---

Since the war on terror began, distinguishing between friend and foe has seldom been an easy task on this planet.

Especially with the emergence of military concepts such as fourth-generation warfare and cognitive warfare, and the blurring lines between conventional and unconventional warfare, as well as wartime and peacetime, this trend has only intensified.

These changes have also affected intelligence agencies.

However, in my judgment, while the war on terror has brought about countless changes, it has yet to fundamentally alter the foundational aspects of information warfare.

You see, information warfare has always been a dirty and grimy field.

Some might say that “Call of Duty” is just a game, far removed from reality. They argue that the allure of the CIA and U.S. military serves merely as fodder for the rich imaginations of consumers, and that it hardly reflects the true experiences of the CIA and military.

But to dismiss the intelligence operations conducted by American agencies represented by the CIA and the U.S. military as mere entertainment would be a grave error; they are certainly no less significant than any game company’s storyline.

If it suits them, they’ll overthrow a government with a coup or shove special forces into an antagonistic environment to pull out an informant—such manipulations have been a staple of their friends since the Cold War.

The UK? Canada? France? Their exploits only ramp up, never diminish. This holds true for the Soviet intelligence agencies that led Cold War hegemony in the Eastern Bloc, and Chinese intelligence agencies as well.

Especially China. These guys have been a constant headache since my dad’s active duty days.

Just when the U.S. paired up to eavesdrop on Soviet forces in the Far East, they backed the Kim family in North Korea to stir up trouble. After the “Three Links” policy was passed, they dumped intelligence officers into Taiwan, and by the 2000s, they were spreading industrial spies around, drawing international ire.

Of course, while it’s shameful, it’s not like I, who was feasting on a paycheck for espionage within the South Korean government, had the moral high ground to criticize. South Korea, on the surface, never bared its teeth, but it had stolen technologies from advanced nations in more ways than one. And most of those technologies had their origins in allied nations like the U.S., the UK, and France, which left me with even less room to talk.

But what can you do? In this field, the one who gets duped is treated like a fool.

The international community doesn’t wipe away the tears of victims. It’s no small blessing if they don’t slap you upside the head for earning a beating for asking for it.

So when Israel bombed Syria’s nuclear facilities, no one raised a peep in protest. Even the Syrian government, battered by the bombings, kept quiet.

There was no reason to complain or be complained about.

What annoyed me, however, was that the immense capabilities for information collection and meticulous analytical skills underlying all of this were starkly different from the image often painted online as “the evil troublemakers and uncivilized mainland Chinese in Northeast Asia.” The intelligence reports I scored from smashing a Chinese intelligence officer’s head with a wrench were more refined and profound than anything I had ever seen.

When I realized that this wasn’t just a simple stroke of luck, but rather the result of capital invested over decades and countless tears shed by Chinese intelligence agents, my frustration doubled. That feeling of frustration multiplied severalfold when I remembered a senior who returned to his hometown a year after being officially labeled as missing after months of lost contact.

Yet one fact remained unchanged, no matter what.

From the Cold War and far before that, the realm of information warfare has traditionally been a battlefield where distinguishing friend from foe is tough.

It had always been this way, and it would continue to be so in the future.

So,

“It’s been a while, Sophia. How’s business going?”

“It’s going well. Very well.”

This friend who popped up unexpectedly during my vacation could very well be an enemy in disguise.

Episode 13 – A Country Without a Magician

The sudden appearance of my friend Sophia wasn’t surprising at all.

It was to be expected that Sophia would inevitably show up when I got to Patalia.

“When were you planning to meet? Since you got your visa at your embassy?”

Without a hint of hesitation, Sophia nodded affirmatively. That alone served as her answer.

Obtaining a visa at the embassy necessitates passing through an extensive background check procedure. They look into whether you have a criminal record, or if you might be the kind of person to cause trouble once you enter.

For reference, the authority that issues criminal record certificates generally falls under the Ministry of the Interior’s Foreign Affairs division. Given the nature of the Foreign Affairs Bureau’s duties, it’s unnecessary to explain where that information goes.

Besides, the primary role of intelligence agencies is to prevent spies from entering from abroad, so it’s foolish to think that a spy would boldly apply for a visa.

