Chapter 397 Gathering Intel

One Canada Square, the fifty-story tall high-rise skyscraper with its iconic pyramid-shaped top, stood tall in the middle of Canary Wharf, London, glittering in the London night skyline.

On a vacated floor in the forties that once served as an office, Quinn overlooked the active civilization that ran along in its fast-paced city life with no time to stop in fear of falling behind. He sat on a leather chair with a glass of steaming slow-cooked salted caramel hot chocolate in his hand. His eyes followed the traffic of cars on the road and the group of office workers that shuffled out of their respective office buildings to return home he extended his Legilimency senses but shook his head to himself when his range grossly fell short in reaching even five floors below much less people on the ground.

As Quinn wondered how to extend his reach, he heard the door creak open, and a chorus of footsteps entered the room with a chatter that echoed on the empty floor.

Welcome, gentlemen, said Quinn; his eyes remained on a solitary man who looked to be a delivery man entering the nearby office complex. Maybe I should also order in today, he wondered.

Did we have to meet here? asked a gruff voice as the footsteps came to a stop.

Do you have a problem with the location? No one knows that we are meeting here. Its empty, isolated enough, and with guards who can be turned away with a snap of our fingers. Isnt it a perfect meet-up place? Quinn swiveled in his chair to come face-to-face with nine grown men, all dressed up in clothing perfect for blending in the non-magical part of the country. It was either this or inside a dark forest somewhere. Im sure all of you fine people prefer this to a forest at night.

He snapped his finger, and nine comfy leather recliners appeared in a broad U-shape around Quinns own chair. He motioned them to sit down, which they did, taking a seat each, with the man who had spoken before sitting in front of him. The man was dressed in leather and seemed to have more hair coming out of his head, beard, chest, and arms than a brown bears.

So, what do you have for me, Mason? asked Quinn.

The nine men were hired by Quinn to follow people. They were a for-hire group that worked in the field of intelligence. After accepting a brief, they executed and got as much information as they could and presented it to the client. It was a secret society of people that Quinn had found in his years of exploring the country during summer breaks, and things had taken a spike when he had run away his time had been spent in darker, seeder, hidden gaps where people of many skills resided.

We did what you asked for, said Mason, rubbing his forehead. Tailing and documenting the daily schedules of nine high-ranking Ministry employees. . .

Any problems?

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No. . . no problems. Its just that this was a big job.

Which I paid for. You already have your sixty percent as you quoted. Give me the information today, you receive another twenty percent, and when my job is done next week. . . and you keep me updated till that day. He had paid a good chunk of change golden change to finance the job.

Yes, I know that.

Quinn snapped his fingers and clapped his hand. Then, lets get started, he said. Lets get started with. . . Head of Office of Misinformation. What is Mrs. Wambsgans doing these days?

All eyes turned to the person third from the right, and Quinn followed them to face the lean coat-hanger of a man who seemed as though he hadnt eaten in days.

Err, yes. . . Fiona Wambsgans is a woman who doesnt know how to have fun. She gets up every morning at six, tends her gardens for half an hour, freshens up, and is out of her house by quarter past seven. She takes her office by quarter to eight and is at work till five in the evening. She is home by quarter to six and then doesnt leave until the next morning, where the cycle continues.

She travels how? Apparation or floo? asked Quinn.

Floo directly to her office and the back.

If that is so, then how do you account for the gap in time in the morning and evening. She leaves at seven-fifteen and assumes her office thirty minutes later; what happens in those thirty later? In the evening, theres a forty-five-minute gap between office and home; whats there?

The man took out a little tan notepad from his long jacket and flipped through the pages. Theres a night shift in the Office of Misinformation that she directly meets for what has happened since she had left that covers the time in the morning. As for in the evening. . . she goes to this little cafe where she has tea, the same order every day, and then goes home from there.

And there it is, Quinn tapped the leather with his right index finger. He asked, Any other irregularities in her behavior? Anything at all? Does she have a friend group that she visits or maybe even an occasional dinner with guests or if she meets with someone at the cafe. . . anything of that sort?

