I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 501 Praising Their Stupidity

The lady smiled at them, a hint of something deeper flashing in her eyes. "You two are quite bold—Mrs. Smith is still at home." Her tone was relaxed, even slightly provocative.

Alice remained unmoved. She calmly replied, "Madam, we're just here to apply for the job." Her voice was still flat, and her face showed no sign of surprise. "We saw the job posting in the newspaper."

The lady nodded slightly. "Yes, we do need a maid."

"We have a wealth of experience."

"Okay—come in." She nodded, turned and stepped aside to make way for them to enter.

Alice and her companions exchanged glances, then strode confidently into the mysterious safe house.

Jill relaxed as soon as she entered the safe house.

Nowadays, the codes for safe houses across London change daily, making it virtually impossible for anyone to know them in advance.

"Seriously, which idiot came up with this password?" Jill crossed her arms, looking annoyed. "As if we're those kinds of women."

Valerie shrugged and said, "It was all the intelligence department's idea this morning. Maybe he just happened to have a copy of The Sun on hand?"

"Ha—The Sun." Jill sneered.

As one of the most well-known British newspapers, The Sun is famous for its three-page feature on whether the women featured are curvy or not.

Mrs. Smith seemed not to hear Jill's complaints, and turned gracefully to lead the three of them into the living room.

The living room was decorated very luxuriously, with expensive oil paintings hanging on the walls, exquisite porcelain on the coffee table, and a faint fragrance in the air.

"Please have a seat." Mrs. Smith gestured to the sofa, indicating that they should sit down.

"Your mission is—"

"I'm sorry, madam," Valerie V interrupted her. "Although we are part of the same British intelligence agency as MI6, you have no authority to participate in this mission."

"Of course—" Mrs. Smith nodded and did not ask any further questions.

Her task was simply to "receive" today's guests and prepare "lunch" for them.

Apart from that, none of the other requirements were within her scope of duties.

As they were talking, Mr. Smith arrived.

Like traditional British men, he had a striking feature: baldness.

But not completely bald.

It's just that her hairline has receded quite a bit.

He was wearing a black suit and carrying two bags in his hands.

"What you need."

Alice was the first to open the package on the table.

All kinds of firearms and ammunition are available.

She expertly inspected the firearms, confirming their performance and condition. Jill and V also picked up their own equipment and began checking and preparing.

"These weapons are custom-made firearms produced by Accuracy International and have not yet been officially released to the market. Many problems have also been exposed during internal testing. But—time is tight, and there is no time to make adjustments," Mr. Smith said.

"This thing"

V picked up the most conspicuous gun in the package.

This is a bolt-action sniper rifle.

But what's outrageous is that the gun's length appears to exceed 1300 millimeters.

The magazine is also surprisingly large; it's definitely not the 7.62mm bullet used in ordinary rifles. It's a whole size bigger, and it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it a cannonball.

"."

"If this explodes," V's lips twitched slightly, "we might be half gone."

"Don't worry—" Mr. Smith looked at her, a gentlemanly smile playing on his lips, "It's powerful enough to penetrate a three-millimeter steel plate—so you won't feel any pain."

"."

Jill glared at the bald British man. "What do you mean by that?"

Could it have exploded during internal testing?

Then why equip them with this weapon as standard equipment?

Couldn't MI5 find a few suitable sniper rifles?

Never mind—she shook her head.

He silently put the weapon back into the package.

Even if you ask, the other party won't say anything.

Because they didn't know the reason either.

"Okay." V ​​nodded and casually said, "We'll familiarize ourselves with the equipment as soon as possible, and then formulate a detailed action plan."

These words were, of course, meant to appease Mr. and Mrs. Smith in front of him.

They themselves did not know the specifics of their tasks.

We'll have to wait until 2 PM to open the envelope to find out.

To keep it a secret, that's all she could say.

For now, all we can do is wait.

Upon hearing this, Mr. and Mrs. Smith fell silent. Instead, they stepped aside, leaving the main area of ​​the living room for the three of them.

On the south side of the room, there is a window with a telescope in front of it.

Jill strolled over, lifted a corner of the bed curtain, and looked through the binoculars at Westminster Street.

On the street, a line of hundreds of people had already gathered in front of the church.

At the street corner, the anti-terrorism troops on the armored vehicle solemnly surveyed their surroundings.

"The city government really went all out this time," V said with a hint of sarcasm. "Such a dense network of surveillance equipment throughout the city must have cost a fortune. I can't believe the council officials agreed to install it."

Jill had already noticed the surveillance cameras that had recently appeared.

I don't know if it's at a street corner, but it's on a street lamp.

Cameras have also been installed on the rooftops of high-rise buildings and in some alleyways.

Such a high level of density would require a considerable amount of funding.

"At this point, they stopped bringing up the right to privacy as an objection," V continued. "It seems that their own lives are more important than voters' privacy."

"That's a good thing," Alice interjected, "It's about anticipating the enemy's moves."

"It's also possible that the men in Congress don't even know about this," Jill suddenly interjected. "In the United States, if the president wants to do something that Congress won't allow, he'll repackage his proposal a little."

"Ha—very likely," V said sarcastically. "If those noble lords knew that a war was about to break out on their doorstep, they would probably run headfirst into the gates of Buckingham Palace and lose face just to stop the Prime Minister."

Well—now it seems—the Prime Minister really has guts.

"Courage? Jim Hack?" Mrs. Smith, who was sipping a cup of black tea in the kitchen, seemed to have heard something shocking. Her face turned red, and she covered her mouth and nose, coughing violently.

Mr. Smith quickly patted her back.

An awkward smile flickered across his lips.

"We've chosen worse options before, haven't we?" he said, patting his wife on the back to comfort her.

