Working as a police officer in Mexico

East Germany!

No, that concept no longer exists since the Berlin Wall fell and unification was achieved to a certain extent, also marking the decline of Soviet influence.

But to the civilians on both sides of East and West Germany, the other side was still considered heretical.

There would still be some time before the two extreme cultures could merge...

At this time in Dresden's "Soviet-German Friendship" House, the walls were covered in grime, and every morning, one could even see feces stuck onto them.

Those who knew the history of intelligence would understand this place was the residence of the KGB in East Germany, which had once influenced all of Europe, but now...

Click...

Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo lit a cheap cigarette, smelled its inexpensive scent, and with a tired face, his eyes bloodshot, and his beard unkempt, he looked at the staff in front of him, "Don't worry for now, I'll definitely give you this month's salary…

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"How can we not worry, my child needs milk powder, my eldest son needs to go to school, I'm the only one working in the entire family, I need to earn money, I can't let them starve to death, Director!"

A skinny man with glasses, looking very agitated said, "This has been the third month, we haven't received our salary from the homeland for three months, might as well have defected to Germany!"

At this statement.

Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo raised his head, his brows furrowed, "Nikita, understand what you are saying, are you thinking about betraying the KGB!"

The man across actually regretted his words right after saying them. Were such words appropriate?

Colleagues next to him forcefully pulled on his shoulder, signaling him to stop talking nonsense. Others hurriedly explained to Gordo, "Director, Nikita is just too anxious."

Taking a deep breath, Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo opened the drawer and took out a stuffed envelope, which he placed on the table and passed forward, "Take this and divide it amongst yourselves for now, I will go and urge the homeland, rest assured, I won't let you go hungry."

Several staff members looked at each other and finally gritted their teeth and took it, nodding at him. They pushed Nikita, who still wanted to speak, and left.

"Sigh."

Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo sighed deeply. He was, of course, well aware of the situation back home, and speaking frankly, perhaps… those bastards had long forgotten about people like him!

Who cared for news coming from Europe?

They only cared about how much they could get from the oligarchs, how much state enterprises the businessmen could swallow.

Having finished the cheap cigarette in his mouth, Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo got up, put on his coat, took a box from the drawer, wiped off the coat of arms on it, tucked it into his pocket, and walked out of the office.

Driving his old car, he headed to a pawnshop, which was owned by an Armenian, still called a Soviet at this time.

Hearing the noise at the door, the busy pawnshop owner looked up and when he saw Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo, a look of helplessness crossed his face, "Buddy, I don't have much money to lend you."

The face of the KGB director looked a bit embarrassed at that moment.

He shook his head and took out the box from his pocket, "Chernenko, I want to pawn something here, see how much it's worth."

The other party nodded, reached out to take it, and upon seeing the coat of arms, was momentarily stunned. Opening it, he saw a medal lying quietly inside.

"This is a Soviet Hero Medal, my father obtained it during the Dnieper River campaign, I want to… pawn it."

Pawnshop owner Chernenko looked at his old comrade; actually, both men were well-acquainted, having served in the army together, except later, one chose to retire, and the other chose to continue.

"How much do you want to pawn it for?"

"30 thousand US dollars!"

Chernenko's eyelids twitched. He raised his head to look at the other party. Their gazes met in mid-air; did he see a flicker of retreat in the eyes of the one nicknamed "Tough Guy"?

"20 thousand... can also work."

Chernenko sighed internally, the pleading look in his comrade's eyes made him feel uneasy. The once proud young men, now…

He turned the Soviet Hero Medal over, "Let's make it 30 thousand US dollars."

Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo's face brightened, his mouth opening, "Thank you."

Those two words, how bitter they were.

Chernenko took out US dollars from the safe, stuffed them into a bag, and handed them over.

"What do you need so much money for, can you tell me??" he suddenly asked.

Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo smiled, "The unit hasn't paid salaries, I'm giving it to the staff."

This confused Chernenko.

Isn't paying salaries the state's affair?

Who are you?

Do you even have the right to pay salaries?!

He was a bit lost, staring at his comrade, "Is it necessary?"

Mikhail Sergeyevich Gordo remained silent for a moment, "My mission is not over yet, my country has not yet called me back."

This…

"Thank you!" the KGB director accepted the money and while walking to the door, paused, "Please take good care of it."

He then left.

Chernenko, holding the gold medal with a complex expression, remarked, "Your country doesn't love you, Gordo."

Then, he casually tossed it, really casually, that was 30 thousand US dollars!

The medal landed in an iron box, rusty and the sunlight stopped abruptly.

And around the Soviet Hero Medal…

Lay various other medals.

Medals for defending the motherland, Suvorov medals, Kutuzov medals, Victory medals… everything you knew was to be found in this iron box, a complete assortment.