In the time Ive been following her, she has had dinner with others twice. Both of them happened in one of those high-end Ministry restaurants. She doesnt meet people outside of working hours.

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A bit strange for a high-ranking Ministry official, but if thats what her behavior says, then shes unique, said Quinn. He had already guessed where she was going to get attacked; it didnt matter if she was outside now. Alright, moving on, whats the deal with the International Magical Trading Standards Bodys chief. Who was on that?

The one who spoke next among the nine men was the most average-looking man Quinn had ever seen. This was a man whom one could look at and then forget the next second. It was quite frightening.

Colton Hirsch is, I would like to say, is completely opposite of Wambsgans. Hes in the office for four to five hours, but other than that, hes always out meeting someone at salons, bars, restaurants, private clubs I can confirm with absolute confidence that the man is a functioning alcoholic. In the days, I have tailed him, there hasnt been a day since he hasnt been drunk.

Quinn pursed his lips. This was different from the previous one with various variable factors, which didnt bode well for him. What are his go-to places? he asked.

The man took out a sheet and passed it on to Quinn. There was a list with various establishments names on it. Theres no set pattern of how he chooses where he goes, but he makes sure that he doesnt repeat one place in a week.

What about reservations?

He visits the places so much and spends so much gold that they give him a room, table, appointment whenever he comes.

In other words, hes a regular, Quinn sighed. Can you get me his schedule for the next week? His secretary must have a schedule on which we can get our hands?

Mr. Average glanced at Mason, who spoke after a few seconds of silence. We can get that for you; it might take a couple of days.

Not more than three, said Quinn. If he could get the schedule, he could try to find the weakest point in the day. He didnt have the time to keep a constant eye on the target because of the work burden on the day, meaning that he needed to ensure that he had the exact time and location so he could prepare.

Lets continue; who would like to go next? asked Quinn.

One by one, the men continued to feed Quinn with information on the targets he had specified, which he got from Lucius Malfoy. There were some which he found easy, while there were others which he found to be increasingly harder than the previous. He posed questions, in return, got answers for those which he didnt get one, he asked the team to get the answers.

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Quinn stood up, and his drinking glass and chair disappeared into thin air. Today was a great day, gentlemen. Im quite satisfied with your work, and if you get me what I asked of you today, Ill be elated as well, smiled Quinn. Now, lets get to the part everyone has been waiting for. Quinn took out a small briefcase from his bag and put it on the floor. He opened it and continued, This is the twenty-percent cut that I promised you; anyone of you gentlemen can go inside and confirm an amount.

Mason nodded to one of his companions, who went inside, and after a minute, the man came out. Its the correct amount.

Great, said Quinn. Now, if youll excuse me, I have to leave. Saying that, Quinn headed toward one of the floors exits.

Who are you? came Masons voice.

Quinn turned and looked at Mason in surprise. Ill be honest, Mason, I wasnt expecting you to ask me that. Im your client, not a target. Or did someone hire you to investigate me?

I prefer to know who Im doing business with, said the spy. But we havent been able to find out who you are, not a single fact. . . its like youre a ghost. In usual circumstances, we wouldnt even take a job without a proper background check

But you did because of the money, smiled Quinn. It wasnt strange they hadnt found anything on him. You dont need to know who I am, Mason. You can treat me as a ghost if thats what youd prefer.

Mason sighed. He took out a smoking pipe and twisted a bronze ring on it that lit a fire inside. He took a puff before saying, I wouldve preferred what I was getting into, John. I have been hearing chatter about the very people you asked us to investigate. I dont know what this is all about. . . yet, but Id like to. . . know.

Quinn laughed, Dont we all. But be careful; knowing can be a curse. He turned away and walked off, humming a tune that seemed a little sad.

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Quinn West John I need to prepare; its going to be a busy week

Mason Intelligence Seller Can feel it on his skin. . . something big is coming.