"Follow me closely, don't make a sound, and listen to my commands no matter what happens." Naizal whispered to the French.

He had changed into a dark gray burqa, a blue-black turban, and a broad-bladed hunting knife at his waist, now looking more like an assassin. Julian had always thought that the man was a native of Papal, but only after talking to him did he learn that he was from Algeria.

The temperature in North Africa dropped quickly at night, and Julian still felt a chill as he wrapped his Arab robes tightly. Naibhani gave the French a Nagant pistol for self-defense, and Julian had never used the wheel of this brand, only that the roasted blue on the gun was beautiful.

The French changed into a pale blue cotton robe, a navy blue turban, and a scimitar stuck in his waist like Nazar. His bag was now resting nicely on his shoulders, and he had carefully examined the contents of the bag, and his secret memory was intact, and it was evident that no one had turned over the unsightly burden during the time he had left to take a bath. These Arabs will never know the true value of what is in it, Julian secretly despises.

"Italians rarely come out on patrol at night, but today there was something during the day, and maybe a night patrol will be arranged. We could only walk through the alleys and try to avoid the main streets. Naizal patted Julian on the shoulder, and trotted briskly down the alley.

Although the Italians built the colonial power grid, the power generation was meager, and the town had only a small substation, which could only provide a few core roads and nighttime lighting for the main government agencies, and the surrounding area was completely shrouded in night as soon as it came. Fortunately, the moonlight is very bright tonight, as if a light blue fluorescent gauze has been laid on the road houses, so there is no need to worry about not being able to see the road clearly.

The French followed Nazar and walked briskly through the streets, and the two men walked around for a while, and Julian estimated that he could run about three or four kilometers, and finally Naizal stopped in front of a small courtyard.

"You're lucky, Mr. Julian, that you didn't encounter the Italians along the way. The person you are looking for is waiting for you inside, go in quickly, and I will stay outside to watch the wind for you. Naizal nudged Julian from behind, then quietly ducked into the shadows of the courtyard with the hunting knife at his waist.

Julian nodded to the Algerian in the shadows, then stepped forward and knocked softly on the door.

The people inside had been waiting behind the door for a long time, and when they heard a knock on the door, they asked in a low voice, "Who is it?" "It's in Italian.

"I'm a friend of Urga, and he asked me to bring you some gifts." Julian replied in a whisper in fluent Russian.

Then there was a sound of latches, and the courtyard door was opened.

"Come in, please." A man called out from the shadows behind the door.

Julian hurriedly walked into the courtyard, and after the other party poked his head out and looked around the door, he gently closed the courtyard door and reinserted the latch.

"Go inside and talk about it inside." The master turned to Julian and said.

It was a very ordinary North African adobe flat-roofed house, which looked like it had been rented temporarily, with few pieces of furniture in the room, just a table and chairs, two standing cabinets, and a brick couch covered with woolen blankets.

A kerosene lamp was lit on the table, illuminating the small room. After examining the furnishings in the room, Julian turned to look at his master.

Julian's first impression was that he was a man full of strength, and both his tall physique and oppressive eyes revealed this information to Julian.

The man was dressed in a tawny Arabic robe, a black waistcoat, and a bare-shaven head with no turban. A well-defined square face, with a high nose and a beard on his chin, the color of his eyes was somewhat indistinguishable because of the light, which could be black-brown or taupe, or something like that, but it didn't matter much to Julian anyway.

This is a person who has been in the army, Julian smells a similar breath from the other party's body, and the smell of the other party's soldiers is stronger than his, maybe it is an elite unit that has participated in actual combat, the Frenchman secretly swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

"Down with the tyrant." The big man stepped forward and held out his right hand to Julian.

"Power belongs to the people." Julian shook the other's hand excitedly and shook it vigorously.

"It's a good thing on the road, I waited for you for three days, and I almost thought you wouldn't be there, Comrade Julian." There was also a hint of excitement on the big man's face, and he squeezed the Frenchman's hand tightly.

"There was a two-day delay at the border, but luckily we were able to catch up." Julian secretly broke free of the other man's hand, took off the blanket from his shoulders and put it on the table.

