piratefiction Chapter 182: You Just Activated (2)
Chapter 182: You Just Activated (2)
-God Save The Queen, Verse 2-
Several hours before Sherlock Holmes went to Green Willow Manor on Serpentine Avenue.
Mycroft doubled the number of SIS agents1 stationed around Claridge’s Hotel in Mayfair.
The main reason was, of course, to protect the Tsar from terrorists.
No matter how Britain and Russia fought beneath the surface for supremacy under heaven, they could not allow a foreign emperor to die a dog’s death in London.
If they allowed such a thing to happen, a fatal diplomatic problem would arise.
If the Tsar died in London, it was very obvious whom European Murim would suspect as the culprit.
The great powers who coveted Britain’s interests would start tearing at it with conspiracy theories, and it would hand Russia’s new ruler, who would ascend after the Tsar, a pretext for war.
To the world, what the truth is doesn’t matter.
If you provide a justification, if you show a weakness, the enemy will bite your throat at any time.
The diplomatic stage where states clash was no different from the martial world, ruled by the logic of the strong living and the weak perishing.
Above all, since ancient times in Europe there had been a custom, regardless of ally or enemy, of monarchs and nobles treasuring one another’s lives to a dreadful degree.
Even looking at classical chess, the prototype of Sword Debate Chess, once you perfectly surrounded the King and checkmated it, it was treated as victory, and there was no need to directly attack and topple the piece.
In wars of the past, it was common to take those of noble status prisoner and exchange them for ransom, and rare to hang or behead them carelessly.
It was an unspoken pact based on honor, one that did not allow blue blood to spill onto the earth.
One who did not respect this old tradition had no right to expect mercy or clemency even if fate’s jest saw him captured by the enemy.
Considering all of this, Mycroft had two major objectives in the current situation.
First.
To cover the Tsar’s eyes and ears and bind his hands and feet for as long as possible, so that he could not notice Sherlock and the Butler Agency’s plan early and make a decisive move.
Second.
In that process, to guarantee his safety “in any situation” so that he was not injured or killed, and to return him safely to Russia.
Mycroft Holmes was the one who had schemed to draw in assassins aiming for the Tsar’s neck by providing information to Oliver Twist, the Dragon Head who ruled the tabloid press.
It was certainly a contradiction for such a man to move to protect the Tsar’s life, yet not a speck of shame existed in Mycroft’s heart.
The Butler Agency always carried contradiction and darkness within it.
Hak-pil, Chief of the Butler Agency, was not a man so weak that he would be seized by doubts over something like this.
“It’s time.”
At 6:30 a.m., Mycroft took out a file containing the directive for ‘Operational Plan: Operation Timberjack’ and dusted it off.
Operation Timberjack. Another name was the Lumberjack Operation.
It was the final means Mycroft had prepared to thwart the Tsar’s ambition after learning the secret of Lake Ladoga and the Vermilion Phoenix’s hidden ecology.
Originally it was an operation that could not succeed without sacrificing the lives of several SIS agents infiltrated in Russia, but if he took advantage of the brief political vacuum created by the Tsar’s visit to London, and the chaos that would soon erupt.
“Truly…”
He could carry it out with far less risk than anticipated.
“Perfect timing.”
Britain, which used the Gregorian calendar, would observe Ascension Day in five days.
Ascension Day was a church feast commemorating the Supreme Saint, Jesus Christ, ascending into heaven, and referred to the day forty days after Easter.
For Russia, which used the Julian calendar, the date differed by nearly two weeks, but it remained true that soon ceremonies commemorating Ascension Day would be held across the Orthodox churches.
This meant that, as in most years, some of the clergy of Kazan Cathedral in Saint Petersburg would cross to Valaam Island, the Orthodox holy land, to prepare Ascension Day rites.
And while the Tsar was absent, it would not be difficult to approach Saint Nicholas Skete Church where the Golden Apple Tree was hidden and carry out a sabotage operation.
The reason Mycroft had not touched the apple tree until now was because he believed it would be meaningless. Even if he succeeded at the cost of agents’ lives, the Tsar could simply obtain another Golden Apple Tree.
But now that he knew the Tsar’s specific method of guiding the Vermilion Phoenix to Lake Ladoga, there was no reason to hesitate.
If the Tsar’s plan was to hatch the egg on Valaam Island, summon the Vermilion Phoenix, and make it nest beside the Golden Apple Tree, then all he had to do was blow both the phoenix and the tree to a place beyond the Tsar’s reach.
/
Almost at the same time Mycroft departed for Claridge’s, the directive written in Dusk Ink was tied to a hawk’s leg and flew toward the far east.
In Greek myth, the Golden Apple was what sparked a war, but Mycroft had not the slightest intention of reenacting a fictional tragedy in reality.
