CHAPTER 83: COUNTERMOVES IN THE SHADOW

Countermoves in the Shadows

Britannian Intelligence Analysis Bureau – London

The lamps in the bureau’s underground war room cast long shadows across the polished oak table. The dossier from Madrid lay open in the center, its red twine replaced with brass clasps for easy access by the assembled officers.

Admiral Sir Percival Harrow sat at the head, scanning the most recent cable from Marguerite Ellenshire. It contained sketches of a "secondary shaft entrance" supposedly hidden beneath an old carriage house near Retiro Park.

"Too convenient," Harrow muttered.

One of his aides, a thin young man with ink-stained cuffs, looked up. "Sir?"

Harrow tapped the page with a blunt fingertip. "Every new discovery fits the same pattern — linear, connected, confirmatory. That’s good tradecraft on the agent’s part, but nature rarely draws straight lines underground. This reeks of deliberate shaping."

The grey-haired officer from the previous meeting — Commander Darrington — leaned forward. "With respect, sir, you’re suggesting our own asset is being fed falsehoods?"

"I’m suggesting," Harrow replied, "that the Prince of Aragon has read our playbook. And if he’s half the strategist we think, he’s laying down threads for us to follow exactly where he wants."

There was a murmur in the room. Harrow let it hang before continuing. "Nevertheless, we prepare for both possibilities. If these tunnels exist, we need to be ready to cripple them in the opening hours of war. If they don’t, we need to know what he’s hiding instead."

He turned to Darrington. "Dispatch a double-tier infiltration — one team follows the map we have, another works off the grid entirely, no contact with the first. They are to find anything that doesn’t match the diagrams and report directly to me, bypassing standard channels."

"Yes, sir."

"And," Harrow added, "have our counterintelligence branch run a deep trace on this Vargas fellow. If Ellenshire is being handled, he’s the hand doing it."

Glanzreich – Safehouse, Southern Madrid

Rain slicked the cobblestones outside as two men in workmen’s jackets unloaded crates from a wagon. To any passerby, they were just another delivery crew. Inside the crates, however, were precisely machined demolition charges, each disguised within a cask of olive oil.

Colonel Dietrich paced the cramped upstairs room, reviewing the updated schematic. "Primary targets remain the same — Plaza del Sol chamber, Retiro Park entrance, and the Arsenal junction. We strike all three within the first six hours of hostilities."

The saboteur team leader, a thickset man with a miner’s lamp still strapped to his head, asked, "And if they’re not what we think they are?"

"Then you’ve blown up empty rooms," Dietrich replied. "But if they are what we think, you’ll have taken the heart out of their underground mobility."

The man hesitated. "And the risk? This city is crawling with Guardia patrols now."

Dietrich’s eyes narrowed. "You knew the risk when you signed on. This is the difference between Glanzreich dictating terms and Glanzreich watching Britannia and Aragon divide the continent."

Madrid – Calle del Prado, Counterintelligence Listening Post

Isandro adjusted the tuning coil on the concealed receiver, filtering out the static until the Glanzreich courier’s voice became clear. He listened without expression as the man discussed the cask shipment, the targets, and the timing.

By the time the courier signed off, Isandro had already written the key points in shorthand. He didn’t need to show them to Lancelot to know the Prince would approve.

Two floors below, in a hidden chamber beneath the building, a mirror map of the city’s false network hung on the wall. Small brass tags marked where the Glanzreich saboteurs would plant their charges. Each location was, by design, a structural cul-de-sac — a reinforced chamber backed by solid bedrock. Destroying them would achieve nothing but a loud noise and a cloud of dust.

Isandro took one last look at the tags before heading for the palace. Every move they made was another note in a symphony of misdirection.

Royal Palace – War Cabinet Room

Lancelot was already there when Isandro arrived, standing at the long table with a decanter of wine untouched before him. Maps lay scattered between stacks of reports.

"They’ve taken the bait," Isandro said without preamble, passing over the shorthand notes. "Dietrich’s team will hit the decoy chambers as soon as war breaks out."

Lancelot read them once, then set them aside. "And Britannia?"

"Cautious," Isandro replied. "Harrow suspects we’re feeding them shaped intelligence. He’s splitting his efforts — one team follows the map, another searches independently."

A faint smile touched Lancelot’s lips. "Good. The more they divide their attention, the less they can commit anywhere fully."