Naturally, my entry fact had been registered in the ears of the National Security Agency the moment I applied for a visa. And Sophia would have heard about it too.

I sipped my cocktail, which was served as an appetizer, and my second spoken line was the most predictable question.

“That immigration officer, she was one of yours, right?”

“Yep. The youngest in our team. How did you find her when you met? Was she okay?”

Sophia said with a bright smile.

“Everything’s fine except for one thing. Her lines were a bit off. If she’s going to be working, she should at least do it convincingly. What kind of immigration officer keeps asking personal questions and dragging them out?”

At my light jab, Sophia just shook her head, letting out a small hum of disapproval while wearing a somewhat awkward smile as if there’s nothing she can do about it.

“She’s new to our team. I admit she lacks experience, and of course, she knows that herself.”

“Oh, she was a newbie? Was this a test then?”

“Something like that.”

Seniors who entered the intelligence agency before the fresh recruits often find them to be a headache.

It’s not like they’re necessarily troublemaking or scatterbrained. Rather, they remind you of a child left out in the open, you know?

They’ve completed the basic training and education, but when it comes time to deploy them in a real situation, you can’t help but worry they might screw up. So generally, intelligence officers give simple assignments to the newbies fresh out of intelligence school.

They’re not very hard tasks.

“Speaking of assignments, it brings back memories. I had a duty once at an expo where I had to keep an old man company.”

“Keep him company?”

“You know how it goes—seniors tell you to find out what they know about that person, then somehow you have to investigate and guess the answers with prepared materials.”

“Oh, I get it. I did that often when I was a newbie too.”

Seemed like that immigration officer’s antics were a similar kind of test.

When Sophia gained intel on my entry, she must’ve instructed her junior to test me. Based on the information she already had and some others passed through the embassy (details I provided during the visa application), she likely ordered the immigration officer to gather information disguised as an immigration officer. Then she probably told them to pass on her personal number to me at the end.

The issue is,

“How did it go?”

“Horrible.”

To be honest, evaluating it straight, Sophia’s junior’s skills were outright terrible. It seemed like she used what she’d learned for conversation, but she made a lot of mistakes elsewhere.

“Tell her to manage her expressions better. And did she inform you about my details in advance?”

“Yeah.”

“No wonder the conversation kept veering in strange directions. It felt like she was merely confirming what she already knew.”

I let out a deep sigh and took a drag from my cigarette.

“Grab her and train her again. She’s going to cause a mishap if she goes out in the field like this.”

“Thanks for the advice, Merlo.”

Sophia motioned to call over the waiter. When the waiter rushed over, she was about to order a cocktail for herself when she added, “How about I get one to celebrate your arrival in Patalia?”

“Sounds good.”

She ordered one for me too and tipped generously.

Regardless of nationality, there’s a hard rule for intelligence officers: don’t drink while on overseas assignments. This rule serves to prevent leaking classified information due to drunkenness, but it’s also a precaution to be wary of what might have been slipped into one’s drink.

However, there are times when this rule gets broken, especially when drinking with intelligence officers from friendly or allied nations.

“Ah, it feels great to be in Patalia.”

“Oh, I guess the business trips have been pretty rough? You’re downing four drinks already.”

“Don’t even mention it. You know how the imperial bastards are hotheaded, right?”

“They haven’t changed, I see. Did you get marked since day one?”

“Yep, and on the first day, I caused a massive incident too.”

Personally, I don’t fully trust the National Security Agency and Sophia. I’m from Abas and Sophia is a Patalian.

But nonetheless, Patalia remains Abas’s staunchest ally, and the history of both nations over the last century speaks for itself.

So, for the first time in a while, I was able to enjoy a decent drinking session.

“What kind of incident was it?”

“They drove around in circles near my accommodation, and as soon as I burst out, they rammed right into me.”

“Really? So what happened?”

“What do you mean what happened? I clung to their car, and it ended in a collision. I got scratched up all over.”

That sounded like a massive injury, but I just brushed it off. Complaining about being hit by a car would be problematic, given my status.

