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"Mr. Anderson," Morin said after answering the phone. "I trust you have good news."
Morin had personally given Anderson that number. Since cooperation was almost guaranteed, relying on one-way communication would've been pointless.
As for checking the caller ID-
It didn't matter.
His identity was going to be exposed sooner or later anyway.
What Anderson didn't know was that Morin had appeared in front of him the entire time as Ethan Hunt.
"For me, yes," Anderson replied. "For you, that's harder to say."
"I've contacted the Secretary of Defense, Camilles. He's willing to meet you at the Pentagon in three days."
"But you have to go alone."
"Sounds like a den of thieves," Morin said calmly. He wasn't surprised. It would've been strange if someone at that level didn't try to establish control.
"But I accept."
"Three days from now. Ten a.m. Sharp."
If you want to negotiate a partnership, taking risks is unavoidable.
Besides, for Morin-
This barely counted as risk.
At most, it was mildly exciting.
"I thought you'd hesitate," Anderson said. "You're that confident? The Pentagon isn't my private villa. You can't just come and go."
"If you're upright, there's nothing to fear," Morin replied with a chuckle.
"What I'm doing benefits you. And you need what I'm doing. There's no reason to worry."
"Oh, right."
"You already know about it, don't you?"
"The... incident?" As New York's governor, Anderson had received reports.
"The Continental Hotel. So many assassins died. Was that you?"
"The Templar Knights' first public appearance needed a decisive victory," Morin said.
"Otherwise, I wouldn't have leverage."
"As for the outcome-I think you've seen it."
"Yes. Through internal channels, the High Table has already reacted and sent someone to deal with it."
Anderson paused. "Wait. Don't tell me..."
"You ran into a High Table representative?"
"There was someone called the Adjudicator," Morin said, as if recalling it casually.
"No phone. High heels. No money."
"She looked pretty miserable."
"So I took her things and let her go."
"...How far is she from the city?" Anderson asked.
"About a dozen kilometers," Morin replied, sounding uncertain while being completely sure.
"...You treated a High Table agent like that." Anderson sighed.
"Well. I suppose your identity allows it."
"I have to admit-you did what I always wanted to do but never dared."
"It's easier when you don't have a reputation to protect," Morin laughed lightly.
"So. Is it a deal?"
"Hold on," Anderson said. "We're about to enter formal negotiations."
"I can't do that without knowing your name, can I?"
"Of course not," Morin replied.
"You already found out."
"That number belongs to me."
"Morin."
"You?" Anderson was clearly surprised.
"My search showed someone of Asian descent."
"I was wearing a mask," Morin said, his tone turning serious.
"A very realistic one."
"You're not racist, are you?"
"Of course not," Anderson said quickly. In this situation, even if he were, denial was the only answer.
"I treat everyone equally."
After hanging up, Morin looked at the people around him-Carlos, Fox, Wesley, and Wick-and sighed.
"Now you understand why I'm so confident?"
"The Pentagon?" Wesley asked.
"The Secretary of Defense?" Carlos followed.
"Don't tell me-" Fox began.
Morin raised a hand. "Are you coordinating? One question per person?"
He laughed.
"Yes. That's right."
"In three days. Ten a.m. The Pentagon."
"I, Morin-Templar of the Templar Knights-will go alone to discuss what treatment the Templar Knights will receive from the U.S. Secretary of Defense, Camilles."
"Clear?"
Morin walked toward the door.
"Stop overthinking it. I'm not dragging you all to your deaths."
"If we want to protect order, we have to communicate with national powers."
"This step is unavoidable."
Watching him leave, Carlos stayed silent for a long time.
"...I'm starting to think he might actually pull this off."
"You didn't think that before?" Fox asked.
"Of course not. I was just..." Carlos trailed off, then looked at Wesley.
"Great job, Father," Wesley said, giving him a thumbs-up.
"To get me out of that life, you dragged me into a five-person organization fighting the forces that control the entire underworld."
"You're amazing."
"Heh," Wick couldn't help laughing.
The atmosphere eased.
Before this, even after joining the Templar Knights, they'd all thought that fighting the High Table with so few people was unrealistic.
They'd come together for different reasons-coercion, opportunity, necessity.
Taking down the Fraternity of Assassins and Morin's recognition by the Loom of Fate had given them a sliver of confidence.
Just a sliver.
This was the High Table.
A global power that ruled the underworld and forced nations to compromise.
But now, they realized something.
The Templar Knights weren't fighting alone.
They might even gain support from national forces.
That changed everything.
They all understood the truth.
If governments were willing to pay the price, the High Table could be destroyed.
They just hadn't been willing.
Now, it felt like a crack had appeared in the dark sky the High Table cast over the world.
A ray of holy sunlight pierced through.
And the Templar Knights-
They were the orderly blades meant to carve open that darkness.
Night.
A beggar sat slumped by the roadside, head lowered.
He didn't look up as footsteps approached.
Then a pair of feet stopped in front of him.
The beggar froze.
Not because they were elegant-
But because they were filthy.
High heels caked in mud.
The heels were broken.
Stockings torn.
The contrast was jarring.
He looked up.
A disheveled woman stood before him.
"I am the Adjudicator of the High Table," she said, exhausted. Her former elegance was gone, replaced by dirt and fatigue, as if she'd been dragged through the ground.
"Take me to your leader."