He stepped to the wall map, tracing a line from Madrid to the coast. "Have the engineers accelerate the true network’s eastern spur. If Britannia sends their independent team inland, they might brush close to reality. I want that section complete and sealed before they arrive."

"Yes, Highness."

"And," Lancelot added, "increase patrols in the southern districts, but in a way that looks reactive, not anticipatory. Let the Glanzreich team think we’re chasing smugglers. I want them comfortable until it’s too late."

Britannian Embassy – Marguerite’s Quarters

Marguerite sat by the window, rain misting the glass, reading her own coded instructions. Continue observation of Arsenal site. Expand focus to Retiro Park carriage house. Report any military activity.

She sighed. The Arsenal again. She’d sent sketches, detailed notes, even overheard conversations, but the analysts in London seemed convinced she was only scratching the surface.

A soft knock at the door drew her attention. Vargas stepped in without waiting for an invitation.

"You’ve been walking a great deal in the southern quarter," he said mildly.

"I follow the leads I find," she replied, trying to sound casual.

"Of course," Vargas said, smiling faintly. "Just be careful. Not all streets in Madrid are as safe as they look. And sometimes," he added, pausing at the door, "the straightest road leads to the deepest pit."

Marguerite frowned after he left. She couldn’t tell if that was a warning... or an invitation.

Glanzreich – Naval War Council

Von Strahl’s patience was fraying. Reports from Madrid showed no visible changes in the city’s defenses, yet the intelligence coming in suggested an accelerating build-up underground.

"Every day we wait, Britannia cements its foothold in the southern ports," he said. "If they’re reinforcing Cadiz and Valencia, it’s to stage a landing against us — not Aragon."

Dietrich countered, "Unless they intend to land in Aragon first, secure Madrid, and then turn the guns east. Either way, those tunnels must be neutralized before they can be used against us."

Von Strahl’s eyes hardened. "Then we move to phase two. Activate the sleeper cells. If Madrid is a fortress, we start chipping at the stones before the gates even open."

Madrid – Plaza Mayor, Midnight

Two Glanzreich agents met in the shadow of the colonnades, exchanging a folded scrap of paper. They didn’t see the thin figure watching from the rooftop above — one of Lancelot’s own watchers, who trailed them as they slipped away into the alleys.

The watcher’s instructions were simple: follow, observe, and let them think they’d shaken any pursuit. Only when the saboteurs reached their supposed safehouse would the trap close.

Royal Arsenal – Sub-Basement Three

By lantern-light, engineers inspected the true artillery emplacements — not the empty shells Marguerite had seen, but functioning batteries designed to be concealed until the moment of need. The barrels gleamed with oil, their mechanisms wrapped against dust.

A senior foreman looked up as Lancelot entered, flanked by two guards. "We’re ahead of schedule, Highness. The recoil chambers are reinforced, and the supply lifts are functional."

"Good," Lancelot said. "Keep them under wraps. The first time any foreign eyes see these guns should be the last time they can do anything about them."

He walked the length of the chamber, running his hand along the cold steel. Outside, the city played host to a dozen foreign schemes, each aimed at shadows. Down here, the reality waited in silence.

Britannian Intelligence Analysis Bureau – Harrow’s Office

The second team’s preliminary report had arrived. No confirmation of mapped tunnels. Several anomalies in waterworks and cellar structures, but nothing resembling the schematics.

Harrow stared at the words, then set the report down. "He’s playing us," he said aloud.

Darrington frowned. "Then what’s the real game?"

"That," Harrow replied, "is what we need to find out before Glanzreich blunders into Madrid and sets the whole continent on fire."

He looked out at the rain-slick streets of London, thinking of the young agent in Madrid and the handler who seemed to shadow her every step. Somewhere between them lay the key to the truth — and perhaps the trigger to the next war.

Harrow poured himself a measure of brandy, the amber liquid catching the lamplight. He didn’t drink it — just let it rest in his hand as the clock ticked in the corner.

"Signal the Madrid station," he said finally. "Ellenshire is to maintain contact with Vargas, but from now on she is also to feed him questions — leading ones. If he’s the hand, I want to see where he guides her when he thinks no one is watching."

Darrington gave a slow nod.

Outside, London’s fog pressed against the windowpanes. Somewhere far to the south, in the maze of Madrid’s streets and shadows, the countergame deepened — and the first move that would truly decide it had yet to be made.