Codename "Holly"

The air on the third basement level is always very fresh because it contains only one kind of smell—"no smell"—that comes from being diligently circulated countless times by a highly efficient filtration system.

A significant portion of the relief funds approved by Congress each year is spent on this – at least according to the accounts, that's certainly the case.

This is the area inside MI6 that's jokingly called the "Water Layer," which is two levels deeper than the "Aquarium" marked on the visitor map for non-staff members.

As for the reason—it's probably because they all felt it was a good place to cultivate rheumatism in the elderly.

If there's nothing else going on, naturally no one would think of coming here to stroll around.

Of course, there aren't many people who are actually qualified to come down here.

Walking smoothly down the corridor and turning the corner, Mr. Barnaby Kensington noticed that his boss's office door wasn't fully closed. He stopped right there in the doorway and silently counted to three, quite experiencedly.

Very well, there was no roaring or outburst of anger as I had expected; there was only silence inside.

He then went up and knocked on the door, then pushed it open, and unsurprisingly saw something unexpected.

The old man who always stayed in his seat was not sitting behind his big mahogany desk, which he had "unintentionally" boasted about to almost every subordinate. Instead, he was standing with his back to the door in front of an electronic situation map that basically took up an entire wall.

"You've come."

"Yes, sir, at your service."

Rufus Clyburn, a high-ranking official in the technical department of MI6, is a gentleman in his prime, well into his sixties. Don't misunderstand, this "prime of life" is his usual self-reflection on his work and political career.

The guy who didn't even turn his head had obviously heard the familiar footsteps long ago, so he didn't lock the door at all.

Both of their gazes were now fixed on the electronic diagram, which wasn't particularly complex.

On the map, most of the dots representing the department's assets are bright or dark, with a very few marked in colors such as black, red, and green. However, there is one bright gold target labeled "Holly," whose associated information is now connected to the logo of another department—a top-secret research unit that extends from the English Innovation Department.

It looked extremely glaring.

"The official notification has arrived; it's on the table. Take it and see for yourself."

There was only one paper document on the table, so there was obviously no mistake.

Barnaby carefully took the document, returned it to its original position, and then opened it to examine it. It was an internal memo regarding the transfer of an item codenamed "Holly," which was now to be fully taken over by another internal security unit.

The paperwork, the indictment, everything was there; he even saw a seal from 10 Downing Street on it.

"Well, sir, I always thought these departments never worked overtime on Sundays and were routinely out drinking and partying."

Clearly, the fact that the paperwork could be completed in less than two days over the weekend did indeed surprise Mr. Barnaby, who was in his forties or fifties.

"Generally speaking, that's true, unless the person who needs those guys to do things is someone they're unwilling or unable to refuse."

Ser Rufus slowly turned around, his face showing little reaction, only a deep weariness. His eye bags were clearly very heavy.

Walking to the table, he ignored the document that had been put back in its place and instead picked up a rather old-fashioned metal cigarette case, casually rubbing it between his fingers—no smoking inside, it was just an empty box to satisfy his craving.

"What's the progress of the investigation into that thing?"

It has been confirmed that the original owner, Tatus Donic, died unexpectedly at a farm in his hometown at least a week ago. He likely crossed the wilderness alone, returned on foot ahead of schedule, but was ultimately found by hyenas and died there.

"But that place is near a wild pasture, making it impossible to track down the person who did it. The ones we've come into contact with have been at least the fourth or fifth round of dealers."

"He must have realized that if he continued to hold onto that thing, he would soon follow in the footsteps of the previous lucky ones, so he wisely found a way to extricate himself and voluntarily gave it up."

Upon hearing this, the superior merely raised his eyelids slightly and expertly made the sign of the cross on his chest. "May the Lord have mercy and protect the souls of these innocents—"

"The Science and Technology Innovation Department has already completed all the necessary procedures to order this item from us for joint research, but they haven't come to collect their top-secret goods in time," which proves that something has held them back.

"And now another internal affairs department unit has arrived, also with complete documentation, requesting to take this item away—"

"To obtain this item, we lost six groups of highly trained intelligence personnel and a large number of informants in less than three days, right under our noses between London and Manchester."

"Each group of investigators thought they were among the first to set out, but some of their bodies were even found in the sewers, looking as if they had been accidentally caught in a drunken brawl in a bar!"

"If the assigned task force hadn't survived unscathed, I would have seriously doubted whether this was a Bond-style spy movie that young people outside like."

"Taking action against investigators and against a dispatch team are two different things."

Barnaby remained respectful.

But in fact, let alone his old superior, even he was shocked when he saw the specific intelligence reports.

The real intelligence department isn't like the fighting and killing in the movies. It's about interpersonal relationships, favoritism, and mutual respect. You need connections to get ahead. You can call me Crown Prince! I can accept that, but I'd prefer you call me King Charles!

We live in a modern society now, who still cares about those old ways?

They reimbursed a total of twenty or thirty people in several batches at once, even within their own country, along major city routes!

This unbelievable and terrifying loss rate is enough to prove that the various forces secretly involved were truly "bloodthirsty" and were practically ready to fight to the death.

Even some of the well-informed people at the bottom are now in a state of panic, and leave requests are flooding in at all levels of government.

What? You don't want to take time off? Three hundred yuan a month, what are you trying to do?

Upon hearing the reply, Jazz gave a cold laugh and put the cigarette case back in his pocket.

"Such a major accident—and now, those stubborn old fogies in the Science and Technology Innovation Department, with their doctoral titles, are wearing white coats, staying in a clean environment with constant temperature and humidity, where even a speck of dust is recorded," surrounding us with something our people risked their lives for, and they're doing some kind of "non-invasive observation"—that's one thing—"

"Someone actually wants to just take that 'heart' and ditch us to go it alone! That's a fucking joke!"

The only listener remained silent, nor did he need to respond.

He knew perfectly well that the office owner's anger lay not in these superficial things, nor in the dead, but in the fact that this very fact might allow him to get rid of the "goods".

Once we lose control of this thing codenamed "Holly," it's not just a matter of some credit being shared; it means the department will truly lose its top priority in understanding and utilizing this special item!

After all, according to some of the new "special personnel" in the bureau, this [White Dragon Heart], located at the so-called "Sixth Tier," theoretically even possesses the potential to reshape the geopolitical landscape.

Where are our people?

Mr. Rufus finally asked a crucial question.

"Doctor Andrews has joined the 'Holly' project team as a technical liaison, as planned. His position isn't high enough to access core data, but he at least knows their general direction and progress."

"Very good. Give him all the support he needs and make sure he keeps a close eye on things. There absolutely cannot be any problems over there. Continue to send more people over there."

"I'm 70% sure that once this thing leaves the public eye, within a few days it might be in the private collection of some old, frail but wealthy tycoon, or it might even be inside someone else's chest cavity, or even a corpse."

The knight spoke very directly and bluntly to his trusted subordinates.

"The remaining 20-30% is still due to the fact that these big shots are fighting amongst themselves like dogs, and there's no possibility of one of them quickly finding an opportunity."

At this point, he changed the subject.

"Also, Barnaby, you have a new assignment."

"I'll be at your service anytime, Sir."

"I'll provide you with the necessary materials and some suitable assistance. You should meet with some old friends and, within three days, leak this news to those powerful families and conglomerates, trying to get as many people involved as possible."

This virtuous English gentleman was clearly not satisfied with the current situation.

"If someone wants to eat alone—then they'll have to see just how sharp their knife is!"