Chapter 461: The Spy

Where did they go?

In a room of the estate, Benjamin turned to a female agent and asked; after a pause, Kela said, "Our agents detected no trace of them; they suspect the two may have already left the main building."

Didn't I tell you to keep eyes on them?

They pulled a small trick and shook off our agents—they didn't look like they were even investigating a spy.

I know that. Benjamin's tone remained low, but he showed no anger at being deceived; he said, "Because I never intended to calm the crowd."

But… Kela paused, her voice tense; "The snow is fading now, and many are saying the helicopters can fly again—they're even planning to force their way through the gates to board them and leave."

They won't get the chance. I've sent people to the roof of the neighboring building—the helicopters won't fly again.

Kela frowned and stepped beside Benjamin, trying to persuade him: "Benjamin, I know you want to find the spy and claim the treasure underground, but using such force may invite fierce backlash."

The residents here aren't just journalists, ordinary entrepreneurs, and distributors—they include politicians, even a state senator from Kansas. If this group collectively pressures us, we may not hold out.

Do you think I'd do something so uncertain? Benjamin countered. Kela still frowned, but she was beginning to grasp his intent; she said, "Your usual methods have always been harsh, but this is excessive—what's your real leverage?"

Before I came here, I already knew who the spy was.

Kela's eyes widened suddenly; she stared straight at Benjamin, incredulous: "What did you say???"

Then why are we even here? Why didn't we just arrest him directly?

Why don't you hear the spy's identity first?

Benjamin returned to his desk. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Kela turned; the rhythm of the knock matched the prearranged signal. She said directly, "Come in."

A younger agent entered, holding a briefcase. He saluted Benjamin and said, "Boss, all the helicopters are destroyed. The items have been brought."

He stepped forward, handed the briefcase to Benjamin, saluted again, and left.

Kela's gaze fell on the briefcase in Benjamin's hands. He pulled out a file folder, opened it, and withdrew a document, reading aloud:

A Single Sword Supreme

Alfred Pennyworth, born into the hereditary butler family Pennyworth, resided for generations in London. He attended Eton College for secondary school and was admitted to King's College, Cambridge, with exceptional academic results.

Due to his outstanding performance, he was recruited directly by British MI6 during his second year of university and became an agent in MI6's Department D.

Upon hearing keywords like "Cambridge University" and "MI6," Kela's expression turned deeply strange. Benjamin set the document down and said, "I suspect you're familiar with this resume—perhaps you just heard a broadcast about someone with a nearly identical history…"

Kim Philby. Kela slowly uttered the name.

Also graduated from Cambridge University, also recruited directly by MI6, also assigned to Department D for foreign espionage…

But Kela still felt this was insufficiently rigorous; she said, "Surely MI6 has at least a few genuine British agents?"

Looking at Benjamin's gaze, Kela hesitated again: "…There are, right?"

Indeed, these credentials alone aren't enough to confirm he was a Soviet agent. What exposed him was that he appeared at an incorrect time in an incorrect location.

Kela looked at Benjamin, waiting for the full explanation. But Benjamin said, "That's beyond your clearance level."

I can only tell you that becoming the Wayne family's butler wasn't Alfred's first time in Gotham. In his youth, he once operated in Gotham and was entangled in a case still classified today.

That case involved many people, including Carmine Falcone, the infamous crime lord of Gotham, and Daniel Christopher, the famed preacher once hailed as the "Glory of the East Coast."

But I still don't understand—if Alfred Pennyworth, Wayne's butler, might be a Soviet spy, why didn't we go to Gotham instead of coming here?

As soon as Kela asked, she realized the answer herself: of course—it was because no one could just storm in and arrest the Wayne family's butler. Wayne Enterprises would never allow it, and Gotham was their stronghold—agents there would be at a disadvantage.

Benjamin added more details.

We once sent agents into Gotham. The few who escaped told me it's a madhouse—a vast quagmire. The CIA doesn't want to get dragged in.

According to our intel, the elder Waynes died young. When they passed, Bruce Wayne was still a child—he was raised almost entirely by his old butler Pennyworth, and they shared a deep bond.

Besides, as you saw earlier, Bruce isn't the playboy he pretends to be. His combat skills are exceptional—he held his own against a dozen agents, and he's far from the fool he appears to be. He may be brilliant.

What do you think created all this?

Kela thought for a moment. Following ordinary logic, she reached a conclusion: "Could it be that Pennyworth has been training him all along?"

That's likely it. Otherwise, there's no way to explain how he acquired so many combat skills—or why he deliberately crafted a false persona.

He's almost certainly been molded by Pennyworth into our enemy. His disguise exists to reduce the chance we'll uncover him—after all, who would suspect a flamboyant American playboy of being a Soviet spy?

So now, both Wayne and his butler stand against us?

Correct. That's precisely why we set up this trap. The CIA cannot tolerate a Wayne Enterprises leader colluding with the Soviets. If he decides to sabotage us, the consequences will be catastrophic.

Benjamin sighed, gazing out the window. He raised his voice: "Bruce Wayne needs a plausible cause of death."

The CIA wants to kill him—but can't use ordinary assassination. Our agents can't operate effectively in Gotham. So we must lure Bruce out.

Once we draw him to Metropolis, we'll trap him under the pretext of hunting a spy. If he dies, we'll blame the Soviet spy. That way, it's perfectly justified.

On the other hand, Pennyworth may be the one who holds the Philby list. He's also linked to that old case from years ago—he might know something. So he must not die.

We eliminate Bruce Wayne, the sole leader of the Wayne family. Then capturing Pennyworth will be effortless. He's old, and without the Wayne family's protection, he'll have nowhere to run.

The only question is—how do we kill Bruce? Kela asked, puzzled and uneasy. "I saw how he fought the agents in the hallway. Honestly, no one his age should have such advanced combat skills."

I don't plan to fight him head-on. Even if we could beat him, haven't you noticed that Clark who suddenly appeared—he possesses abilities beyond normal humans?

Benjamin looked up, his expression grim. He said, "The CIA knows about the secret experiments conducted by former mayors beneath this estate. But we have no law enforcement authority within the federal system—it's not our jurisdiction."

All we know is that the mayor who built this lab was no ordinary man.

That lab isn't an ordinary facility. Even Lionel knew about the treasure underground—so why, over all these years, has no one ever successfully entered it?

Or rather—someone entered. But never came out.

With that, Kela understood. He intended to let the mantis catch the cicada, while the oriole waited behind.

If Bruce enters and doesn't emerge, we report him missing. If he dies from severe injuries, we blame the Soviet spy. If he's only lightly wounded, a wounded Bruce won't escape our agents lying in wait at the exit.

If, as you say, they've been gone for some time, I believe they've already found the entrance—and have already gone inside.

Now… Benjamin tapped the table, looking at Kela. She saluted him. He issued the order directly:

Mobilize all personnel. Conduct a thorough search of the first floor. Once you locate the entrance, hold your position. All personnel, prepare for Level One Alert. Load your magazines.

Benjamin's expression was grim, dark with a hint of cruelty—like every intelligence chief. His voice was colder than the snowstorm outside:

Whoever walks out of there—empty your magazines.