Playing spy

Michael sighed, slightly ashamed he hadn't noticed the tail before.

"Hello, sir. What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Graves revealed a wide smile. "After you became a person of interest to the whole bloody world, I had to assign a few good men to protect you. I didn't expect them to wake me up at night, something about you getting involved with the Russians?"

The protection detail contacted Graves as soon as Michael had sneaked out of his house. In the hour Michael spent observing the pervert, Graves got out of bed, suited up and found him without making his presence known.

If Michael had detected him, that would've been a miracle. Graves didn't carry the title of the top spy for nothing!

"Now why don't you tell me about the situation?" he suggested. "Is it because of your status as the first Alter?"

Michael grabbed the Russian spy's unconscious body and went down a flight of stairs to hide it.

"Pretty much," he said, dropping the man on the floor like a sack of potatoes. "I can't say for sure what they want me for. Whatever it is, they haven't asked me first, so it can't be good."

"Why have you followed one of them here?"

"There are three men who work in 8-hour shifts," Michael explained. "One is outside now, I've handled another, and the third one is probably asleep. If not, I'll knock him out. Then, I'll have a few hours to check what intel they've collected."

"I see."

Inside, Graves was dancing. Was there a young man with higher potential than Michael North? To challenge a whole country by his lonesome, to be able to plan with a cool head and not hold back in the field – what other teenager could do this?

The idea of accepting a second apprentice was taking shape in Graves's mind.

As good as Rosa was, her talent was limited. On the contrary, young Michael was like a ripe fruit bursting with potential.

The only thing that bothered Graves was the boy's killing intent.

"Sir? What are you going to do?"

"Join you!"

Michael's jaw went slack. "I- You-" he stammered.

"Why not? My foremost duty is to protect the students of my school. And in this case, I'm uniquely qualified to do so."

Michael remembered Graves visiting him at night to thank for saving Carina, and telling Weismann to back off.

"If I seem overprotective, you should know my granddaughter studies at EIS," Graves added.

And the puzzle was complete. The principal had a personal stake in the school. Taking care of the children became his moral obligation.

Michael recognized his attempts to close the distance between them and decided to trust the principal. He needed a powerful friend, and Graves fit the bill.

"Let's go in."

They returned to the unlocked door. Michael turned the handle and stepped inside.

The lights were off. In a nearby room, there were sounds of a movie playing. Michael decisively approached the door and reached to open it when Graves stopped him.

"Always check first," he enunciated with his lips.

He took out a small mirror from a hidden pocket inside his suit, bent it a little and slid it under the door. Both Michael and he caught a glimpse of a man snoozing on a bed with a remote in his hand.

Ten seconds later, Michael pressed the same point on the Russian's neck, and the poor guy was out cold.

"I've heard about your Tai Chi prowess a few months back, but this is remarkable," Graves gave him a thumbs up.

'The power of level 6 is nothing to scoff at,' the teenager thought, shrugging. He couldn't explain his strength to Graves, so he decided to keep quiet about it.

After they turned off the TV, the apartment fell silent. The two searched the room, trying not to move anything.

Michael's first find was a journal written in cypher. Judging by his picture on the first page, they had come here precisely for this. The whole book contained a jumbled mess of Russian letters and numbers, with his parents' and friends' photos thrown in.

"They came here as tourists from Germany," Graves came in with a passport in hand. When he saw the journal, he frowned, "Seems like one of Bodrov's cyphers."

"You know the man who developed it?"

"Yes. Twenty years ago, there were a few world-class spies in USSR. Their KGB was a tyrant among intelligence agencies. Myshkin was one of the best, even though I've never gone against him. Back then, Bodrov was much younger, and he started out as an analyst. He's come up with tens of codes and cyphers, some of which have never been broken."

Michael's 900 in Mental Power didn't affect his emotions or rationality. Instead, it allowed him to think better, faster, more efficiently.

"I think I can try," he looked at Graves.

The old spy smiled, shaking his head, "Trying is all you can do when it comes to Bodrov's cyphers. Personally I wouldn't waste time on it. It's impossible to break it now, and if you take it away, your efforts to avoid them knowing you were here will be for naught."

Suddenly, they heard voices coming from the stairs outside the apartment.

"Why is he here? Check if he's asleep!" someone ordered in Russian.

"Unconscious."

"Try the door!"

"It's unlocked!"

"What the fuck?! Be careful, there might be an ambush!"

Caught off guard, Graves gave Michael a reprimanding look. "Bad intelligence work, young man."

"You can't blame me, how was I supposed to know?"

Even the infofield hadn't given him any information about these people because they had no plans against Michael twelve hours ago.

The door opened, and six bulky men ran inside. They noticed the intruders and put two and two together, "That's the kid! Take him, dump the grandpa!"

They didn't have guns because they only passed customs a couple hours back. The three spies already in place were supposed to provide them with weapons.

