81_81266 Greif felt that something was wrong at the wine table, his years of incubation had made his keen senses detect a hint of coldness in the air, this kind of danger had not appeared for a long time, and the last time I vaguely remembered it was when the gray wolf had an accident.

He refused Louis's advice, pretended to be drunk, said he was going to the bathroom, and flashed out of the room through the back door of the bar. In the alley at the back door, he adjusted his walking speed and walked briskly towards his apartment.

Destroy the codebook, destroy the telegraph! This is what Poison Greif has in mind, as long as he destroys the evidence, he will be able to escape alive and avoid everyone's suspicion safely. At this time, you must not mess with yourself, but be calm, if you run away directly, he will definitely be caught in Canada, there is no other possibility.

Walking near his apartment, Greif felt that he was about to be out of danger, so he quickened his already hurried pace, as long as he destroyed the evidence, even if he was under suspicion, as long as he didn't show his flaws, he could save his life.

When he reached the corner of the street, he stopped suddenly, for he saw that the beggar in front of the apartment was gone, and the beggar whom he had to pay for every day was not standing where he should have been. Greif was stunned, he knew that he had indeed been exposed, and that his apartment had been occupied by British intelligence agents.

With a wry smile, Greif had no choice but to keep walking, he stood at the intersection and found that the beggar was not far away and reached out to the passer-by to ask for money, and while asking for money, the beggar gradually approached Greif, who was avoiding the car.

Obscured by a bus, Greif couldn't see the window of his house, and just then, the beggar walked up to him and held out his palm to Greif. The classic line "okay okay" was replaced by a simple and clear word: "Give it to me!"

Greif's hand was already in his pocket, and at this time he took out a small notebook and stuffed it directly into the beggar who came up. The eyes of the two men met for a moment, and then they distanced themselves from each other.

As the bus passes by, the British agent leaning against the curtain sees the beggar chasing after Greif and asking for money, and Greif waves his hand and rejects the poor dirty man. He seemed in a hurry to get home and deal with his radio station and codebook, and didn't have time to pay attention to a begging beggar.

Soon Greif crossed the street and walked to the door of his room, smiling as he pulled out a small pistol from his inner pocket, and opened his door with the key.

He knew he had to die here today, in battle on this enemy's land. His soul will never return to his hometown for the rest of his life, and no one will know about his contribution to the motherland in the future.

In order to protect the German spy network in Canada and even in the United States, he could not escape or be captured alive, and for a moment he thought of betraying Germany and becoming a double agent for Britain or the United States, but he remembered the oath he had made under the national flag - it was the flag of the Weimar Republic back then, and now it is a swastika flag, and it is really a time flies.

The room was full of activity, several British agents, who shot but didn't hit any targets at all, the bullet hit the sofa, made a big hole and flew the cotton crumbs inside.

I should have practiced my marksmanship more if I knew it. Greif smiled wryly in his mind. In fact, civilian spies are not at all like many people think, killing people, setting fires to steal information, and even flying over the wall - is Captain America wearing a suit, codenamed 007?

The vast majority of spies are actually very simple, they may be clerks of a certain agency or they may be an amiable old man, these people provide a variety of information that needs to be analyzed and processed, of course, if these people expose their identities, they often have no means of self-protection, they go to prison and cry for death, and often sell their original organization in order to survive.

So don't envy any spies, this kind of person grabs a lot in real life, life is not exciting at all, and the process is not romantic at all. They may ride a bicycle and carry a broken schoolbag and stuff a point-and-shoot camera into it, and become an enemy spy spying on military intelligence, and then sell this kind of information to hostile forces outside the country if they have hoarded 3 tons of soybean oil in a military camp in a certain place, and may send New Year's goods, this kind of information to foreign hostile forces -- the remuneration can be 50 or 100, so do you still yearn for the job of a spy?

Greif's wrist was held down by a hand sticking out from behind the door, and he never had a chance to shoot. As a veteran spy, he also knows that if he doesn't die at this time, what awaits him is boundless destruction and abuse.