"My name is Sergey. Vladimirovich, friends call me Seryosha, you can call me that, Comrade Julian. Seryosha rubbed his palms together and took out a wine bottle and two wine glasses from the standing cabinet beside the bed.

"Actually, my surname is Legrand, Daryl of Fahs. Comrade Ludwich asked me to greet you on his behalf. Julian smiled and took a wine glass.

"What does it matter, I think it's a nice name, and it's easy to call. In addition, Daryl lives in Turg. In the city of Nice, he is not surnamed Ludwich either, he should be surnamed I like your prudence very much, which is a quality that a good scout must have. Comrade Julian. Seryosha sat down at the table, uncorked the bottle, and poured wine into Julian's glass.

"Very good vodka, unfortunately that's all that's left." The Russians also filled themselves with a glass.

"Come, to celebrate your safe arrival." Seryosha raised his glass and tilted his neck.

"Thank you." The French knew the power of this thing, so they only took a small sip.

"You're here alone?" Seryosha pushed a small plate from the side of the table to the middle of the table, in which were some feta cheese and a few gherkins that were somewhat shriveled.

"There's another friend who brought me here, and he's out watching the wind right now, Naizal, and you should know him."

"Oh, then let him stay outside, these Arabs have a strange way of thinking, and they always feel that there is something wrong here." Seryosha stretched out his index finger and circled around his temple.

"Well, let's not talk about him, Comrade Julian, bring everything. Hopefully there was no damage along the way. Seryosha put down his glass, grabbed a small cucumber, dipped it in the salt on the side of the plate, and bit down in half.

"It's all here, I haven't opened it, the seal is intact." Julian took out a leather envelope from his coat and handed it to Seryosha.

"Looks fine." Seryosha wiped his hands on his clothes, took the envelope and carefully examined the seal and fire paint.

"Then I will personally send this thing back to the country, the comrades have been badly dealt in recent years, but we are not discouraged, everyone believes that the darkness will eventually pass, and one day the great Soviet will return to the hands of the people.

In the face of those brutal and cunning adversaries, we need new weapons of thought to arm ourselves. And this is the most powerful weapon in our hands, and every word in it will make the tyrant and his lackeys so frightened that even their souls begin to tremble.

As long as we continue to persevere in the struggle, the final victory will surely belong to us, to the true Bolsheviks, to every proletariat on the territory of the Soviets. Seryosha stroked the cover of the cowhide envelope and spoke excitedly to Julian.

"I also firmly believe in this, which is why I have traveled thousands of miles to get this package into your hands, Comrade Seryosha. This package contains not only the support of the comrades of the Fourth International for your great cause, but also the ardent expectations of Comrade Trotsky for you, that you will make good use of these things and fight for the overthrow of the dictatorship of the tyrant. Julian raised his glass.

"For the Soviets."

"For the sake of the Soviets, and for the health of Comrade Trotsky."

"For the health of Comrade Trotsky." Two like-minded men raised their glasses and drank them all.

In addition to the manuscripts of Comrade Trotsky's new articles, there are also the latest minutes and documents of the Fourth International. In addition, there are personal letters from Comrade Trotsky to some of his comrades-in-arms in the country. So you must be extremely careful not to let these fall into the hands of the lackeys of the tyrants, which have the lives of countless comrades at stake. There is a self-destruct device on it, if you encounter an accident, you can tear the fire paint with force, pull this sealing tape, and the white phosphorus fire tube inside will be activated, and this flame cannot be extinguished even with water. Julian earnestly pointed out how to operate the device.

"Rest assured, Comrade Julian, I know the importance of this, and if I am unfortunate enough to die on the road, I swear that I will destroy these documents before I take my last breath." Seryosha assured Julian with a solemn expression.

"You will have a safe journey, our sacred cause will be successful, and when victory comes, we will drink wine together."

"Of course, Comrade Julian, we will definitely be able to see the day when the red flag will be planted all over the world." Seryosha poured the last bit of vodka from the bottle into the glasses of the two.

"Ulla!"

"Ulla!"

Julian drained the glass of liquor in one gulp, and their hands clasped tightly together once more.

PS: The second chapter is presented, and in retrospect, I feel that the chapter names of these two chapters are not good, but as long as the content satisfies everyone, the name is just a code name used to find the chapter.

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