Dear Reader,
Welcome! This is the second instalment of what I suppose should be called an unofficial sequel series to Harry Potter. If you read my first story, The Chronicle of Halo Wiggins, (might rename it at some point, but for now the name stays) welcome back! If you did not, I suggest that you read the first story, as well as the Paralogues that can be found on my author page, before you start reading this. You do not have to, of course, and I will try to make this story understandable in its own right without reading the first one, but I am a completionist myself, and could never bring myself to start reading the second part of a story without reading the first part. But enough of that, I hear you say, Let's get to the story. Very well, dear reader, your wish is my command. Without further ado, I present:
The Chronicle of Halo Wiggins Part II- The Legacy of Secrets
Chapter 1 Keep an Open Mind
A single news story dominated headlines across Britain, indeed across the entire world, in the third week of July, 2019. The largest manhunt in British history—a search that had led to the resignation of four senior MI5 officials, two Home Secretaries and one Prime Minister for their failure to produce results—finally came to a close. In the early morning hours of Thursday, July 18th, the members of the infamous Red Tide terrorist group, which had carried out 6 attacks from June to December, 2017 before seemingly disappearing into thin air and evading capture for two years, were arrested trying to flee the country on a plane bound for Venezuela.
By midday Thursday, the Prime Minister had addressed the nation, praising law enforcement for their hard work and reminding everyone, not so subtly, of the previous regime's failure to capture these dangerous criminals. An hour later, the opposition released a statement criticizing the way the current government had carried out the operation and reminding the nation and the world, not so subtly, that the capture of these terrorists would not have been possible without the countless hours the previous administration had spent collecting intelligence.
The political sparring occupied tabloids and talk shows for the rest of the day, but by Friday a new question had emerged. Where had the Red Tide members been taken? There had been no information about them since their arrest Thursday morning, and the British government was refusing to release any more details. Prominent members of the opposition expressed their outrage, on behalf of the people, of course, and numerous TV personalities decried this blatant abuse of power. The public, they all said, had a right to know where these madmen and murders were being held.
The British government did not agree, and hour after hour, day after day, no new information was released. By Sunday, outrage had given way to rampant speculation. The terrorists had been sent to a top-secret detention facility in Poland, claimed one anonymous source. No, it was a prison facility in western Ukraine, run by a former KGB operative with personal ties to the Prime Minister, claimed a different yet just as anonymous source. Or, speculated another, were the terrorists perhaps being held in a secret location in London, only a few blocks away from where your children go to school? Stay tuned to find out. They had been killed, they had been set free, they had been tortured. Every analyst chose the scenario they liked best and ran with it. As the identity of the criminals had never been revealed, there was even more to speculate about. Some claimed they were former military, upset with the direction the country was heading. Some were sure they must be Muslim extremists, trying to bring down the western world. A few claimed they were Chinese operatives, sent by their government to cripple rival countries. Half an hour was devoted to each and every opinion, no matter how ludicrous or absurd. There are, after all, twenty-four hours in the day, and they all have to be filled with news somehow.
The true location, which none of the anonymous sources ever mentioned, was a nondescript warehouse outside London, many miles from the nearest school. It was the kind of place one could drive past a hundred times and never notice, which was why it had been chosen. Two bored security guards patrolled the perimeter, unaware that the seven most wanted criminals in Britain were being held in a special detention facility hidden below them. Their vigilance, or rather lack thereof, was hardly necessary. The facility below the warehouse had been specially designed with the latest in surveillance technology, and it did not rely on two retired bobbies for anything more than scaring away bored teenagers.
Several floors below the "empty" warehouse, two men stood in a crowded, noisy office, facing a dozen computer monitors.
"Just look at them," sneered Detective Matthew Upshaw, moustache bristling with indignation. "These are the fellows who had the whole nation quaking in their boots? Layabouts and degenerates, if you ask me. The whole lot of them look like we dragged them out of their mother's basement!"
MI5 Special Investigator Edward Harris said nothing, but privately he agreed with the detective. The seven young people on the screens, five men and two women, looked more like a college book club than a terrorist group responsible for the deaths of nearly 100 people. The thought made him slightly sick, and he turned away from the screen, pulling out a cigarette as he did.
"Oi," called a young man from the far side of the room, where a group of analysts sat in front of computers trying to positively ID the suspects. "This building is non-smoking."
