Bukharin jumped lightly off the iron planking that connected his ship to the cold crisp dock before him. His long gray coat had little icicles from the sea wind. Fortunately, he had his black scarf and fedora to protect him from the waves. Ahead of him, he spotted a couple of policemen checking papers. He hoped his identification would work this time. He had already been detained in England on his voyage from Switzerland, and he couldn’t expect much differently with a fake name like Moshe. But today was his lucky day. Both policemen were busy checking another person’s ID when he approached, so he quickly flashed his at them before being waved on.
He reached the end of the dock and walked onto the concrete of the dockyard. Far off to his right he could see the island carrying the old town of Stockholm. He was glad to have finally made it. Elated he looked back to see if Piatakov had made it as well. He saw his friend push through the last few men standing on the dock and march down to meet him.
Finally, they’d had some good luck, which was exactly what Kolya needed. It was time to get back to work, and for Kolya to finish one of his greatest works-“Imperialism and World Economy.” A work that would haunt him till the day he died.