Chapter 86: Meeting
Inside the Intelligence Bureau's office.
Fouché's face was dark, his dead-fish eyes coldly fixed on the several heads of the intelligence team before him. His voice was hoarse as he declared, "Humiliation! This is simply humiliating!"
The intelligence officers lowered their heads guiltily, not daring to utter a word.
Fouché enunciated each word clearly: "I'll give you another ten days. If you still can't dig up anything useful, I'll find a few reporters to take your places! Do you understand?!"
"Yes, understood!" they replied in unison.
They truly felt helpless. Their subordinates had painstakingly unearthed a few faint traces of dirt on the High Court judges and excitedly handed them over to a "snitch" to give to Marat. To their dismay, Marat simply smiled and handed the "snitch" a small pamphlet. Their "great discovery" had already been printed in it, and with far more detail than they had uncovered. By the next day, it was known to all Paris.
They truly couldn't fathom why these reporters were faster at gathering intelligence than professional spies.
The men could only resolve to unearth some shocking, crucial intelligence to redeem themselves!
Fouché stormed out, fuming. The intelligence team leaders immediately put their heads together:
"My people got the combination to Vezinier's safe. Two of them even got inside, but they didn't have a chance to act..."
"I've copied all those judges' letters. Do you want to take a look?"
"My informant can access the High Court's archives. If all else fails, should we just steal the entire archive?"
...
At the Parlement of Paris.
Inside the grand conference hall, Chief Justice Vezinier's words were repeatedly interrupted by the shouts of protesters outside. Furious, he rushed to the window and yelled down, "Can't you people be quiet?! You ill-mannered rabble!"
Suddenly, some extraordinarily strong protester hurled a fist-sized clod of dirt, which narrowly missed sailing through the third-story window.
Vezinier jumped back in fright, quickly retreating to the conference table. With a dark expression, he roared, "What are those police doing? Why aren't they arresting these rioters!?"
A melancholic-looking judge sitting on the left covered his ears. "Those pamphlets are the key. They're inciting hatred against the High Court. Without them, the crowd would disperse quickly."
Vezinier nodded slowly, but he was utterly perplexed. "Viscount Duport, aren't these kinds of pamphlets mostly controlled by that fellow at the Palais-Royal? Why are they attacking the High Court?"
"Who knows?" Duport said. "Perhaps we should go ask him about the situation."
The hawk-nosed judge beside him stated grimly, "You go to the Palais-Royal. I'll go to the Police Bureau! These damn police are nothing but lazy. These commoners are driving me mad!"
Soon, several carriages, amidst the jeers of the protesters, awkwardly pushed their way out of the High Court, heading in two different directions.
...
In the study at the Palais-Royal, the Duke of Orleans looked at the two middle-aged men before him and asked, "So, what do you two think?"
The judges from the High Court had just left, lamenting the recent public pressure on the High Court and urging him to devise a solution.
He knew that pamphlets beyond his control had been circulating widely, and it was time to counterattack. Thus, he immediately summoned his two most talented writers to strategize.
The man with a high nose and a somewhat Italian face flipped through the pamphlet in his hand, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "Your Grace, frankly, these stories are quite engaging... I mean, the uneducated common folk will find them very interesting."
The handsome man with blue eyes added, "And they're very cheap. I heard a copy costs only one sou and five deniers. Look, it even has five illustrations."
"So," the Duke of Orleans nodded, "I need you to quickly write something even more engaging to overshadow these pamphlets.
"As for the price, you don't need to worry."
As a seasoned manipulator of public opinion, he knew very well that a 16-page pamphlet with five illustrations cost five to six sous to produce. But to regain control of public discourse, he could only sell them for one sou and five deniers.
Moreover, judging by the scale at which these pamphlets were appearing, it was estimated that at least tens of thousands had been sold. This meant that to achieve similar sales, he would lose three to four thousand livres a day.
The Duke of Orleans frowned. He could afford the money, but who was behind this, willing to lose so much to target the High Court?
'Could it be Brienne?'
He gave a cold laugh. 'Trying to challenge me with public opinion? Let's see you try!'
...
Vezinier rushed to the City Hall, heading straight for the Police Bureau, only to be informed by a junior clerk that the Commissioner of Police had gone to Brittany to procure police equipment.
Brittany was far away on France's western coast; a round trip would take at least two weeks.
Vezinier asked helplessly, "What about the Assistant Commissioner of Police?"
The clerk respectfully replied, "He also went to Brittany."
Vezinier exploded. "Who's in charge here now?!"
"The Commissioner didn't say..."
Vezinier, frustrated, had no choice but to return to his carriage, preparing to seek out the Police Commissioner of the Louvre District.
However, when he arrived at the Louvre District police station, the news he received was that "Police Commissioner Arden and all his key officers have gone to the Paris Police Academy for training."
The next day, Vezinier, still travel-worn, arrived at the Paris Police Bureau again, only to learn that Arden had gone to a training ground the academy had opened in the southern suburbs, more than ten kilometers away.
Thus, he chased after Arden for three days, but consistently failed to catch him.
Ultimately, he decided to request some police forces from the neighboring Saint-Germain-des-Prés district to disperse the protesters outside the High Court. However, the Police Commissioner of Saint-Germain-des-Prés expressed a strong desire to help but stated that a cross-district deployment order from the Commissioner of Police was required before he could act.
Mirabeau watched the scenery flash by outside the carriage window, unconsciously stroking his cane, his brow furrowing. To be honest, he truly didn't want to participate in today's meeting. He had already received news from the previous cabinet meeting and clearly understood that the Crown Prince was now allied with Brienne. And just a few days ago, he had attended a gathering denouncing Brienne, so what could he possibly discuss with the Crown Prince?
Yet, Monsieur Dupont insisted that this meeting was extremely important, repeatedly urging him to attend. Although his relationship with Dupont was only average, Dupont was the main financial backer for several politicians he was friendly with, and also the President of the French Chamber of Commerce. Since he himself managed numerous workshops and businesses that relied heavily on the Chamber of Commerce, he couldn't entirely refuse Dupont's request.
'The Son of Divine Favor, is it?' He smiled and shook his head. 'No matter how gifted, he's still just a thirteen-year-old boy. Is Brienne trying to use his status to negotiate with me?'
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