LIGHTNOVELONLINE Chapter 21 - Bastard Auditor from Hell
Rulers see through spies as wolves through smell. The ambitious leader should know when to use spies and when to dispose of them – Kautilya 3 B.C.E.
Operation Menu: Phase Dinner (D-144.2 hours)
D.T. Jones examined her reflection in the mirror. Her shirt bore crisp, well-pressed lines in all the right places. As her daily ritual, she ran her fingers over the sharp creases, ensuring perfection. Moving on, she scrutinized the flawless fit of her toned body in the sleek black pants. Placing her boot on the steps, she meticulously checked for any missed spots from the previous night's polish.
Her gaze then shifted to a pristine white envelope, hand-delivered and addressed to her. A satisfied smile graced her lips as she smoothly extracted the document contained within.
ATTN: Captain D. T. Jones
SUB: Promotion to MAO – Mission Approval Officer
MEMORANDUM FOR COMMAND EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY
D.T. Jones grinned triumphantly and slid the thick paper back into the envelope.
"I've got you now, White Witch," Jones said quietly, her tone resolute. "As the Mission Approval Officer, I'm going to reject every one of her requests. Who needs a spy now?"
She stood up straight, pulled at the hem of her uniform, and flexed her shoulders. After clipping on her utility belt, she picked up her envelope, and strutted out of the bathroom and into the changing area.
Rows of benches and lockers, all painted cornflower blue, neatly lined the room. An older guard, his face marked by heavy wrinkles, was methodically tightening his bootstraps. Standing next to him was a younger guard with a crew cut, adjusting his armored vest.
“I can’t believe the Wheels actually took the Heights,” the older man remarked, his name tag reading ‘Hustler.’
The one named 'Linc' stretched his arms. Meanwhile, Jones casually opened her locker, paying no attention to the conversation between the two guards.
"Of course, they are the best," Linc said, admiring his reflection in the mirror. "I even scored an easy 500 off a bet."
Linc and Hustler exchanged fist bumps. Meanwhile, D.T. tenderly adjusted a picture of an older woman cradling a baby, standing beside a darker-skinned man in a dark blue police uniform. She gently caressed their faces in the photo, then straightened the magnet holding it in place.
"Do you think the Wheels will still expand into new zones this season?" Hustler inquired.
"Nah," Linc responded after a few moments. "They've got all their people tied up playing defense. They're spread too thin protecting their turf, boardwalk, and now the Heights. Red’s gonna want it back."
Hustler brought up a screen and scrutinized the map of Battle City. A patch of blue stood noticeably amid Red Territory.
“The Thornewoods and Wheels are right in the heart of it. What do you think are the odds of either crew holding onto that real estate until the end of the season?” asked Hustler.
Linc shrugged nonchalantly and replied, “I dunno but the bookies are all sayin’ that the Thornewoods might be the top crew this season.”
“Thornewoods, really? Not the BC Wizards, Queen Pins, or Wheels?” asked Hustler who stopped what he was doing.
Jones peeked from around the corner of her locker, and in a sickly-sweet voice, she inquired, “What's going on, guys?”
“Nothin' much, Cap,” Linc said.
Hustler turned his back to Jones and discreetly mouthed, “No, no, no.”
“Good, since you two have nothing to do besides running your damned mouth all day, I need the weapons room cleaned and inventoried,” Jones said. “Once you two chatty Cathies finish that, I have a few more details that need to be checked off.”
Linc and Hustler left the locker room without saying another word. Jones turned back to her locker and noticed a neatly folded paper with her name written on it.
The note said: Estelle has declared war on Fort Carré :(
D.T. Jones read the note before crumpling it up.
“There's no way that Witch’s request could have passed my desk without my approval,” Jones muttered, frustration etched on her face, as she brought up her calendar. “Who authorized this?”
She meticulously reviewed the pending requests, but none bore Estelle Thornewood’s name. Furrowing her brows, she swiftly accessed another terminal screen, flicking her hand until she found a list of requests waiting for approval. To her surprise, Estelle’s name wasn’t on the list either.
Frantically, she searched for Estelle’s name and Fort Carré in the system, her fingers typing with urgency. However, the system returned with zero results.
“This has got to be a hoax,” she said, her voice edged with disbelief, storming out of the room.
A pair of women in their twenties, dressed in blue skirts and light blue shirts, waited by the elevator. Jones pushed past them and swiftly used a key to override the elevator control systems.
