Guests to Corsica

[Foxglove]

Gen paid close attention to Perry's countenance as she revealed herself. The security measures for this place were immense, and she could only guess that Perry had been reckoning with something more impressive than her to present itself. Alas, Gen was as average as one could get. At only a height of 1.6 metres, Gen was tiny, a truly unassuming figure.

She took the documents from Perry and skimmed through them. "I see," she stated slowly, reaching the analysis part. "I am sure that, since we share professions, you know that we need to always assume our enemies to be bigger, smarter, and scarier than ourselves. We of course assumed that the Gallic Crown would keep eyes on us." She put down the documents. "The minefield is a double edged sword. It is a choke point. Neither side can make significant strides within the territory of the other, yet we lack the means to seal it. Meaning we just contain it." She took a deep breath, sinking back in her chair. It was so big that she almost seemed like a child in it, in a perverse way, given the environment and the uniform she wore. "The CID assumes that the Gallic Crown, and indeed anyone, knows everything." She raised a finger and tapped the table. "-except that which happens here, on Corsica. Preparing for worst-case scenarios is a surefire way of not getting surprised, only underwhelmed, and given the superior capabilities of the Gallic Navy, this approach is called for." Taking the reports, Gen put them back into the case. "And this is why we are not surprised to 'ear about this report you 'ave obtained, although it does raise one question." A pause, that was more for dramatic effect than anything else. "Who is Y?"