Edward bristled internally at the boy's flippant tone towards an elder, but he nodded, smiled faintly, and put the cigarette away without comment. Calm, cool, collected.
"Whole bloody country is non-smoking now," Detective Upshaw said with a grunt. "It's not like it was in the good old days, eh?"
Edward was clearly meant to agree, so he gave a little nod of his head and murmured something noncommittal. That seemed to satisfy the detective, who went back to glaring at the degenerate youths on the screens.
Minutes passed in silence, until at last head analyst Maureen Sinclair came over to join the two men by the monitors.
"Our preliminary report is nearly complete," she announced and, without asking for Edward's permission, began summarizing in her trademark terse manner. "As you know, we tracked these seven down using their computers and cell phones, and their identities were never fully known. So far, we have managed to ID five members of the organization, the two young women and three of the men."
"What do we know about them?" Edward asked turning away from the screens for the first time in what seemed like hours to face her.
"They are all of a similar age, ranging from 23 to 27. They were all born here in England, though one of the young men has a mother born in Macedonia, and one of the young lady's parents were originally from Sri Lanka. None of them had a prior criminal history, except for one case of shoplifting by one of the young ladies and one minor case of arson involving two of the young men that was thrown out by the judge."
"Minor arson?" Edward asked sceptically.
"Yes," replied Maureen in her brusque monotone, "the two in question were accused of setting fire to an abandoned building, but there was no hard evidence that tied them to the crime. No one was hurt, and the building was demolished the following week."
The summary continued, but most of it was unspectacular. If anything, they seemed to have had fairly normal upbringings, hardly different from his own, once upon a time. Privately, Edward wondered how seven boys and girls, hardly older than children, went from burning empty buildings to murdering dozens of innocent people, but he kept those thoughts to himself.
"At this stage," Maureen said at length, concluding her summary, "it seems very unlikely that they have ties to any foreign terror groups."
Detective Upshaw scowled, likely unwilling to give up on that favourite theory of his just yet, but Edward nodded. It was dangerous to form opinions before all the information was known, it led an investigator to look only for certain truths, not the truth as a whole. Edward had seen it happen too many times, so he always tried to keep an open mind as best he could.
"The higher ups are going to want answers soon, and I'm not sure how much we can learn by digging around in their past. I think we should begin interviewing them, one at a time," Edward said, glancing at Maureen to gauge her reaction. She gave him a tight-lipped frown, as if she couldn't see how talking to the prisoners could possibly reveal something her computers could not, but she nodded.
"Where do you think we should begin, detective?" Edward asked, turning to Upshaw. The tall man scowled yet again and smoothed his moustache, thinking. He had a reputation for being one of the finest detectives at Scotland Yard, but Edward personally didn't see it. Naturally, he tried not to judge too quickly, but it wasn't always easy.
"That one," Detective Upshaw said, pointing to a reedy-looking youth who kept glancing around him, even though there was nothing to look at in his bare cell.
"Henry Bradford," Maureen supplied tonelessly. "A good choice. Twenty-six, originally from the Greater Manchester Area. His parents are-"
"Yes, yes," Upshaw said, waving a dismissive hand. "That's all well and good, but that's not why I chose him. Look at the bugger; look at his beady little eyes. He looks like a rat caught in a trap. He'll be the first to squeal."
Edward nodded his agreement. Perhaps the detective deserved his reputation after all; or perhaps not. Best to keep an open mind.
"Inform headquarters that the detective and I are about to begin our interrogations," Edward announced to no one in particular, trusting that whoever had the responsibility of relaying messages back to MI5 would take care of it. "We are going to begin with-"
The doors behind Edward, which had remained closed for hours, opened suddenly, and over a dozen people filed in. Many of them wore identical grey suits, and all had the trademark smug air of people who thought they were in charge.
"Alright," the lead man said in an unmistakably American accent, "wrap it up, people. Thank you for all your hard work, but we will be taking it from here."
"Begging your pardon, but who the bloody hell do you think you are?" Detective Upshaw demanded, eyes popping as he stared at the newcomers. Edwards said nothing, but he was keen to know the answer as well.
"Casey Mathers," the American said, flashing a badge that Edward had never seen before. "As I said, our organization will be taking it from here."
"Your organization?" Upshaw sputtered. "What organization? Who are you people?"
"We are Aegis," replied a short, Asian woman in clear but unmistakably accented English. Edward thought she might be Chinese. "We are a global defence agency dedicated to protecting humanity from certain… threats."
