Chapter 164: Fingerprint Comparison Results
Alhaitham paused at the doorway, his back to the room, and glanced over his shoulder at the man still simmering in the center of it. "You have the Traveler's contact information, don't you? If you're truly that curious, you could simply ask her yourself."
He offered the suggestion with an air of detached helpfulness, and before Cointreau could formulate a response, Alhaitham stepped out into the hall.
A moment later, his head reappeared around the doorframe. "Oh, and one more thing. Remember to close the door for me when you leave."
He took a few steps back, his gaze steady on the figure frozen in the room. He was mildly concerned that, given Cointreau's current turbulent mood, such a minor detail might escape his notice. It was better to be thorough.
"I. Got. It!" Cointreau ground out, each word a clipped, furious punctuation mark aimed at Alhaitham's retreating form.
In a dimly lit booth at their usual haunt, Vodka sat with his Big Brother and Vermouth, nursing a drink while they awaited Bordeaux's report on the fingerprint analysis.
"Big Brother, where's Cointreau?" Vodka scanned the bar, his brow furrowed. "Isn't he going to wait with us?" It was strange for him to be absent.
"I don't know. He sent a message saying he had something to investigate and left," Gin replied, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He turned his cold gaze to Vermouth, who was leaning back in her seat with her arms crossed, a picture of nonchalance. A frigid laugh escaped his lips. "We're about to find out if that detective you're so fond of has been colluding with the FBI. Tell me, are you looking forward to it?"
Vermouth's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching in challenge. "'Colluding' is such a harsh word, Gin. Besides, the results aren't in yet."
"Speaking of which, Cointreau left in quite a hurry. Did he say what it was about?" A flicker of unease stirred beneath Vermouth's placid exterior. He had departed so abruptly; she could only hope he hadn't forgotten their agreement to have Bordeaux falsify the results.
"No." Gin found her lack of a reaction dull. He took a sip of his drink. "He only said it was personal business." A thought seemed to strike him, and he looked up, his eyes glinting. "What? Are you curious?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," Vermouth admitted without hesitation, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Aren't you, Gin?"
Wasn't he the least bit intrigued by this sudden emergence of 'personal business' from a man who, until recently, had no life to speak of outside the Organization's missions?
And...'personal business'?
Could it be related to that girl? What sort of trouble could have occurred to make him leave in such a state? Vermouth sincerely hoped that whatever Cointreau was dealing with, it didn't involve Conan Edogawa or Ran Mouri.
"Not particularly. If Cointreau wants to talk, he will," Gin stated flatly. He gave Vermouth a sidelong glance. "Of course, if you wish to investigate privately, I won't stop you."
"Heh, I..." Vermouth shook her head, a helpless smile touching her lips. Before she could finish her sentence, the sharp buzz of a phone notification cut through the bar's low hum.
"Oh, my. It looks like the results are in."
Vermouth knew Gin had placed his phone on the table for this very reason. A single glance at the screen confirmed the message was from Bordeaux. Her heart gave a sharp, tight squeeze, but she betrayed nothing, her expression remaining one of amused observation as she gestured toward the device.
"Big Brother, here." Vodka, ever attentive, picked up the phone and handed it to Gin.
Gin took it, his thumb swiping across the screen to open the message. He read the contents, his face unreadable. After a long, tense pause, he looked up at Vermouth, a cruel sneer twisting his features.
"Congratulations... The fingerprint on the eavesdropping device does not belong to Kogoro Mouri. It belongs to an FBI agent who entered the country with Shuichi Akai's team."
"There's no need to congratulate me. As I said, this was the expected outcome," Vermouth replied smoothly, secretly allowing the knot of tension in her stomach to finally unwind.
It seemed Cointreau had honored his word. He had upheld their deal.
But how on earth had he managed it? How did he persuade a man like Bordeaux—who seemed so intractable and aloof—to help him forge the results? Had he been deliberately getting close to the codenamed members of the experimental group all along?
"Vodka, let's go."
Now that the matter was settled and Kogoro Mouri was cleared, Gin had no intention of lingering to chat with Vermouth. He drained the rest of his drink in one swallow, the glass hitting the table with a sharp click. He rose to his feet and called out to his subordinate. Without so much as a goodbye to the enigmatic woman watching them, he turned to leave.
"Ah? Big Brother, wait for me!" Vodka, caught off guard, let out a confused sound before scrambling to follow. He didn't forget to glance back and offer a quick farewell to Vermouth before he disappeared into the night.
Vermouth didn't mind Gin's brusque departure in the slightest.
Once they were gone, she remained alone in the booth, her arms still crossed. Her left index finger began to tap a slow, rhythmic beat against her arm as she sank into deep thought.
Cointreau had fulfilled his promise. According to their agreement, it was time for her to provide him with the information he desired.
After a moment of contemplation, Vermouth retrieved her phone and composed a new text message. In it, she typed two names: Curacao and Camus.
She informed Cointreau that these were the two agents Rum had assigned to oversee the upcoming cooperation with the Ningguang Company, attaching a file with brief profiles on both codenamed members.
With the trade completed, Vermouth picked up her own glass, downed its contents in one swift, elegant motion, and stood to leave as well.
On the other side of the city, Cointreau's phone chimed with Vermouth's message. He gave the text a cursory glance, his eyes scanning the names, before pocketing the device and dismissing it entirely.
His focus was now wholly consumed by the audacious bastard who dared try to steal his hard-won younger sister. He couldn't spare an ounce of energy for some corporate partnership. Besides, the cooperation was still a ways off; there was no need to rush.
He did, however, need to think very carefully about how to pry the information about that love letter's sender from Natsume herself.
The next day, at Haido Central Hospital.
Completely oblivious to the internal machinations of the Black Organization, Shuichi Akai, Jodie Starling, and their superior, James Black, walked in grim procession down a sterile white corridor. They were heading to the ward where Kir was being held.
During the FBI's initial capture of the agent, an accident had left her injured and unconscious. Out of necessity, they had been forced to place her in Haido Central Hospital for treatment. The hospital's director, indebted to James from a past favor, had arranged a private ward and found a way to bury her medical records from prying eyes.
"We didn't manage to destroy that bug in Gin's hands yesterday," Jodie said, her voice heavy with concern as she followed behind Shuichi. "I wonder if they'll be able to extract a relatively complete fingerprint from it. If they can, things are going to get ugly."
"Indeed," James, walking beside her, agreed with a deep frown. "I've already arranged for agents to protect Detective Mouri's family around the clock. I just hope the situation doesn't escalate."
"Let's hope so," Shuichi Akai murmured, his voice a low rumble. He walked ahead of them, his gaze fixed on the end of the long hall, his shoulders set with a familiar weight.
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