent back to London. My lord wants the Special Branch's classified information, all the documents."

"Impossible!" Mycroft Holmes rejected the idea without hesitation. "This plan has been going on for many years, and the participants include not only MI5 but also the CIA. I can't get the information you want from the CIA. Besides, many things can't be solved with a list, and legal issues can't be resolved through assassination."

The woman uttered a name that made Mycroft Holmes clench his fists, for he didn't want to show his fear. It was the name of a Bulgarian Jewish parliamentarian who had once held American citizenship. When the emperor launched his war to unify the Balkans, this parliamentarian had fled to South America, intending to go to the United States with CIA assistance to form a government-in-exile with other exiled parliamentarians, civil servants, businessmen, and others—a move intended to sow discord within Bulgaria and prepare for a NATO counter-offensive. When the CIA went to the Bulgarian exile faction's Caribbean stronghold as agreed, they discovered that all the Bulgarian exiles who had gone to the mansion, including the parliamentarian and his 126 family members, were dead. Hours later, the family members of the parliamentarian who had gone to the United States earlier to communicate with think tank advisors and party representatives were also found dead in their temporary residence in Washington.

While Mycroft Holmes had done similar things before, at least his actions were cloaked in a counter-terrorism guise. However, the actions of the Yugoslav Federation were completely divorced from post-Cold War political approaches based on negotiation and consultation within the same ideological framework. Their unwavering use of violence was terrifying. The incident occurred under CIA surveillance, but that wasn't the worst part—worse still, it didn't even get a decent headline, as if Congress, the CIA, and the NSA had abruptly passed up a golden opportunity. Anyone could have sensed the opportunity in this incident to exploit human rights, the politics of terrorism, the rule of law, and democracy, fully capitalizing on the value derived from those deaths.

Mycroft Holmes's fear wasn't the ability to completely erase such a horrific massacre, but rather the ability to send assassins to wipe everyone out in half an hour—something any special forces team could do. The bad news didn't stop there. Afterwards, some think tank advisors and members of parliament who had contact with the families of Bulgarian parliamentarians ran into trouble. Who could have imagined that a group of black thugs would break into a well-secured, affluent residential area in the middle of the night? Why did these thugs display the composure of secret agents after being arrested? These were all mysteries. He saw the rise of a "Leviathan," the Balkan emperor rapidly eliminating all interfering forces, much like the Cheka in the former Soviet Union, but even more violent and decisive, completely eradicating the violent protests in Bulgaria in just a few days.

"Who exactly are you?"

"I am His messenger, His blade. I slit Senator Shishkov's throat and felt the last breath of life," the woman said calmly. "I am here because His patience with you has reached its limit."

(End of this chapter)