"Cough, cough." Mrs. Smith coughed a few more times, then took several deep breaths to calm herself down. "Yes."

She looked thoughtful, and after a long pause, replied, "Who's worse?"

"."

This immediately shut her husband up.

No matter how clever and eloquent he was, he couldn't say a word for a moment.

After a few seconds of pause, he spoke again, "But in any case, Mr. Harker's name is already etched in history. If Britain is safe and sound this time, and London is safe and sound—then he will immediately become the greatest British prime minister since World War II."

"That's true," Mrs. Smith shrugged, her husband was absolutely right.

巫师

Who would have thought that such a creature actually exists?

And right under their noses.

On the other side, the trio by the window composed themselves.

None of the three of them are British.

They know very little about British politics.

It's already quite good to know whether the Prime Minister is male or female.

"Alright," Jill glanced at the others, "check the time."

She glanced at the watch on her left wrist. "It's now—12:27."

"12:27," the other two replied.

"Very good." Jill nodded.

"So now, all we have to do is wait."

Time passed by, second by second.

An hour and a half passed in the blink of an eye.

Finally, the clock hands pointed to two o'clock.

The three of them each took out an envelope from their pockets.

They exchanged a glance and immediately opened the envelope—inside was a short card and a button-sized earphone.

The earphone's external wires are connected to a power source the size of a chessboard.

Jill flipped over the card.

It depicts a map of the area near Westminster Abbey, with a location marked and a serial number: 023.

The meaning is self-evident.

"Then—let's go." Jill said seriously, walked to the table, and picked up her package.

The other two nodded and picked up their own packages as well.

The three left the room one by one, going their separate ways according to their respective destinations.

Outside the window, on Westminster Avenue, the dim, misty sunlight slanted across the ground, adding to the desolation of this historic street.

The crowd that had been somewhat calming down on the street suddenly became restless.

At that moment, a line of black sedans slowly drove into the street and stopped in the designated area near the church. The car doors opened, and diplomats from various European countries, dressed in sharp suits, stepped out with composed steps.

Their appearance undoubtedly exacerbated the tense atmosphere on the street, and the surrounding guards immediately tensed up, watching their surroundings vigilantly.

In the crowd, a man in a brown trench coat with a metal medal on his chest scanned his surroundings sharply. He mingled in the crowd, seemingly searching for something. Suddenly, he covered his ears and whispered, "0527, report."

His voice was deep.

"Two individuals matching the intelligence have appeared in area A3."

"Area B4, one suspicious person."

No sooner had he finished speaking than another voice rang in his ear: "Roger!"

The next moment, the surveillance camera disguised as some kind of decoration on the street lamp suddenly started to rotate.

The camera is focused on area A3.

Not far away, about 200 yards (183 meters) from the Houses of Parliament, is Scotland Yard. (Metropolitan Police Service, London, UK)

The second floor—a temporary joint operations command center.

In a room spanning several hundred square meters, hundreds of operators are constantly relaying orders.

In front of me was a monitoring area with hundreds of screens.

The monitored area was divided into several zones, and almost the entire vicinity of Westminster Abbey was precisely marked on this huge "electronic map." The images on the screen constantly switched, showing the real-time situation on the streets.

In the center of the joint operations command center, a senior police officer in uniform is standing in front of a large screen.

"Order all personnel to stand by and monitor suspicious individuals," he said in a deep voice, which echoed in the command center with an unquestionable authority. "No firing is permitted without authorization. Tell everyone that under no circumstances should anyone act without authorization."

Directly in front of him, the screen displayed two mysterious figures who had suddenly appeared at the street corner. They were dressed in old-fashioned clothing, at least fifty or sixty years old, creating a stark contrast with the others around them.

From the screen, one can vaguely make out that it is a man and a woman standing on the street corner as if waiting for something.

The camera quickly flashes back ten seconds, attempting to capture the appearance of the two individuals. However, the scene is unbelievable—they appear suddenly in that position as if squeezed out of some kind of pipe, without any warning or logic.

"wait--"

Wait!

As one of the commanders of this operation, the man knew that he only had one chance. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff, and every step he took required utmost caution.

Wizards are the most cunning vipers, lurking in the shadows, ready to strike a fatal blow the moment you let your guard down.

I must seize the enemy's head in one fell swoop and not give them any chance. Otherwise, endless trouble awaits them, and it could even be a crisis for the entire city.

The man took a deep breath, suppressing his tension and unease, and quickly gave the order: "Connect Mr. M to the phone."

As the command was relayed, a deep, magnetic voice came through the earphones a few seconds later.

"All life will eventually come to an end."

This is the password.

The man paused for a moment, then replied, "All sincere hearts will eventually break."

"What's the plan?"

"Everything is under control."

"Very good." A magnetic voice exhaled from the other end of the earpiece. It didn't sound like the relaxation after tension, but rather like he was just exhaling a puff of smoke. The owner of the voice was relaxed the whole time.

Just by listening to the voice, one could guess that the other person was sitting in a spacious and bright office, with a cigarette in one hand and a phone in the other, easily making logical deductions based on the information they had received.

"Playing chess—it's so simple it's boring."

"This is thanks to our enemies—and our friends," the man said calmly.

"Yes." Mr. M's voice came through the earpiece again, as he exhaled a puff of smoke. "Thanks to their stupidity."

After a pause, he added, "I applaud their stupidity."

"By the way—is Mr. Jacques Levy satisfied with the stage we've set up for him?" Mr. M asked in a lazy tone.

"He had no choice," the man said. Jacques Levi was the wizard who had been captured in Europe.

MI6 made him a lifelike mask and provided a death row inmate who resembled him to stand in for his trial.

It could be said that the entire stage was built for him.

And this onlooker was also present. However, his current identity was that of a diplomat from a European country.

(End of this chapter)