CHAPTER THREE

It wasn't all that hard to blend in—over here, no one knew he was on the run.

"I can't believe I made it out alive. I think turning myself in to the police now would do no good," he thought, beginning to feel better.

"Um, excuse me, what country is this?" he asked jokingly.

"This is England," the person replied in a terrible English accent.

"Seriously?" he said. "Sure doesn't look like England."

"That's because this isn't England, blockhead—it's Australia," the same person responded.

"I have to clear my mind," he muttered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the mysterious symbol he had obtained on the island.

"Where did you get that from?" a passerby asked. "It's rumored that only the prime minister has such a thing."

"If only the prime minister has this, then he must be connected to the incident on the island," the detective thought. He pondered how he could get his hands on whatever the people believed the prime minister possessed.

"There's no way I can get close enough to him to confirm if he actually has this symbol," he mused.

As the detective sifted through his thoughts, he overheard a group of people discussing an upcoming parade where the prime minister would be present. If the prime minister was away, perhaps he could sneak into his office and uncover information related to the symbol and the other supernatural events.

"How can I get into the office and retrieve the documents I need?" he wondered aloud.

"No time for second thoughts. The parade is in two days—how will I get in?"

Unbeknownst to him, he had been speaking his thoughts out loud, drawing the attention of a passerby who seemed intrigued by his words.

"I understand what you're saying," the stranger said. "Many people went missing and never returned. Every case has led to a dead end."

"And who exactly are you supposed to be?" the detective asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Someone who can get you into the prime minister's office."

The detective found it hard to believe the stranger, but he had no other options.

"You look pretty beaten up. Mind explaining what happened to you?"

"Just know that I didn't get here by any normal means."

"How do you plan on getting me into the prime minister's office, anyway?"

"Because I'm part of his personal guard."

At that moment, everything clicked—the man's confidence suddenly made sense.

"Wait. If you're his personal guard, shouldn't you be with the prime minister?"

He had found the flaw in the man's story. Suspicion crept into his mind. He never truly believed in fate, and just as he was about to press further—

"Maybe I'm not with the prime minister because I'm on holiday," the man interrupted. "You ought to think things through a little more."

"My name is John, by the way."

"And mine is Jude," the detective replied.

He still found it difficult to trust John, so when he was invited to John's house, he declined.

"Can't you use your card to buy some decent clothes?" John asked.

That's when John remembered the detective's earlier comment about not getting "here" by normal means. Now, he was the one beginning to wonder who couldn't be trusted.

The detective realized he was in a tough spot—he had to explain the past few weeks to a complete stranger in order to justify himself. After he recounted his experiences, John was speechless. Normally, he would have dismissed the story as madness, but for him to know about the conspiracy meant his tale had to check out.

John provided him with clean clothes, and he spent the night in John's garage.

The next day, he walked with John, getting to know his way around. As he listened to John's conversations with others, he gathered information. One thing became clear—everyone he spoke to disliked the prime minister.

It seemed that the prime minister had somehow forced himself into power and that the election had been heavily rigged.

He suspected that the people's hatred toward their leader was connected to the conspiracy.

"I know it's strange that nobody likes him," John admitted. "I've been with him firsthand, and I know he's no ordinary man. He's superstitious and has an unusual obsession with the occult. But aside from that, nothing else stands out."

"The operation to find the documents shouldn't take more than sixty seconds—if we're counting on not getting caught," John calculated.

"How do we break into the prime minister's office?" he asked.

As soon as he posed the question, he realized something—the documents were probably not even kept in the prime minister's office.

His expression shifted, and John immediately noticed. They had come to the same realization.