“One more thing. This Algali… he has heard a name he has no business knowing. Make sure that he never tells it to anyone.”
“Yes, milord.” The chief of security looked away momentarily. “If you think it’s necessary…”
“I do think so. The kid has been compromised: both the Secret Guard and DSD will be hunting him now. We have no right to endanger the entire underground. Yes, I know what you’ve just thought: had it been an Elf, I’d behave differently, right?”
“No, milord,” the other replied woodenly. “The safety of the Organization is paramount, that’s basic. I only wish to remind you that it is Algali who is supposed to meet Tangorn and also to pick up the letter in Kharmian Village, so we’ll have to wait until Friday to do it…”
Yes, thought the Great Magister with fleeting pride, we have really trained them well, and in just two years. The magic phrase ‘it’s necessary’ accomplishes everything. Who would’ve thought that all those liberal humanists will be so eager to stand at attention and salute, and find a deep sacred meaning in doing so, one that’s beyond their weak civilian minds… Actually, this Algali is lucky, if you think about it. They are all dead men anyway, but he will at least die happy, full of illusions and believing in a glorious future, whereas the others will have to behold what they’ve done and realize whose road they’ve paved before they die…
“Barrel of pus!! Can’t blame those Gondorian idiots, but where the hell were you, Jacuzzi?”
It was not often that the Vice-Director of Operations saw his superior in such a state. The report of Tangorn’s night raid on 4 Lamp Street brought him to a boiling point, nor did the news from Minas Tirith brought over by Dimitriadis (Vice-Director of Political Intelligence) do anything to improve his mood.
“Do you at least realize that this psycho and his vendetta will bury Marandil in a day or two, together with Operation Sirocco?” “I’m afraid Tangorn’s no psycho, nor is this a vendetta; we’re just unable to figure out his plan. Amazing, but this amateur keeps winning round after round! It’s enough to make one believe that he’s being assisted by Higher Powers…”
“All right, enough mysticism. How’s our captain doing?”
“If the baron intended to break him, he has fully succeeded. Aravan’s written testimony just about finished the poor guy off: he swears that he gave no such order and that all this is news to him. This is like delirious ravings… Perhaps that elfinar will clear things up some once we find him.”
“Leave Algali alone!” Almandin snapped. “He’s got nothing to do with making your agent Marandil safe. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” the operative answered, looking down gloomily.
Once again he hit the same wall. When two years ago he put his first report on the pro- Elvish organizations in Umbar on the Director’s desk, he was ordered to immediately halt all work in that direction and deactivate already planted agents. Ever since then he regularly came across traces of those secret societies, like mouse droppings in an old cupboard, yet every time he was told not to stick his fink’s snout into high politics: “This is Dimitriadis’s job.” It seemed plausible that the Vice-Director of Political Intelligence was simultaneously being told “This is Jacuzzi’s job,” but this guess was quite impossible to verify: private consultations between Vice-Directors (as well as any such contacts between employees outside of their chain of command) were strictly forbidden by the Department’s rules and were punished as deviations from umberto. Very well, he decided at some point with relief that surprised him, Almandin must have his reasons that I can’t see from my vantage point – perhaps a secret alliance with the Elves against Gondor or something like that. After all, I did my job as a detective, now it’s let the bosses and analytics think. What was it that the unforgettable Tin Man used to say? “The cock’s job is to crow, not to summon the dawn.”
“Jacuzzi, do you think that the captain can keep working?”
“He’s totally demoralized right now; he whines and begs to be allowed to flee immediately, as per agreement.”
“Exactly!” In annoyance, the Director slapped the morning report from Carnero’s headquarters. “It’s getting harder and harder for Marandil to cover up the goings-on in Barangar Bay. His underlings aren’t blind…” Underlings aren’t blind – is that a hint at me and the Elves? Jacuzzi hastily banished the thought. “Add to that a string of spectacular failures and a pile of dead bodies, thanks to that buccaneer from Ithilien. Soon our captain will be stripped of his officer’s cords and court-martialed. Long story short: find Tangorn immediately and isolate him at all costs! All costs, you hear? If you can do it without bloodshed – be my guest, but if not, then just liquidate him and be done with it!.. Now, about the Gondorian station. If needs be, can we simply block their communications with the continent, and extend that blockade throughout mid-July, when Sirocco is scheduled to begin?” “I think so. We will cut off the land routes via Chevelgar while Makarioni will contact the Coast Guard and put them on high alert.”
“Good. Now: since Tangorn is in town, then Mongoose should be, too. Got any news on that front?”
“Kind of… We have a very faint lead. For the past few days my people have been watching Tangorn’s girlfriend Alviss and have discovered a strange detail, seemingly a trifle…”
…Even the most banal measures, like placing the guards on high alert, can sometimes yield unexpected results. While looking through prior day’s reports on the morning of the 20th, Jacuzzi came across a Coast Guard report: on the night of the 19th they have intercepted the Flying Fish, the felucca of a well-known smuggler Uncle Sarrakesh, in an attempt to enter Kharmian Bay. There were two crewmembers on board beside the skipper. The felucca’s hold was empty, giving the authorities no excuse to impound the vessel; Uncle Sarrakesh will have to be let go by the evening. The report mentioned, however, that the Flying Fish
was attempting to evade the coast guard galley by hugging the reef-strewn shore of the Peninsula; it is possible, the guards concluded, that there may have been a passenger on the felucca that had escaped by swimming ashore in the dark.
It is hard to say what attracted the DSD Vice-Director’s attention to this banal harbor story; perhaps some faint premonition. As far as he remembered, Uncle Sarrakesh was connected to Lame Vittano’s zamorro and specialized in smuggling proscribed steel weaponry to Harad in exchange for cola nuts whose import was the Republic’s monopoly. Cola was very expensive stuff, so the return shipments were typically small (no more than ten grain sacks) and it was a task of two or three minutes to heave them overboard in case of trouble, so the emptiness of the Flying Fish’s hold did not surprise the Vice-Director. The strange thing was that the guardsmen’s specially trained dog had not detected any cola smell on board, which prompted him to give his full attention to the idea that the felucca’s only cargo had been an unknown passenger. At any other time this would have been a trifle – but not now, when the Department was carefully cutting off all of the 12 Shore Street’s possible communication channels and looking for Gondorian illegals from Mongoose’s team. Jacuzzi decided that any leniency was inappropriate at that crucial juncture and ordered a vigorous interrogation of the captured smugglers. A couple of hours later one of Sarrakesh’s ‘nephews’ broke down and described their escaped passenger; Jacuzzi had no trouble recognizing Baron Tangorn from the description.
Upon such recognition he cursed, shortly but colorfully, like a sailor, as he realized that he could not get to Tangorn any time soon. Sarrakesh was from the Peninsula; undoubtedly he sent Tangorn to his relatives in one of the mountain villages. Even if Jacuzzi found out exactly which one (which would be very tough), it would not do him any good – the mountain men never surrender a fugitive to the police. To them, the law of hospitality is sacred and inviolate, and there can be no negotiation on that point; to arrest Tangorn by force he would need a minor army operation, rather than a couple of gendarmes, which no one would authorize. Send nin’yokve assassins to the mountains? That would work as an extreme measure, but… All right, let’s risk a little wait until the baron tries to get back to the Islands – he did try to get straight into the Kharmian Bay last night despite an obvious danger. For a while he has no contact with Vittano’s smugglers, so the sea route is closed to him, whereas to seal off the Long Dam is easy as pie.