"Aegis," Maureen repeated, her monotone not matching the intensity of her gaze. "I have never heard of any such thing. To my knowledge, there is no such thing as a global defence agency."
"Then your knowledge must be very incomplete," muttered a large man with a strong accent Edward could not place. Polish? Russian? It was definitely something Eastern European.
"Look," Upshaw said, getting heated, "I'm not about to turn this investigation over to a bunch of fucking foreigners-"
"Please, gentlemen, there is no need for this bickering," said a familiar voice. An older gentleman in a resplendent suit came forward, walking with the aid of an ivory-topped cane. Edward nearly gasped when he saw the man, and only years of practice controlling his emotions kept him silent. He knew this man. His name was Basil Montgomery, the former head of MI5, and he was the one who had first hired Edward over ten years ago.
"M-Mr. Montgomery," Edward stammered, his usual composure vanishing.
"Ah, Edward my boy," Mr. Montgomery said cheerfully. "How wonderful to see you again. I am dreadfully sorry about all this, but I am going to have to ask you to leave." He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a document, handing it to Edward, who read it quickly. It was an order from headquarters, signed by none other than the Home Secretary, that clearly and unmistakably ordered him to turn the investigation over to this Aegis… whoever they were.
After passing the document to Maureen, who began studying it with intense interest, Edward stood there silently, looking around at all of the strangers, trying to figure it out. MI5 spent two years chasing after these terrorists, and suddenly the government wants to just give them up? For the Home Secretary to have signed something like this, that must mean the Prime Minister knew about this as well. If the order came from that high up, there really was nothing for it.
"We are turning this investigation over to Aegis," Edward announced. There was some muttering at this throughout the small office, particularly from Detective Upshaw, but they all moved to obey.
"I can brief you on what we have learned so far, if you wish," Maureen said to Mathers, the American.
"Thank you, but that's really not necessary," Mathers replied. "We have everything we need."
Edward and Detective Upshaw were the last to leave, and the latter would not have left at all had he not been talked into it by Edward.
"You clowns will be hearing from Scotland Yard about this," Upshaw said, trying to glare at everyone at once. "This isn't over."
"Yes," Mr. Montgomery replied with an unconcerned smile, "it is." With that, he gestured towards the door with his ivory-topped cane, and Edward and Upshaw had no choice but to leave.
Once they were through the door, Upshaw grabbed Edwards arm, spinning him around. "This stinks to high heaven, Harris, and you know it," he whispered urgently. "We spend two bloody years trying to catch those buggers, and now they won't even let us talk to them? We have to find out why!"
"How?" Edward asked sceptically. "They've got a signed order from the Home Secretary. There's nothing we can do."
"Look, you can run away with your tail between your legs if you want, but not me," Upshaw hissed. "I'm a bloody detective, and I'm going to get to the bottom of this one way or another." With that, he let go of Edward's arm and, with a level of stealth that surprised him, moved silently to the door, cracking it open just enough to hear. Edward glanced down the hallway where the others had gone, but made no move in that direction. Upshaw was right. None of this made any sense. If there really were some way to get answers… Slowly he crept forward, coming to stand beside the detective.
"- certain what we are dealing with," the Asian woman was saying inside the room, faint but clearly audible through the slightly open door.
"We are certain," Mathers replied. "The Brits have had their best people looking for these guys for two years, and they couldn't find a trace of them. They never would have found them at all if their new Prime Minister hadn't begged for our help. No one can avoid detection like that in this day and age without paranormal help, not in a place like Britain."
"You think they are paranormals then?" asked another man with a heavy accent.
"Unlikely," Mr. Montgomery said calmly. "A paranormal would never have let us catch them so easily. No, most likely these are nothing more than their agents; pawns, if you will."
"Even if they're only agents," Mathers said excitedly, "this could be huge! We've never actually had a chance to properly question known associates of paranormals. This could change everything!"
"Perhaps," replied Mr. Montgomery, "but before we speak any more of such things, we should deal with our uninvited guests. Morozov, De Souza, the door, if you please."
Edward didn't even have time to gasp before two large men loomed in the doorway and dragged him and Upshaw inside.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" Upshaw demanded, trying unsuccessfully to break out of the grip of the man holding him. Edward, on the other hand, did not struggle. He was watching the faces of the men and women in the room with him, trying to control his fear. They were the faces of people who would kill him without hesitation, if they had to. He'd seen the look once or twice before as a boy growing up on the wrong side of London. You only needed to see that look once, and you could recognize it anywhere.