On the holiest feast day, the apple tree would become a burnt offering presented to God in London’s place.
And that blaze would become the final warmth mourning Saint Petersburg’s eternal winter.
God Save The Queen.
Britannia Rule The Waves.
For the next fifty years, Russia’s imperial capital would not see an ice-free port.
Claridge’s Hotel, suite room.
The Tsar, who had come to London to reclaim the Vermilion Phoenix’s egg, setting aside even his late father’s funeral, was spending quite a leisurely time.
To begin with, he had no need to move busily to find the chick himself.
Alexander III was skilled at handling people.
He used two cards to move others’ hearts.
Proper reward, and fear.
The reason the Tsar preferred the latter was that its effect was absolute.
Above all, fear had the advantage that even if you lavished it on an enemy, it did not empty the treasury.
He had already planted fear in the hearts of the British, including the Queen.
Deliberately hiding the details, he presented only the ‘truth’ that if they failed to find what he wanted, London would become ash.
The Tsar possessed solid information and grounds. Therefore, he had no need to lie.
Predictions based on fact always carried an irresistible weight.
Alexander III never underestimated British capability.
Rather, he believed the British would follow the small clue hidden in his words and ultimately face the substance of fear.
Once they glimpsed the grim future of a living catastrophe burning the city, they would grow even more frantic.
They had only two choices left.
Protect London and hand Russia immense profit.
Or fail to stop the egg’s hatching and become a handful of ash.
Unless the British obtained concrete information about the Vermilion Phoenix’s ecology, the ending would be one of those two.
The Tsar’s expectations would never miss.
Of course, even if they found the egg in time and brought it, if the Tsar froze it with ice arts and sealed the chick’s intent, there was a strong chance the Vermilion Phoenix that had been tracking the young’s trace would lose its way and run wild.
In that case, unless heaven’s luck helped them, London would not escape destruction.
No matter which way it rolled, it was a situation where only the Russian Empire profited one-sidedly.
There was nothing Alexander III needed to do.
He could spend time at the hotel at leisure, then board a ship early tomorrow morning and depart.
Once he escaped to sea, he would not need to fear the Vermilion Phoenix’s fierce flames.
The fake egg crafted by Russia’s greatest artisan, Fabergé, worked with gold and jewels and coated in enamel, was a treasure that partially blocked the Yang Qi flowing between heaven and earth, delaying the chick’s hatching until the appointed day.
Once they found the egg, they could take it out of the Fabergé egg and freeze it. Internal energy would be consumed, but they could safely bring it to Valaam Island where the Golden Apple Tree waited.
Even if that damned firefox who stole the egg somehow unlocked the Fabergé egg’s mechanism by sheer luck, there was no need to worry.
So long as she did not rashly heat the egg and hasten the hatching, the Tsar could still escape London in time.
But the possibility of that happening approached zero.
The Vermilion Phoenix’s egg looked no different from an ordinary egg.
Irene Adler would never be able to recognize its true identity.
She would think it was merely a precious spirit-beast egg, then be caught in the flames of the Vermilion Phoenix that arrived without warning and be turned to ash.
Above all, there was a reason the Tsar believed it would not matter much even if he failed to reclaim the egg.
That London burning would lead to Russia’s national interest was obvious, so there was no need to waste breath discussing it.
What mattered was that the Vermilion Phoenix could never refuse the scent of the Golden Apple.
It might be later than expected, but as long as the Golden Apple Tree existed on Valaam Island, the Vermilion Phoenix would someday build its nest at Lake Ladoga.
“……”
One worry remained. He did not know what the new consultant, who had greatly helped establish and carry out all these plans, would demand from him.
The consultant boasted that by reading the flow of the stars, he could read fate and the secrets hidden in heaven.
In truth, he had provided all the knowledge the late Alexander II needed, from the Vermilion Phoenix’s ecology and nest location to the methods necessary to delay the egg’s hatching.
After the late Tsar died, it was also the consultant who asserted to Alexander III that the one who stole the egg was Irene Adler.
“Grigori Rasputin…”
A boy who began receiving the late Tsar’s favor, called a miracle child at the mere age of six.
Those strange eyes that held starlight gave off a presence that could not be believed of a child.
However, the Tsar had never believed that such uncanny machinations and secret knowledge truly came from the head of a boy turning twelve this year.
It was more natural to think there was someone behind him.
“…He’s still too dangerous to be left as is. Once I return with the egg, I’ll have to execute him.”
The Tsar made his decision quietly and rose from the sofa.
And three seconds later.
“It’s a disaster, Your Majesty. The morning paper—”
At the same time the guard threw open the suite door holding the newspaper.
-Crash!!
A dozen black-clad men shattered the window and revealed themselves.
TL/N: The author decides to finally greet us with his preferred English term for the Butler Agency agents ️