However, those three were out cold, and the target was rummaging through the safehouse.

"I'm afraid we cannot keep our operation a secret," Graves said in a calm voice.

"No shit!" Michael jumped at the man closest to him and punched out.

What was a Life Force of 300? The average human had 10. Counting children, old people and women, those ten points translated into 20 or so kilos. The average human could lift this weight above his head.

In 2008 Olympic games, the record for weightlifters had been over 200 kilos, meaning those men had Life Force close to a 100. Michael wasn't only three times stronger, but as a cultivator, his agility and body toughness were increased too. How powerful was his punch?

When his fist connected with the Russian's block, every bone in the bulky man's body trembled. He was forced back like a baseball hit by a bat. His body crashed into several people behind him, bringing them down.

Meanwhile, Graves held his own against two younger men. He fought with restrained movements, creating no openings.

One of the two grabbed a hunting knife from his belt and slashed at Graves. With a gleam in his eyes, the old man redirected the weapon against another Russian. He caught the knife-wielding arm of the first one and twisted it at the elbow. Kicking the groaning combatant away, he concentrated on the one he'd cut.

Michael made good use of his Tai Chi, retaining balance while dealing with three enemies surrounding him. He stepped on one's foot and delivered an uppercut, and his other hand found another Russian's solar plexus. The shove was so strong, it threw the man across the room, and he collided with one of his friends who was attacking Graves.

The old spy used this opportunity to end both of their lives with the hunting knife he had stolen. He threw the knife at Michael's last opponent. The blade entered his neck. The Russian gargled blood and fell atop another body.

After three minutes, the fight was over. Michael was panting heavily, unaccustomed to his own newfound strength. He hadn't been angered, so he didn't enter his usual state of grim fury. The sight of dead and limp bodies almost made him throw up.

Graves walked over, holding onto his kidney. Some cheap shot from behind almost gave him a grievous injury. The old man's bones ached, and what he wanted the most was to lie down.

"We need to get out of here," he told Michael. "Best to leave as soon as we can."

"No, no! I can't have them know I'm onto them! How did it turn out this way?"

"Don't panic. I'll clean this up."

Graves surprisingly took out a gun from his suits inner pocket.

"Couldn't have them turn this into a shootout," he explained, "and then I didn't have a chance to reach for it." He went to the door, turned towards the man Michael had put down with a pressure point and shot him in the head.

"Jesus! What are you…" Michael shouted before realizing their best chance to remain unknown was to get rid of the witnesses.

"They won't know you've been here, don't worry. I'll make it seem like it was me alone. You have half an hour to play with the cypher if you want, then we're out of here."

Graves began rearranging the dead and wounded Russians, finishing off Michael's opponents. Subconsciously, the teenager had held back, so he hadn't killed anyone.

The matter of his frightening killing intent was all the more confusing in Graves's eyes.

Michael took the cypher to another room to leave the principal alone. He meditated to calm down, then unleashed all of his brain power on the puzzle. Twenty minutes later, he read the journal like a children's book.

"They know about my parents. Anna too, cause we went to visit her mom. They know Dimitri and Sofia from the credits to our games. Alex… not yet. Can I use this?"

"Michael, I've finished! Hurry up!"

The teenager came back to see a veritable battlefield. Seven Russians shot, strangled, cut and broken. He suppressed another urge to vomit and watched Graves draw a simple tombstone on the wall. Horizontal line as foundation, a half circle over it and a cross on top.

"The signature from my younger days," the principal revealed a tired smile. "You didn't think Doug Graves was my real name, right? It's a pity I can't go back to my real one now that I'm well-known by so many people. Reminds me of James Bond, the least secret agent on the planet," he laughed.

"There are people who'd want to use you."

Michael understood the principal's troubles. It was exactly why he kept his cultivator nature hidden.

"That's right. How's the cypher?"

After what they went through and shared with one another, Michael didn't mind letting the old spy in, "I've cracked it. Wasn't that hard."

Graves's eyes widened in surprise. Was there a limit to this kid?

"And I can't wait to hear more about it on our way back. Remember, you were never here. I found them spying on the students' dorms and cleaned them out. This is what they'll think. You're safe."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"No worries," Graves stretched his back, "It was a pleasure to work together with somebody for once!"

"Nothing about it was fun to me," the teenager muttered back.

They left the apartment. Going down the stairs, Graves shot the pervert spy who was still asleep. He used a silencer, same as before, so none of the neighbors got alarmed.

"There's another one left, he should be in those bushes right now," remembered Michael.

"That's a matter of one phone call."

Graves dialed a number, "Rosa, dear, are you still up? Wonderful. Would you mind going out for a bit? Let me send you the coordinates… There's a man there, a Russian spy… Under spetsnaz level, I suppose. I'd prefer him alive if you could. Thank you, dear."

He turned to Michael, full of pride, "Let's say we've got him. What's next?"

The young cultivator sighed. "A press-release, I guess."