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墨書 Inktalez
Soviet Union
Moscow
"Hey! The White Army is a group of black crows, trying to trample us underfoot."
From the British coast to Siberia, hey! The strongest in the world, the Red Army.
Bukharin is humming a song and tending to his backyard garden.
As an agriculture enthusiast, it's normal for Bukharin to grow some flowers.
He picked up the watering can and carefully watered the sunflowers, which were his favorite plants. Although sunflowers are very common in the Soviet Union, Bukharin believes that they have strong vitality, not only with beautiful flowers but also edible and versatile. In addition, the sunflower symbolizes light and hope, which is why Bukharin likes it even more. It's no wonder that sunflowers have become the national flower of Russia in later years.
While Bukharin was attentively watering the flowers, he suddenly heard a loud thud followed by a muffled groan. Bukharin was startled and quickly pulled out his concealed pistol, stealthily making his way towards the source of the sound. As a member who had participated in the October Revolution, Bukharin had also practiced shooting with a handgun.
So he slipped out of the backyard cautiously and walked into his own cabin. He saw a man standing in the front yard wearing a black leather jacket and a tucked-in shirt. This guy obviously just climbed over the wall, with plenty of fresh dirt on his arms.
"Damn, how bizarre is the design of this courtyard? The outside and inside ground levels are actually different. I thought this wall was very short."
The man muttered some language that sounded like Bukharin and seemed somewhat similar to German.
After all, Bukharin had not been back from Germany for long, so the impression in his mind was still quite clear.
Just as the man was about to take a look around after patting his head, he felt a hard object pressing against his forehead.
"Don't move!"
Bukharin sternly shouted, holding his pistol against the back of the man's head.
"Stay calm, comrade, I just got lost and ended up here by accident," the man with his back to Bukharin said, showing none of the panic Bukharin had imagined.
"What, do you think I'm a fool? Can you get lost and then climb over a wall to get in?"
Bukharin was completely amused by his perfunctory excuse,
"Are all you Germany spies so unprofessional? Your excuses are so perfunctory."
"I am not Germany, I have British blood in me, do you know who I am?"
The man replied, "Who are you to me? I don't care what your name is. All I know is that I caught a spy from Germany in my own home. You better confess what you're here for, or else I'll have to send you to the House Committee on the Interior."
Bukharin sneered contemptuously.
"So listen carefully, my name is Nikolai Ivanovich Bukharin."
The name uttered by this man stunned Bukharin, and at the same time, two pistols were pointed at Bukharin's head, and the man turned around.
"Put the gun down."
Behind Bukharin, came a stern command in a pure Moscow accent.
"Comrade Bukharin, why don't you put the gun down, after all, there are three of us now, and your gun can only fire one bullet."
The man smiled and said, "Bukharin." It was only then that Bukharin got a good look at the man. He had a slender figure and a somewhat handsome face, but upon closer inspection, it was covered in numerous scars. He didn't look like a German, nor a Slav, but more like an Anglo-Saxon.
"I thought I was catching a pickpocket, but I didn't expect to stir up a hornet's nest."
Bukharin was a little dissatisfied with his carelessness, but he still put down his gun, after all, the current situation did not allow him to show off.
"So, Comrade Bukharin, can you please let us in and have a seat? We have been traveling by boat and car all the way, and haven't even had a sip of wine."
The man smiled.
Bukharin looked stern, but eventually agreed to their request. The three men then led Bukharin into the room.
As they pushed Bukharin inside, he stumbled and accidentally hit the shower head by the door, causing water to splash all over him.
"You should be more polite," Bukharin reprimanded.
"Sorry, Comrade Bukharin, I will wipe it for you right away."
The man took out a white packaged square from his jacket.
"Is this a biscuit?" Bukharin asked.
"This is not a cookie, it's a compressed towel." The man suddenly became excited and enthusiastically introduced the small item in his hand to Bukharin. "This compressed towel of ours is small in size and convenient to carry. When you open a pack and put it in water, it expands. No matter how much you pull, it won't tear."
It is very useful for wiping feet, face, and mouth.
When you open it, it is the size of a round cake, and it is very useful when placed in water. When placed in water, it becomes larger and taller, with very strong water absorption.
After opening, it is an enlarged and thickened towel. No matter how hard you pull, it won't break, and it doesn't shed or pill. It can be used seven or eight times without any problems.
It's very convenient to bring it on a business trip. Use it to wipe your mouth, then wipe your feet, then wipe your mouth again, wipe your face, clean and hygienic.
"What? You're asking me where to buy it?"
"Okay, okay, don't be so nosy."
Bukharin gave the man a shock, and his expression at this moment was like a sweating soybean.
"How did you 'Stasi' come up with such a long and stinky secret code? Are you all out of your minds?"
"I don't know either."
This man looks a bit aggrieved. "I heard from the leader that this is a secret code personally designed by the head of state for the sake of confidentiality."
"This guy."
Bukharin's face darkened. Ever since the man called out his full name, Bukharin had suspected they were from Strasser. However, he had only assisted in infiltrating the Soviet Union for Strasser and was unaware of their destination, so he couldn't be certain at first. But when the thin man in front of him uttered the code that Strasser had given him, Bukharin no longer hesitated.
"What are you standing there for? Sit down!" Bukharin looked at the three of them with a puzzled expression. "Sorry, Comrade Bukharin, we were just pointing the gun at you to scare you."
The other two men said somewhat embarrassedly, "Huh? You're talking about this? It's okay, I don't care what you care about." Bukharin was quite magnanimous, saying that he didn't mind and insisted that the three of them sit down and chat.
"I have to say, you guys are really something, managing to get to Moscow." Bukharin exclaimed. Even with our own support, the Cheka on the road is not to be underestimated, and this journey has not been easy. "In fact, we just happened to succeed by chance."
Speaking of this, the thin man felt a bit of fear. They attracted the attention of the National Political Security Agency by relying on the main force, and then the three of them secretly broke away from the group to advance towards Moscow. Along the way, they nearly exposed themselves several times at checkpoints, but ultimately arrived in Moscow without any major incidents.
"The process is not important; the result is what matters. Since you have made it to Moscow, it shows your capabilities, so I am willing to hear your opinions.
Does Strasser have any instructions for you regarding the next course of action?"
Bukharin asked eagerly, as he had been waiting for these people for quite some time.
These days he has been feeling anxious while waiting in Moscow, fearing that these people might expose him and give him away.
"The leader gave me three sealed packets before I left, telling me to open one at a certain moment, which would contain his instructions. Now that I have arrived in Moscow, I can open the first packet."
The thin man nodded and pulled out a sachet with an iron cross printed on it from his pocket. He opened it and inside was a piece of paper.
"What does it say on it?"
Bukharin looked at it eagerly.
The thin man took a deep breath, stared at the note in his hand for a while, and then said solemnly, "Wait!"
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