"You do not seem to like following orders, detective," Mr. Montgomery said pleasantly. "That is a shame. You have a find mind. Tell me, are you going to try and make trouble?"
"Have your goons unhand me at once," Upshaw demanded furiously, "and then maybe, maybe, I won't arrest the lot of you and drag you through the streets for this! You are in the United Kingdom, and the rule of law WILL-"
"De Souza," Mr. Montgomery said calmly, ignoring the detective's tirade. "If you would be so kind."
The big man holding Upshaw moved with surprising speed, grabbing the two sides of the man's head and twisting sharply. There was an audible crack as the detective's neck snapped, and the man fell limply to the ground. Edward very nearly broke down into incoherent blubbering at that point, but the countless years he'd spent practicing calm saved him once again.
"Now, Edward, there may not be a need for you to share the poor detective's fate," Mr. Montgomery said, leaning forward on his cane. The other members of Aegis said nothing, standing as still as statues. "You were quite the gifted young man, if I remember rightly."
"Thank you, Mr. Montgomery," Edward mumbled numbly, unable to take his eyes off of Upshaw's lifeless body.
"I'm going to offer you a choice here, Edward," Mr. Montgomery said, "something very few people get. The chance to really, truly, make a difference. Would you like a chance like that, Edward?"
"Montgomery," Mathers said urgently, "You can't just hand out membership whenever you-"
"I can do whatever I please in my own country," Mr. Montgomery said, softly but firmly. "I am sure I do not have to remind you of the Aegis charter, do I Mr. Mathers?"
"N-no, of course not," Mathers replied meekly. "I'm sorry. You are in command here."
Edward heard the exchange, but he didn't really register it. He couldn't seem to think clearly. All he could see was Upshaw's dead body. He had been a strong man, but he hadn't even lasted a second. Not one second. "Yes," he mumbled, not because he really meant it, but because there was no way he could have brought himself to say anything else.
"Excellent," Mr. Montgomery said, and he seemed genuinely pleased that Edward had agreed. "You can stay for now, and observe. Let us see if you can still do things the way I taught you, and keep an open mind."
"An open mind?" Edward asked hesitantly, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the dead detective any longer.
"Oh yes," Mr. Montgomery said. "You see, the world is a very different place from what you suppose it to be. We—we humans that is—are not alone."
Edward's first instinct was to laugh off such a ridiculous statement. After all, how many bad televisions shows began with just such a premise? But Edward repressed that instinct, and said nothing. If he made the wrong move here, there was no mistaking what would happen to him.
"Are you talking about the… the paranormals, sir?" Edward asked slowly, opening his eyes again so he could look at the former MI5 director.
"Very good, Edward," Mr. Montgomery said encouragingly. "Yes, I am talking about the paranormals. They live among us, you see. They look like us, sound like us, and some of them even act like us. But they are not us, Edward. Never forget that."
"Yes sir," Edward mumbled, agreeing because it seemed like the only thing to do. "But… but what exactly are they? Are you talking about aliens?"
Mathers laughed, as did Morozov, the big man who was still holding Edwards tight. Mr. Montgomery smiled faintly. "No, my boy, I am not talking about aliens. Paranormals have gone by many names throughout history. Some of the ancients believed them to be divinity in human form, and worshiped them as gods. Some simply knew them as wise men and elders, while others called them demons. Druids, Shamans, Seers, Witches, Wizards. So many names, Edward, so many names. But they are all the same thing; all paranormals."
"Wizards?" Edward asked. "You're talking about… about magic?"
"Yes, Edward, I am talking about magic. Magic is real, my boy, and its users are out there, hiding among us, using us for their own hidden purposes. These young people, for instance, could not have carried out their acts of terror without paranormal help. They had the help of magic, Edward, in carrying out their killing. We are here to find out why."
Edward had the urge to laugh again, but he crushed it quickly. "You… you're serious?" he asked quietly.
"Oh yes," Mathers said, and the others in the room nodded their agreement. "We are very serious. So how about it? Are you going to say that we're making it all up; call us crazy?"
Edward only needed one quick glance at Upshaw's dead corpse to decide. "Of course not," he said weakly. "I-I'll keep an open mind."
"A good choice," Mr. Montgomery said with a satisfied smile. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, let's get to work, shall we. We have wizards to catch."