"I observe a fascinating puzzle, Jiji-sama," – said Ivan. – "There is a large set of very sizable buildings. To throw these up would require a bunch of workers, and a bunch of building material, and a lot of it can't just be grabbed from the forest. And of course whoever those people are, they have to eat and keep the lights on – literally and figuratively. Power, water, sewage. This creates openings. Now, I am not an expert on these things, and so I can't tell you exactly what we will do to crack the puzzle." – and the truth was that at least part of the plan would be classified, not only from Jiji, but from Ivan himself – compartmentalization was the most reliable way anyone knew to keep secret information from being misplaced, and documents from being 'leaked'.
"Thank you for your help, Jiji-sama. I shall relay this fascinating puzzle to people who are, I assure you, the finest solvers of puzzles, yes? Now if you may, I'd like us to speak of things which are of lesser import – or perhaps of greater import, in the long term, considering secret towns come and go, and great art remains. Let us consider Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment and his view of the soul…"
The spy continued to speak, in this vein, taking the discussion to matters of literature and philosophy that a passer-by mind find entirely boring, and which, if intercepted, would be thought of as entirely innocent, at least in terms of the fact they had no national secrets contained within.
"Thank you for your help, Jiji-sama. I shall relay this fascinating puzzle to people who are, I assure you, the finest solvers of puzzles, yes? Now if you may, I'd like us to speak of things which are of lesser import – or perhaps of greater import, in the long term, considering secret towns come and go, and great art remains. Let us consider Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment and his view of the soul…"
The spy continued to speak, in this vein, taking the discussion to matters of literature and philosophy that a passer-by mind find entirely boring, and which, if intercepted, would be thought of as entirely innocent, at least in terms of the fact they had no national secrets contained within.
* * *
The difficulty the Allaneans had faced was a substantial one. To fully understand what was going at the "compound", it would be ideal of course to get a person in there, but naturally, if the place was in fact was the Turtleshroom government suspected it was, there would be substantial security. One does not simply walk into a Maoist training camp.
Therefore, the Operation of Armed Shenanigans created several disguises, and soon several different people appeared in town. None of them knew each other, nor did any of them have any knowledge of each other's identity. One was named Liang Wazhu, a businessman, of Asian appearance, who was in town to buy a large shipment of timber for his furniture business. He went about, inquiring about cheap shipments, and implying – subtly sometimes, at other times less subtly – that he was interested in buying timber that was collected less than legally.
Another man was an absolutely stereotypical white Allanean, by the name of Augusto Birch – a middle-class hunter, who was interested in bird-hunting in Turtleshroom for some reason. Why Turtleshroom and not some other country was not clear, but traveling hunters are like that – sometimes a man will travel thousands of miles to shoot a deer just because it is different from the deer that run around in his native woods. And so this man, dressed in ludicrous leafy camouflage and an orange safety vest, made it off into the woods. He was interested, as many are, in night hunting, and so obviously he carried with him a portable hunting blind, and a set of infra-red goggles, and about half a dozen trail cameras that were capable of taking video of deer in complete darkness. (That those trail cameras would appear, quite soon, on tree branches near several trails and paths leading towards the 'compound' was neither here nor there – after all, a trail or even a roadside is a good place to look for deer, yes?)
The third man was, again, an Asian in his appearance, and more particularly he seemed Chinese. What English he spoke was broken, and almost cartoonishly accented. He wore a worn-out button-up shirt, dark-blue pants that had been rubbed grey along the knees, his skin seemed worn and his eyes tired. Calluses from years of hard work decorated his palms and his knuckles, and the man had clearly seen many things in his life, most of them not very good ones. His name was Jiang Wuying, and he went about the town doing odd jobs – repairs, splitting firewood, and the like. But he was definitely looking for a real job – a permanent job, perfectly. And when he was not next to a potential employer, he made it clear he did not like rich people very much.
"It nonsense, I say. I make one dollar," – he would say. "Boss, he make three dollars, off my back. What? I work twelve hours till my fingers bleed. Look at these hands. Calluses. Blood. Scars. Years of work. Boss, he sits in office with air conditioner. "
The broken English, of course, was part of the mask, as was the name 'Jiang Wuying'. Indeed, even the scars and calluses had been faked, an elaborate disguise. Oh, the man could definitely do the hard work – but he was not, in any event, a poverty-stricken day laborer, and his accent, his shirt, and everything else about him were intended to appeal to local stereotypes of the "Asian day laborer".
But when he spoke Chinese, Jian Wuying was substantially more eloquent:
"It is a scam I tell you. By what right do they get to claim half of our labor? It's nonsense. Do you think that it makes any sense, you work for twelve hours a day, your boss provides nothing except that the company's name is next to his in the register, and he gets half the money? Sometimes more than half? It's nonsense. Really just legalized theft."
Therefore, the Operation of Armed Shenanigans created several disguises, and soon several different people appeared in town. None of them knew each other, nor did any of them have any knowledge of each other's identity. One was named Liang Wazhu, a businessman, of Asian appearance, who was in town to buy a large shipment of timber for his furniture business. He went about, inquiring about cheap shipments, and implying – subtly sometimes, at other times less subtly – that he was interested in buying timber that was collected less than legally.
Another man was an absolutely stereotypical white Allanean, by the name of Augusto Birch – a middle-class hunter, who was interested in bird-hunting in Turtleshroom for some reason. Why Turtleshroom and not some other country was not clear, but traveling hunters are like that – sometimes a man will travel thousands of miles to shoot a deer just because it is different from the deer that run around in his native woods. And so this man, dressed in ludicrous leafy camouflage and an orange safety vest, made it off into the woods. He was interested, as many are, in night hunting, and so obviously he carried with him a portable hunting blind, and a set of infra-red goggles, and about half a dozen trail cameras that were capable of taking video of deer in complete darkness. (That those trail cameras would appear, quite soon, on tree branches near several trails and paths leading towards the 'compound' was neither here nor there – after all, a trail or even a roadside is a good place to look for deer, yes?)
The third man was, again, an Asian in his appearance, and more particularly he seemed Chinese. What English he spoke was broken, and almost cartoonishly accented. He wore a worn-out button-up shirt, dark-blue pants that had been rubbed grey along the knees, his skin seemed worn and his eyes tired. Calluses from years of hard work decorated his palms and his knuckles, and the man had clearly seen many things in his life, most of them not very good ones. His name was Jiang Wuying, and he went about the town doing odd jobs – repairs, splitting firewood, and the like. But he was definitely looking for a real job – a permanent job, perfectly. And when he was not next to a potential employer, he made it clear he did not like rich people very much.
"It nonsense, I say. I make one dollar," – he would say. "Boss, he make three dollars, off my back. What? I work twelve hours till my fingers bleed. Look at these hands. Calluses. Blood. Scars. Years of work. Boss, he sits in office with air conditioner. "
The broken English, of course, was part of the mask, as was the name 'Jiang Wuying'. Indeed, even the scars and calluses had been faked, an elaborate disguise. Oh, the man could definitely do the hard work – but he was not, in any event, a poverty-stricken day laborer, and his accent, his shirt, and everything else about him were intended to appeal to local stereotypes of the "Asian day laborer".
But when he spoke Chinese, Jian Wuying was substantially more eloquent:
"It is a scam I tell you. By what right do they get to claim half of our labor? It's nonsense. Do you think that it makes any sense, you work for twelve hours a day, your boss provides nothing except that the company's name is next to his in the register, and he gets half the money? Sometimes more than half? It's nonsense. Really just legalized theft."