Officially, I was a military attaché and Camila’s colleague, but unofficially, I was an intelligence officer. The Military Intelligence Agency had its attaché position wrapped around…

What got me so worked up was that it wasn’t a guarantee of safety in emergencies; it was a damn get-out-of-jail-free card for whatever crime they wanted to commit against me!

In that context, from the Imperial Guard HQ’s perspective, I was merely a spy crawling into the Empire. A spy brazenly sticking his head out in the open. Unfortunately, that’s just the cold hard truth.

At this, Sophia from the National Security Agency spoke up in a calm tone.

“It can’t be helped. Given your status, how do you think you would have acted in the reverse situation?”

“I would have run them over the same way.”

She looked at me like, “Are you serious?”

“Isn’t that just the truth?”

“Even so, stating outright that you’d run someone over is a bit….”

But this was the reality, after all.

Even if I was gripping the wheel, I would have hit the gas just as hard, and the information officer from the Imperial Guard HQ would have been cursing just like I would. No deep reason behind it. The other party was a spy who had come to spy, and I was the one meant to stop that.

Whether it’s war or a fight, fundamentally, both events are just about beating down an opponent. The relationship between the information officer and the investigator is pretty similar. One has to carry the secrets, while the other has to prevent those secrets from getting stolen, meaning eventually someone’s going to get hurt.

So what can you do?

“Fight and win. If you’re an idiot whether you win or lose, might as well be the winning idiot, right?”

“They’re both idiots anyway.”

“Not really. One side at least came out on top.”

“…Are you drunk?”

“Uh… no?”

I took a swig from the cocktail that was about halfway gone. My words were slurred through the ice and alcohol.

Sophia shook her head at the sight.

“No matter how much of an aperitif it is, it’s still alcohol. If you’re not careful, you might just keel over?”

“Where? Heaven?”

“Well… I don’t know where you’ll go when you die, but I don’t think they’d let someone who died from drinking into heaven.”

Is that so? I pondered, sipping what was left of my cocktail.

“When that time comes, I’ll just have to pay the Saint for a one-way ticket to heaven. I mean, I’m the most favored child of the celestial beings, right? Surely they’d turn a blind eye to a guy who died in a drunken stupor?”

“That might just be the case.”

Exhausted from the banter, Sophia replied in a slightly defeated tone. It was quite a useless conversation.

***

After downing four cocktails and two sodas while soaking in the seaside night view and smoking a cigar, the appetizer I ordered finally arrived at our table.

Thinly sliced raw meat. The taste of the meat marinated in lemon juice and dressing was excellent. The slight sourness combined with the tender texture of the meat and the crunchy vegetables harmonized perfectly and stimulated my appetite.

“So, how is it, Merlo?”

As Sophia piled salmon, tomato, and olives onto a slice of bread and asked for my opinion, I responded.

“It’s my first time trying Patalia food, and it’s pretty good. Not bad at all.”

“Way better than that Franjiya crap. The same goes for Abas’s food too.”

As she enjoyed the appetizer, Sophia critiqued how awful the food culture of the neighboring country was. To be honest, I didn’t really align with any country’s food culture, but if I said something wrong here, I felt like the couple next to us and the waiter would rush over and hang me upside down in a gas station, so I just nodded along.

Dinner lasted quite a while.

Aperitifs and appetizers got my taste buds fired up, and then came the pasta, meat, and fish. Just so you know, the pasta came out first. I had to finish that before the meat and fish were served.

When something was lacking, we simply ordered more, and enjoyed a relaxed meal with drinks. Setting aside thoughts of work, I certainly felt a lot more at ease, just as Clevenz had said.

Before long, after finishing all the ordered meat, fish, and sides, when we went to order dessert—

I was finally able to hear my first real question from Sophia.

As she lifted her wine glass, she casually tossed out, almost dismissively,

“How’s Ranieri doing these days?”

Francesca Ranieri’s recent condition.

That was the first sentence she threw my way at the table with only dessert left. And that was the very purpose for Sophia’s visit today.

I smiled gently, set down my drink, and clasped my hands together.

“Is that why you came here? To ask about her.”

“Um… well, that’s not the only reason, but I wanted to know about that alongside other things.”

