XXVIII
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.
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