"Treat today as a field exercise. Keep your eyes fixed on the objective."
Andrei spoke in a low rasp to the agents packed into the transport truck.
His voice was as dry and cold as forged iron.
The atmosphere was far too grim to be dismissed as mere training.
Concealed beneath their coats were service pistols, and the brassards of the OGPU on their shoulders had been swapped for those of the People's Militia.
Anyone observing the scene would have scoffed at the suggestion that this was a routine drill.
"Are we truly not to make any arrests?"
The agent sitting beside him whispered the inquiry.
Andrei let out a derisive sneer.
"Have you heard? In Iberia, the fishermen purposefully release the small fry back into the tide. One might deem it foolish, but it is done to secure the fattened adults later. My point is this: catching the minnows is a grotesque inefficiency compared to what follows."
As he spoke, a crackling, worn-out march began to blare from the loudspeakers at the end of the alleyway.
—[We are the Shield of the People, the Sword of the Motherland! We shall never forget the Vow of '17!]
One agent muttered under his breath.
"The Motherland's Sword... Then today, we are the fishermen."
"Quiet. Even a fisherman must keep a knife at his belt."
Andrei gave a sharp signal with his hand.
The agents began to comb the alleyways with agonizing slowness.
Their movements were deliberately sluggish.
They were putting on a performance—the act of 'searching' for an audience.
A shopkeeper poked his head through the crack of a door, his eyes darting with suspicion.
"W-what is the meaning of this?"
"A routine inspection. This is a special patrol for counter-espionage. Remain calm and return to your labor."
An agent waved a set of documents.
They bore official seals.
They were not forgeries, but rather 'legitimatized' fakes coordinated through the People's Militia headquarters.
With those words, the neighborhood instantly froze in a grip of industrial paranoia.
"They say it's spies..."
"It's not the OGPU, just the local militia?"
"Why are those useless coppers pretending to be so serious? Incompetent state lapdogs."
The rumors spread through the district faster than wind-blown soot.
From the tavern keeper to the mill workers, and finally—to the contact for the Radical Liberty League, who was printing underground newspapers in the dark.
"Hey, doesn't this seem suspicious?"
In a corner of a basement, a man set down his glass.
"The militia has never focused a search on a single district like this before."
Another man crushed his cigarette under his boot.
"It means they're catching the scent. Someone must have leaked our coordinates."
"Surely not..."
Silence fell over the room.
At that exact moment, an agent's shout echoed from the street above.
"We are abandoning this sector for now! Pack what is essential, burn what you cannot carry!"
The air in the basement suddenly turned electric with dread.
"Abandoning? Why?"
"It means the real heavies are coming tomorrow! We have to clear out before the state lapdogs lock the doors!"
"Cut the lines! Not that wire, cut the telegraph line!"
Some pounded on doors, others scrambled to pack. Every frantic motion was exactly what the OGPU had orchestrated.
Outside, Andrei stepped into a public telephone booth.
Through the operator, the call was routed directly to the OGPU Main Office.
With a heavy 'click,' the connection was established.
"OGPU. Identify yourself."
"This is Andrei, Chief of the First Division, Counter-Intelligence Bureau. Code: 'The Icons Shall Fall.' Connect me to the Director immediately."
"Acknowledged. Stand by."
After a brief moment of mechanical silence, the line buzzed back to life.
"Hmph. Comrade Andrei. What is the status of the operation?"
"Director, the big fish has touched the hook."
Static crackled over the line, and then Feliksa's voice flowed through.
"Excellent, Andrei. Continue to sow panic among them. Force them to run first."
Her voice was as smooth as fine silk.
At those words, the agents standing guard around the booth moved with renewed, clinical efficiency.
However, Andrei still harbored a single doubt.
"But is this truly wise? We have yet to confirm the identity of the 'Big Fish.'"
The reply was chillingly simple.
"Oh, it is very wise."
Feliksa chuckled.
"A trap must be silent to be effective. Small minnows or great sharks—they are all silent when they finally drift into the snare."
Her laughter was short, yet it seemed to linger in the cold air long after the line went dead.
***********************************
As the afternoon wore on, Birmingham was thrown into a state of total upheaval.
As the rumors of the Militia's 'sham search' spread, the genuine spies began to move.
"Our operations in Birmingham are about to be compromised!"
"The Radicals of the Liberty League are moving in lockstep with us!"
"Report this immediately! Operation 'Crown' cannot be aborted!"
They emerged from their shadows by their own volition.
From alleyways, churches, and printing houses.
Every time a telegraph machine clicked, the lights in the OGPU decryption room flickered in response.
An intercept officer shouted, "Director! We've caught the signal from the Crown! The cipher matches!"
Feliksa looked up from her desk.
