1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 210 A Feast Prepared for the British Empire

The study in the Royal Palace of Athens.

The red quill pen that connects Thessaly and the port of Piraeus lies quietly on the map, its ink dried. The festive warmth outside has completely dissipated, and the chill of the night, mixed with the smell of old books and the faint scent of cigars, swirls silently in the study.

Constantine's long, slender fingers tapped rhythmically on a brand-new document.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet study.

The document's cover was made of thick beige cardstock, on which was written a line in strict Gothic German, which translated as: "Report on the Investigation of Opium Trade Routes within the Ottoman Empire".

Opposite him stood a silent man, as silent as a shadow.

Alexandros Dimitriopoulos, the Crown Prince's first aide-de-camp and the de facto head of the newly established Royal Intelligence Bureau, stood with his hands at his sides, his posture ramrod straight, almost blending into the shadow cast by the bookshelf. He moved little and had an extremely low profile.

"Alexandros".

Constantine stopped typing and pushed the report across the table.

"This 'report' is both a eulogy and an invoice. Muradbay's remnants will weep upon reading it, and Ottoman tax collectors will be dizzy. But most importantly, it's meant to excite the British."

Constantine spoke in a flat tone, as if discussing the weather, but the content of his words was full of cold mockery.

"The 'facts' account for 30%. They mainly consist of transaction records between the bandit gangs we wiped out and the Ottoman border outposts. 'Reasonable inferences' account for 70%. For example, we find a real Ottoman border official whose records for several shipments are unclear during his tenure, and then we 'promote' him to the core of the smuggling network in that area. We also find a few cargo ships that actually traveled between Thessaloniki and Smyrna and add a little 'supplement' to their navigation logs."

He looked up at his intelligence chief, his face turning cold.

"The paper must be the kind of rough stuff the Turks are used to, and the ink must be of an off-color. Details, Alexandros, details matter. We need to make sure every word in this report can withstand scrutiny from a lazy, opportunistic British intelligence officer. He won't actually go to the Anatolian mountains to verify the existence of a smuggling route, but he will check the throughput of that port we mentioned. He won't check whether the local officials are really corrupt, but he will check his family's wealth. What we need to do is give him all the evidence he wants to see and can easily 'verify,' and let him draw the conclusions we want. The British love to 'discover' the truth themselves."

Alexandros bowed and accepted the heavy report with both hands. Not a single word of truth was contained in this stack of papers, yet it was more deadly than any truth. He didn't even open it; he merely felt the thickness and texture of the paper with his fingers.

"The target is Major Lionel Harrison. His file shows he values ​​efficiency over tedious verification. He'll like this report."

"Yes, Your Highness."

His answer was concise and to the point, devoid of any questioning or emotion. He was already accustomed to the Crown Prince's unconventional yet deadly style of operation. This report was the first "bullet" fired at the Ottoman Empire, except that this bullet bore the lion emblem of the British Empire.

Alexandros, holding the report, silently retreated into the shadows and disappeared behind the door.

Constantine rose and walked to the enormous French windows. His gaze swept across the outline of the palace gardens and landed on the ancient acropolis in the distance, shrouded in darkness. The ancient temple gleamed with the cold, hard sheen of marble in the moonlight.

"The audience has been invited." He spoke to himself, as if addressing the gods of the Acropolis, or perhaps the very air in the study. "Lionel Harrison, liaison officer for the British Secret Service. A typical Oxford graduate, a lover of Shakespeare and ancient Greek tragedy, and a firm believer that the political stage in Athens should also be a tragedy he directs. He treats this place as a theater, and us as the actors."

His words contain a cold, insightful humor that reveals the depths of human nature.

"He wants a good show, so we'll give him a good show. However, he'll soon discover that we're the directors of this show, and he's just the clown who dances between the acts."

squeak-

The study door was gently pushed open, interrupting his thoughts.

It wasn't a servant who came in.

Sofia carried a silver tray with a steaming cup of coffee on it. She had changed out of her daytime clothes and into a deep blue velvet gown prepared for the evening. The gown's color was the deepest part of the Aegean Sea, noble and mysterious. The fitted cut accentuated her beautiful curves, and the velvet material reflected a flowing luster under the lights.

Her long, golden hair was styled into an elegant bun at the back of her head, revealing her slender, fair neck.

Constantine turned around, his cold expression melting the moment he saw his wife. He stepped forward and naturally took the coffee from the tray. The rich aroma dispelled the stale smell in the study.

"What wicked scheme are you plotting that will give all of Europe a headache? Just smell this, and it's at least an imperial-level problem." Sophia's voice was laced with amusement.

"I'm setting up a stage, but tonight, I need a leading lady," Constantine said softly, looking into his wife's eyes. "A Prussian princess worried about her husband's 'recklessness' and 'passion.' Sophia, my queen, can you still play this role?"

Sofia did not answer immediately.

She raised her hand and pinned a small sapphire brooch to the neckline of her velvet dress. The brooch was exquisitely cut, and the sapphire shimmered with a soft luster under the light. This small gesture transformed her from a gentle wife into a radiant leading lady about to step onto the stage.

She winked playfully at her husband with her bright blue eyes and responded softly:

"My lord, the first lesson I learned from the Prussian court was how to play any role the audience wants to see. Tell me, what is the script for tonight?"

Her smile contained not only a wife's tenderness towards her husband, but also a tacit understanding and slyness that belonged to allies.

Constantine smiled too.

He raised his coffee cup and offered a distant toast to his queen.

Outside the window, the moonlight was like water.

A meticulously choreographed grand show is about to begin.