The lower jaw was strained, and when I went upstairs, the glass container of potassium cyanide pressed under the tongue was bitten and shattered, and an unpleasant taste appeared in my mouth. Greif suddenly felt that he could write a novel in his life, and who knows how many thrilling stories he has experienced in the past ten years, in an environment full of enemies on the street for more than ten years?

"Spit it out!" The British agent, who had already crushed Greif to the ground, looked at Greif in horror, looked at his facial expression, which began to twist rapidly, and yelled loudly: "He's poisoned! Pry his mouth open and save him!"

"It's too late! This smell is potassium cyanide!" the standing British agent sighed as he frowned at Greif, whose legs were still twitching on the floor. This old man used to be a relative of the British Meritorious Service, and many nobles knew him, but the key point is that this old man is over sixty years old, and it is inevitable that he is a little embarrassed to die like this.

Greif finally lay motionless on the ground, and the British agent pressing on him stood up helplessly, after all, he didn't like to press a man's corpse. This time, the capture work went very smoothly, and the target committed suicide successfully, and the follow-up interrogation work had to be stopped.

"This guy has a codebook and a radio station, which shows that this guy is very important in their network. It could be a liaison node, or it could be the supreme commander. To be able to catch such a big fish, the Intelligence Bureau has already made an indispensable contribution. This is the assessment of this operation by the current Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, who feels that with this operation, at least most of the German espionage operations in Canada can be cracked.

His analysis is indeed valid, because if an important person in a spy network is arrested, then the network will not be activated again in a short time. After all, no one dares to take risks lightly, and who knows if those exposed will confess themselves? In addition, the intelligence network that has lost trust will no longer pass on useful information, because this information cannot distinguish between truth and falsehood, and cannot be used as a reference.

At the crossroads, the beggar sat alone, begging for a passing British agent, with a broken hat in front of him, looking pitiful. The British agent carried Greif's body past him, and the distorted face of the old Greif frightened him into running away, this panicked behavior amused the British intelligence agents who were on guard around him.

"Jingle Bell. Before getting into the car, a broken British agent threw a penny coin of the smallest denomination into the broken hat in front of the beggar, hitting several coins that were already inside, making a crisp sound.

Then came the roar of car engines, and one car after another left as if nothing had happened.

The beggar watched as the men left, then got up and walked in the other direction, walking very casually, and reaching out to every passer-by to beg for it. He just disappeared all the way to the end of the road, and no one could have imagined that after this walk, he would never be here again.

Back in his dimly lit cabin, he pulled out a small radio from the corner. Germany's Siemens electronics department has worked the subject of radio miniaturization over the years, and now German agents use radio stations the size of a folded chess board, which is very easy to carry and conceal.

After turning on the radio and carrying the news of Poison's murder back to Berlin, he turned off his radio station and looked through the small notebook that Poison had left for him with a list in coded language.

This is the spy network that Poison has developed over the years, and this network can be said to be the achievement of Poison Greif's life. Now that this achievement has been passed on to the beggar, it is his responsibility to take over the network and continue to run it, and if possible, even expand it. They are the ones who live on the tip of a knife, and the fear of death hangs over their heads all the time, but every day at sunrise, life goes on without interruption.

With a sigh, the beggar closed his notebook, the spy network that Greif had left behind was too large to take over in a day or two. It seems that the British did take advantage of it this time, and the German army's intelligence work behind enemy lines in Canada will be paralyzed for at least half a year.

He put the notebook written in secret language into the drawer, and the moment he closed the drawer, the beggar stopped, and he saw a cardboard box in the corner, and reached out to take it out.

Opening the box, which had worn out a lot, was a small iron tube about two centimeters long and one centimeter in diameter resembling a bullet case. The small iron pipe protected the glass container inside, which contained enough potassium cyanide to kill him dozens of times.

The beggar remembered the twisted and painful face of the poison he had seen—it was like that for eating it