It was a blatant lie.

There’s a technique that diplomats use when having private conversations with foreign diplomats. They invite them to dinner, fill them up with food and drinks, and then, when that moment of drowsy, tipsy bliss strikes, they make a request.

Normally, such a request would be pondered over carefully and politely declined, but at that moment, people tend to unconsciously nod and accept it. It’s just human psychology.

“What are you worried about? What on earth did your superiors send you to do that I was being questioned right from the first day of my visit?”

Sophia gave a faux apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry to you, but this is my job. I really didn’t want it to come to this, but here we are.”

“Cut the chase and get to the point. Is all you want to know about Francesca’s recent status?”

“Yeah, just her recent condition. That’s all I need.”

I nodded. Then I tossed out the next line.

“Tell me the reason.”

The reason the National Security Agency was suddenly curious about Francesca’s status. That’s the part I was deeply interested in.

At this meal, it wasn’t the first time Sophia had asked me about the situation in the Northern Regions. True to her role as an information officer, she had asked about the overall situation there, and I had supplied her with information as much as I could (without violating any security protocols).

And that information also included stories about Veronica, Lucia, and Camila, who had abruptly left the country and stirred up a ruckus among senior officials in both the cult and the Empire.

But this was the first time her questions had turned toward Francesca.

I brushed away the crumbs on the tablecloth and began to speak.

“Since there’s no information network in the North, it must have been tough for your agency to collect information. But through the Empire’s branch, you should be able to at least indirectly gauge the situation, right? Surely that means you have the capability?”

“Grasping the situation through the local information network ultimately means that the information has to pass through several filters, doesn’t it?”

“The information could have been distorted?”

“Exactly.”

One of the reasons human intelligence networks started to decline in the 21st century was that technical information represented by signal and imagery began to replace human intelligence. But the biggest reason was the flaws inherent in human intelligence itself.

What is human intelligence? It’s information gathering through people.

Agents go in directly to gather intelligence, hire informants from third countries to bring in intel, and then that gathered intelligence is compiled into usable information. That’s the essence of HUMINT.

The problem is that it’s a damn fragile method.

“If an informant fails to approach their target and the operation collapses, that’s okay. We can just find a substitute. But if an informant inflates their results, or if an information officer deliberately manipulates the data for a promotion, or God knows, if they receive data that was manipulated from the start—who can say?”

The advantage of HUMINT is that it’s information collected through humans, and the downside is that it relies on humans for information.

That’s why a significant amount of intelligence collected through HUMINT gets cut at the information officer level or vanishes as it passes through analysts’ hands. The intel gathered at great risk often ends up being so useless that it can’t be used at all.

And that’s the reason why numerous intelligence agencies are willing to spend a fortune to launch satellites. At least photos taken directly and signals collected firsthand don’t lie.

It’s a sad tale, but it’s the reality.

“So summarizing: your agency is dying to know about Francesca.”

“Yup.”

“But you’re worried that the information might have been distorted if you go through the network.”

“Exactly.”

“And at this point, it’s not practical to send someone directly to the North or to recruit nearby individuals, so you’re looking to wring information out of me, the closest person?”

“Yeah… it does sound that way.”

The core point was right on the money.

I nodded calmly and began to speak earnestly.

“Then formally request information sharing. What are you even getting at? Is this how your agency usually operates without any decorum?”

“……”

“I’m on vacation here, and I’m not in a position to just share intelligence with you guys. No, even if I wanted to tell you, I can’t. If I share information without authorization, my agency would discipline me.”

Sophia stared blankly at me, and I leaned back in my chair. Then with a serious demeanor, I continued.

“Now, tell me the real reason. Why are you doing this?”

After staring at me silently for a while, Sophia finally looked away and sighed.

She lifted her gaze to the night sea before turning back to face me with her tired, sharp eyes.

“If I tell you why, will you share?”

“For now, just let me hear it.”

“…Alright.”

Sophia discreetly pushed her wine glass to the side.

She then scanned the surroundings with her eyes before leaning closer to me, whispering in a soft voice.

“Our agency wants to get rid of Ranieri.”

 

---