"Sorry girls, this one is mine. You can take the stairs,” she stated firmly, stepping inside once the doors opened. “You two fatties can use the cardio.”
D.T. Jones then pressed the button for the fifteenth floor and vented her frustration by ramming her fist into the elevator wall several times.
When the steel elevator doors opened, Jones stepped out, her eyes unwavering. Ignoring the receptionist, she forcefully threw open the door to the office. The blonde receptionist started to stand up, but Jones walked inside.
She continued past the cubicles and stopped at the desk of a 30-something male with jet-black hair who was examining reports that were scattered on his desk. Amid the clutter of paperwork was a wooden nameplate with the words: Sabastion Kohl Senior Auditor.
He looked up from his black ergonomic chair and adjusted his glasses. Tapping on the mouse, he leaned closer to his terminal screen and shook his head.
“Captain Jones,” he said, sitting back in his chair and picking up his pen. “I don’t believe we have an appointment, but however, how can I be of service to Blue’s finest?”
He began to spin his pen around his fingertips.
"As the new Mission Approval Officer, why was Captain Estelle Thornewood’s attack on Fort Carré authorized without my consent, Sabastion?" Jones demanded; her voice edged with frustration.
"Well," Sabastion said, his fingers swiftly tapping the monitor and clicking a few more buttons with bureaucratic precision. "Last time I checked, you are currently under investigation for physical assault and are restricted from any and all contact with the aforementioned individual who made the accusation."
Jones turned the monitor towards her and examined the screen, but sections of the information were frustratingly redacted.
"As the Mission Approval Officer, I am the one who authorizes..." D.T. Jones started to say, her voice getting louder.
"Do I need to clarify the meaning of 'any and all' contact?" he said gently, placing his pen on his desk. "This includes, but is not limited to, physical and remote contact, up until the point where the investigation has met its final conclusion. Until that time, any requests made by Captain Thornewood go through a different department."
Jones stared into Sabastion’s unblinking eyes and then out at the skyline of Battle City through the window, taking a deep breath.
“This investigation should have been closed already. This is clearly a case of her word against mine,” Jones said, her tone slightly softer. “There is no proof that…”
“Oddly enough 8 seconds of video surveillance was deleted, and no one has come forward to admit they were listening when statements were allegedly made,” Sabastion said.
“Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Kohl?” Jones asked sharply.
“Not my department to accuse the head of Safety and Planning of our surveillance network of improperly using her security clearance to delete data,” Sabastion said, adjusting his glasses again. “That’s for Upper Management to deal with.”
Jones stood over him, looming, and tapped her foot impatiently. Sabastion picked up a red pen, clicked the tip, and then placed it back down. He began to sift through the files until he found one labeled: Captain Jones, Debby Tanja. Without glancing at Jones, he opened a drawer from his desk and pulled out a rubber stamp that read: SUSPENDED.
He opened an ink pad and rolled the rubber stamp across it.
“Unless you have anything else to add, please vacate my cubicle,” he said, his eyes focused on her profile in the file.
“There’s no evidence. I demand you end this farce now,” Jones said slamming her fist down on her desk.
“Last chance, there’s the door,” he said.
Jones saw her file and Sabastion’s hand hovering with the rubber stamp over it.
“It won’t happen again,” she muttered under her breath and turned toward the door.
“Word of advice, Broach of the Spider. I suggest you look it up,” Sabastion said and placed the rubber stamp down.
Jones stormed out of the fifteenth-floor offices; her frustration palpable under the watchful eyes of her office staff. Once inside the elevator, she quickly accessed a private screen, searching for a list of known magical items until she found the section on brooches.
She clicked on the Broach of the Spider for more information:
The Broach of the Spider was one of seven brooches awarded to the 7-man team that breached the internal defenses of Team Red’s headquarters and disabled the Gansfield Resurrection Device, ultimately winning the battle. (See Battle of the Tower).
Each of the broaches was designed by Grand Jeweler Karl Joop, possessing unique properties. The Spider Broach allowed the user to see, record, and filter 98.31% of the electromagnetic spectrum (See Witch Sight). In addition to its visual and audio recording capabilities, all data was stored with ADA – -Mass Story System for later review.
This broach was awarded to
Jones balled up her hand and punched the wall, leaving a dent.
“That witch planned this all along,” she seethed.
***