Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 265 Schwarzenwald Hotel
Dusk is falling.

The sunlight had changed from gray-blue to orange-gold, reflecting off the open folder.

The office was silent except for the slow ticking of the clock.

The newspaper on the table was still on the page containing the interview.

At the very bottom of the international communications section is a deliberately added black annotation.

—See section 93X of file number EU-000 for details.

Morrison stared at those words for so long that his thumb pressed several creases into the paper.

Three days have passed since the article was published, and there has still been no response.

no change.

Whether it's a telephone or a radio station.

The seemingly enormous creature appeared abruptly and then vanished.

I used to think it was the work of the system.

In retrospect, it may have been nothing more than a fallacy caused by some unknown interference or unusual weather.

As the newspaper with the largest circulation in Germany, there's no reason why The Daily News would remain silent until now if there were other agents involved.

Morrison leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

Afterwards, he sighed and prepared to stand up to pour himself a glass of water.

The next second, the phone rang.

Morrison turned around abruptly, clinging to his last glimmer of hope, and picked up the receiver.

“Mason,” a familiar voice came from the other end, “it’s me, Braun.”

"How's it going? Do you miss me?"

Morrison felt a pang of disappointment, but still responded warmly to the man's greeting.

“It’s almost 6:30, and you guys are still not off work,” Braun said casually. “I knew you were probably hiding in your office again.”

“I’d like to leave sooner,” Morrison said, glancing at the documents on the table. “Unfortunately, I haven’t finished writing, and my head is spinning.”

"Perfect timing, I've arranged some relaxing activities for you."

Braun chuckled twice. "The day after tomorrow at eight o'clock, at the Schwarzenwald Hotel, a commemorative reception. Are you coming?"

"What kind of party?" Morrison raised an eyebrow when he heard the address that had appeared repeatedly in the telegrams.

"Celebrating the successful negotiation of a project by a Japanese engineering delegation."

"You know, it's that 'Joint Standards Interchange Protocol' they came up with. It sounds impressive, but I doubt anyone will actually remember it."

How did you get a ticket?

"I was supposed to bring Eva, you know, my new girlfriend."

"Unfortunately, she flew to Geneva at the last minute, so there was an extra position available."

"I suddenly remembered while I was eating, haven't you always been interested in those weird Japanese things? Especially last time—"

“Don’t make serious matters sound so strange,” Morrison interrupted him. “It’s just a cultural thing.”

"Fine, fine, fine." Braun laughed even louder. "I don't care what you think, I've put your name on the form anyway."

Morrison stared intently at the summary document on the table, but his thoughts drifted far away.

"The wine there is good, and the food is excellent," Braun continued to promote the place, seemingly genuinely not wanting to attend the event alone.

"Come and wander around, have something to eat, listen to people talk; it might be helpful for your mysterious report."

“My report has nothing to do with the banquet,” Morrison reiterated.

"Whatever," Braun shrugged, as if the gesture could actually travel through the telephone line. "Anyway, I'll feel more at ease with you here."

"If you don't come, I'll just find any secretary to sit next to me."

"The day after tomorrow at eight o'clock?" Morrison finally spoke.

"Yes, the Schwarzenwald Hotel, dress a little more formally."

"See you then, I appreciate your invitation."

"Don't be so mushy," Braun yelled. "I'm hanging up, I still have to work on the data. Don't be late."

After the call ended, Morrison put down the receiver.

The office fell silent again.

The documents on the table are still there.

On the top layer was a preliminary analysis summary that he was compiling. Initially, it consisted of just trivial bits of information.

The signal sequence of the Poznan-Gdynia freight rail line has become disjointed, skipping the originally designated numbering segments.

Only military encryption systems would handle large-scale special shipments in this way.

The makeshift airfield at the mouth of the Lower Rhine, which has been partially abandoned for years, has received three unregistered medium-sized transport aircraft in the past three weeks.

The takeoff and landing records were nearly six hours later than the official schedule, and the reason for sealing them was listed as "inaccurate meteorological verification".

A Japanese "energy engineering consultant" proposed doubling the quota for temperature-controlled vehicles, claiming it was for "cold chain assurance of equipment for reciprocal demonstrations."

The relevant authorities initially refused to approve it, but it was subsequently tacitly approved "under office instructions".

What troubled him most was the briefing on the Würzburg military control zone.

The "structural repairs" originally scheduled for two weeks later were brought forward to yesterday.

The outer outposts were temporarily removed, and no one notified neighboring units.

On its own, these are just noises, administrative oversights, and utterly meaningless.

But he sensed something far more terrifying in these “everyday trifles”.

mode.

A repetitive but deliberately broken pattern.

Morrison moved the water glass aside and turned to the second document at the bottom.

—Analysis of recent entry of Japanese personnel.

Just after the first batch of diplomatic representatives were massacred on the train, a new delegation set off from Tokyo.

There was no public announcement, nor any form of "condolence statement".

From an official perspective, Japan's silence is unsettling.

From the perspective of intelligence personnel, this is a dangerous initiative.

Morrison narrowed his eyes.

He could feel himself about to touch the hidden truth, if only a few more days, but—

Time is running out.

The resignation order has been issued, and there is less than 30 days left in the window.

Morrison closed his eyes with difficulty.

In the blink of an eye, a black pistol appeared out of thin air.

He reached out his hand, hesitated for a moment, and then grasped it.

It was unexpectedly heavy.

He tried to pull out the magazine, put it back in, and then gripped the gun handle and aimed it at the bookshelf in front of him, albeit with extremely clumsy movements.

Morrison never actually operated this type of weapon.

Even though he had received basic training in the past, he knew that there was still a huge gap between himself and a real "operation personnel".

But now, there is no room for any hesitation.

What are the Japanese plotting?

All the clues, whether intercepted codes, dispatch records, or personnel flow, at most outline a vague contour.

Far from enough.

His superiors had explicitly warned him: "You are too important; you cannot be exposed."

They told him to wait and see, focus on intelligence work, and observe the situation.

But Morris knew that some things could never be achieved through analysis alone.

He could almost hear his instincts screaming incessantly in his ears: Something's wrong.

Something's very wrong.

If that unknown plot cannot be stopped, it may be too late in thirty days.

Schwarzenwald Hotel.

The day after tomorrow night, at eight o'clock.

　[1] 35 series MOS are the best
　　[2] Braun actually has a prototype, which is closely related to the subsequent plot. You can guess who it is.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)