as you and I are friends. He does discuss his cases now and then. Not ongoing investigations, of course.”
“Sure he does,” I said. “I know he does. And if you’re serious about remaining friends, you shouldn’t lie to me.”
Ralph pursed his lips, considered, and shrugged. “You’re right. We shouldn’t lie to each other. It’s not a friendly thing to do.” He gestured for me to sit, and I took my place on the short taupe-colored sofa. “Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee? Juice?”
“No thank you. I know that SPMMR has actual members of the Craft working with you.”
Ralph took the chair across from me. “Yes, of course. You’re not unique in your belief that magic has no place in the mortal realm. We do have allies within the Craft.”
“Shimon is one of them.”
Ralph opened his mouth, but I forestalled his denial. “I know he is. I know he’s Abracadantès.”
Ralph’s pleasant expression never changed. He didn’t say a word.
“I also know he’s built or is building a coven of women married to high-ranking city officials, which to me seems like it would be at odds with the aims of SPMMR, but maybe not, because Valenti was doing something similar and you didn’t seem to have a problem with it.”
“I miss Valenti very much,” Ralph commented. “She moved back to the Southland, sadly.”
“Sadly for the Southland.”
Ralph’s mouth quirked. “Your view of the poor girl is bound to be jaundiced.”
“Bound to be,” I agreed. I considered Ralph as he sat there with his long fingers steepled, his expression thoughtful as he considered me right back. “I also know—well, I don’t know this for a fact, but I suspect that Shimon is part of this blackmail scheme—”
“Now there you’re wrong,” Ralph interrupted, thereby confirming I’d correctly guessed the rest of it.
Surprise held me silent—I really had been mostly guessing—and Ralph continued, “SPMMR has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with this abhorrent extortion racket. We want this person or persons caught just as much as you do. Our own members have been victimized.”
“So you do know about the blackmail?”
He frowned. “I’ve just said our own members are being victimized. Naturally, our assumption was Craft was behind it.”
“Naturally.”
Ralph’s brows drew together. “You’re offended, but isn’t that your own assumption? Isn’t that what you were getting at?”
Well, yes. Except I was viewing Shimon as a renegade witch working with mortals. Mortals who I believed were most likely SPMMR. I wasn’t viewing this as an official Craft operation. First of all, getting all of witchdom to work together on anything is all but impossible. Which is why, despite our obvious advantages, witches don’t rule the world.
“How many in your organization have been victims?”
Ralph hedged. “After all, to be blackmailed, you have to have done something you would pay to keep secret. Something embarrassing or even illegal.”
“Exactly.”
“Not many. For any to fall prey to such a scheme is shocking.”
“How many?” I insisted.
“Let us say…more than one, fewer than five.”
“Hm.” That was nice and vague. “Maybe you want this person or persons caught, Ralph. I don’t think you can speak for your entire organization. You’ve been wrong before. You were sure wrong about Chris.”
Ralph looked pained. “That was a very different situation.”
“Not really. Witches and mortals working together to cause greater harm.”
“No, but think,” he protested. “Think what you’re suggesting. The entire mission of SPMMR is to protect the mortal realm from the influence of magic. How could we then justify working with witches to harm innocent mortals in order to effect the change we desire?”
“The ends justify the means. That’s not one of our Precepts. People manage to justify all kinds of things. You already admitted you have witches working with you.”
He shook his head, and he did really seem distressed. “Working together to prevent harm—to prevent harm to witches as well as mortals, by the way. Blackmail isn’t…blackmail is… Whoever is doing this has no greater purpose. This is extortion, plain and simple. It’s loathsome criminal behavior meant to profit some evil person or persons.”
“Then how do you explain—”
“A false-flag operation,” Ralph exclaimed, leaning forward in his chair. “It has to be.”
I didn’t bother to hide my skepticism.
The term false flags originated back in the (all things being relative) golden days of piracy when enterprising buccaneers hit on the strategy of flying the national flag of a targeted ship until they got close enough to attack, at which time the false flag would be taken down and the Jolly Roger run up.
The idea of a false-flag operation