"Wonderful. The 'Spray' we were waiting for has finally risen from the water."
She walked over to the window.
Outside, the sun was setting.
The red hues of the dusk reflected in her eyes, bleeding into the glass pane.
"Now..."
The corners of her mouth curved upward slowly.
"We simply need to ensure they walk into the trap 'on their own two feet' by tomorrow morning."
"Do we not commence the arrests now?" Andrei's voice came through cautiously over the radio.
"Not yet."
She turned away from the window.
"There is a larger beast still in the deep. In the meantime... notify the Red Army."
***************************************
The basement reeked of rot.
The walls were bloated with patches of white mold, and the floor was littered with oil-stained rags and salvaged telegraph components.
A solitary bulb hung from the ceiling, flickering with a weak, dying light.
Gathered beneath it were several figures in heavy coats.
"...The Militia circled our sector five times today alone."
A man gritted his teeth as he spoke.
"Those hags... they're surrounding us."
Another man struck a match to light a cigarette. The flame glinted off a heavy metal ring on his finger.
"They have no evidence yet."
His voice was low and gravelly.
"The OGPU isn't trying to seize us directly. Those bastards are waiting. They want us to panic and draw our steel first. They likely fear casualties or failure. They are praying we lose our nerve and rot away in here until we're easily taken."
"So we're just supposed to sit here and wait for the gallows?"
A young spy shouted, his patience shattered.
"Our communication lines are severed, and reporting back to the Motherland is suicide! If we wait any longer, we'll be liquidated!"
He clutched a pistol in his hand, his knuckles white and trembling.
"...We must accelerate the timeline."
"What did you say?"
An elder spy looked up, his brow furrowed.
"The operation begins... tomorrow night. We can no longer remain in the shadows."
"Have you lost your senses? We haven't received orders from home yet—"
"I would rather act than be caught waiting for a piece of paper!"
The air in the basement became taut, pregnant with violence.
One of the spies unrolled a map across the cluttered table.
"Here is the railway management office. It sits directly adjacent to the Yorkshire District Defense Committee's security headquarters. Our 'friends' in the Liberty League have confirmed they are stockpiling armaments there. If we move in concert, we can seize at least the Yorkshire City Hall."
"You want us to cooperate with those Radical Liberty League fanatics?"
"They despise the Communists. That hatred is more than sufficient. Our primary objective is the recovery of the blueprints; the subversion of the regime is secondary. To secure the plans and our escape, we need a massive diversion."
Everyone fell silent.
In that brief hush, the heavy rattling of a tram overhead vibrated through the foundation.
"Very well. Tomorrow night it is."
The commander spoke with finality.
"Commence Operation Crown. For the Imperial Throne."
Every man raised his hand.
"Glory to the Throne."
What they did not realize was that the moment the words 'Glory to the Throne' hit the airwaves,
The status lights in the OGPU intercept room all blinked green at once.
**************************************
Meanwhile, the lights burned late at the Radical Liberty League's Yorkshire branch.
The city of Yorkshire, specializing in commerce, was dominated by self-proclaimed 'Moderates' who held most of the local Soviet seats. Now, however, the Liberty League was overheating with radicalism.
This was entirely due to the persistent prodding by the People's Militia.
"Counter-espionage is just a pretext!"
The branch representative slammed his fist onto the table.
"The Militia and those OGPU thugs are conspiring with the Reds to stage a performance and seize control of the press!"
The young party members, emboldened by liquor, shouted their agreement.
Most were the spoiled, wealthy sons of influential lineages.
"Exactly! This Union is rotten to the core! Now is the time for action!"
Someone pulled the window shutters tight.
Since the Militia was patrolling outside, they felt they had to keep their sedition behind closed doors.
"Tomorrow, we begin the protest in front of City Hall. We'll hoist banners saying 'Reclaim the People's Liberty.' When a few of those militiamen break rank to suppress us, we lynch them."
"What is the tactical objective of such a move?"
"When people see their comrades being struck down, they lose their temper. They'll swarm in to beat our vanguard. We will use that violence as political leverage to strike at them."
"Shall we go armed?"
"Of course. And if you are apprehended, claim the OGPU coerced you. 'State Intimidation'—what a brilliant framing."
Glasses clinked together.
Yet, nothing ever goes exactly as planned.
"Stupid Moderates and Centrist fools. Why can't they see that armed struggle is the only path?"
"When those Centrists stage their protest tomorrow, we will raid the Militia armory and the District Defense Committee's warehouse. You have contacts in the security forces, yes? Get them to defect!"
"The dawn of a new liberty is upon us! It is the Lord's will—everyone, take up arms! Long live the faith! It is a Crusade!"
When the pigs, the rats, and the lunatics all gathered within the snare laid by one woman, the impending catastrophe was a mathematical certainty.
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