Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 220 Soviet Jokes
Sunlight streamed through the cafe's canvas awning, casting its light on the iron railings and worn-out wooden chairs.

The air was humid, but an occasional breeze carried moisture and the scent of flowers.

Zhou Yi sat in the corner, perfectly hiding himself in the shade.

His camera was propped up on the table, the lens pointing across the street. He seemed to be doing nothing, but in reality, he had already adjusted the angle to record the guard configuration and the frequency of switching between temporary sentries.

He wore glasses and a plain shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his forearms.

A notebook lay open on the table in front of me, its cover bearing the name "Le Figaro"—a newspaper from France.

Bud was also leaning against a nearby bench, smoking as he watched the flow of people.

He flicked the cigarette ash into the cup and then casually swatted a blood-sucking mosquito on his arm.

The coffee shop was empty and unusually quiet.

This made the conversation coming from not far away exceptionally clear.

“Honestly, God is my witness,” Colin said in a low voice, as if he were whispering.

“In France, someone like you could be hired as a morning news anchor just by standing in front of a camera for five seconds.”

The waitress was taken aback when she heard this, then smiled shyly.

She was in her early twenties, with delicate skin and a lithe figure.

"You work at a TV station?" she asked, with a hint of probing.

“Of course,” Colin lied without blinking, “I’m here to find new faces for them.”

"So, what news do you think I should broadcast?" The girl blinked and leaned a little closer.

“The weather,” Colin said, “is so soothing because your voice makes everyone feel like they’re basking in a spring breeze.”

The girl chuckled, then quickly composed herself: "Do you say that to a lot of people?"

“Of course not.” Colin’s expression was solemn, as if he were making a vow. “I’m a professional.”

Just as the girl was about to say something, she heard someone shout twice downstairs.

It was in Swahili, urging her to come and help quickly.

The girl hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Listen,” she said, “I have to go downstairs, they’re calling me from the kitchen.”

Colin nodded understandingly.

"I'll wait for you," he said, his fingertips seemingly casually brushing against the back of her hand.

This time, the girl didn't dodge, but said, "Then you'd better behave and not bother me again."

Upon hearing this, Colin raised an eyebrow at her: "I didn't do anything to you, and you're practically sitting on my lap."

The girl's cheeks flushed slightly, and in a moment of impulsiveness, she whispered in the man's ear, "Wait for me here."

The next second, he turned and left as if fleeing.

Colin watched her figure disappear at the top of the stairs before leisurely returning to the table, sitting opposite Bud, and smugly picking up his cup.

Bud glanced at him, crumpled the tissue into a ball, and threw it on the table.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” he said. “You’ll catch a disease.”

“Don’t be jealous.” Colin took a sip. “You can also grin at her and see if it has the same effect.”

“This is the second one,” Bud said.

"What, the second one?"

"French nurses weren't enough for you? Now you're even going after the ones in cafes?"

Colin put down the cup and shrugged.

"This is a cover-up."

"Cover up my ass."

Colin immediately showed a look of disapproval:

"Do you think that if three men sit here, drinking a cup of coffee for forty minutes, without saying a word or moving, no one will notice anything wrong?"

"Even at a gay gathering, you should at least try to act natural."

"We are in Africa, not Vienna."

Bud ignored him. Colin, however, didn't stop there.

He paused briefly, then continued, "I'll tell you a story and you'll understand."

Bard rolled his eyes. "Not again?"

"This is not a joke, it's a true story."

"Langley trained an agent during the Cold War to infiltrate the Soviet Union."

“I know what you’re going to say,” Bud said.

“No, you don’t know.” Colin raised his hand seriously, “He learned Russian from elementary school, and his name, walking posture, eating habits, alcohol tolerance, and even body odor were all trained according to Soviet standards.”

"Then, he sent him to Moscow, where he landed and went to a tavern to buy drinks for people."

The man glanced at him and said, "Thank you for your kindness, foreigner."

Bud remained silent, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Colin was still excitedly saying, "The agent panicked and quickly said my Russian accent was exceptionally fluent, damn it, I'd even practiced how his mother beats her wife. But the man only replied with one sentence—"

As he said this, a smile crept onto his lips.

"We have no Black people in the Soviet Union."

Bud rolled his eyes: "Aren't you afraid of being sued for telling jokes like that?"

“I’m not saying this, I’m quoting it,” Colin said, shrugging. “You have to admit that reality is more racist than jokes.”

While listening to Colin's grandstanding on his so-called "battlefield camouflage aesthetics," Zhou Yi observed the streets.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white dot rising in the distance.

At first, it was so small that it looked like a residual image on the retina. If it hadn't flashed in the sunlight, he would have almost thought it was an illusion.

Zhou Yi frowned, picked up the camera, pretended to test the aperture, but actually quickly adjusted the focus.

In the footage, the small white dot is slowly rising and then hovering.

It is a drone, with a size and structure close to that of commercial models.

Colin continued rambling, "Seriously, just sitting here with a coffee in my hand isn't enough. I have to flirt with the waiters occasionally to truly blend in. There's no way around it; intelligence advisors all over the world are prejudiced against men like me."

Zhou Yi did not respond, but continued to stare at the viewfinder, slightly adjusting the focus.

After a while, the drone began to descend slowly.

He quickly released the wheel and followed its trajectory to find a landing point.

A dozen seconds later, the drone landed precisely on the roof of a gray SUV.

Beside them stood a woman with light skin, surrounded by several local military police in camouflage.

They were carrying rifles, and one of them was negotiating with her; the atmosphere didn't seem very friendly.

At this moment, Colin noticed that Zhou Yi's eyes had changed, and he quickly shut up.

"Damn, should we make a move?" he said, reaching for his waist.

"Don't move, there's no danger," Zhou Yi said, his gaze never leaving the target.

Colin's hand froze in mid-air, then went into a state of alert.

With knees slightly bent and toes pointing towards the entrance, he leaned against the end of the long table—so he could suddenly leap up, lower his body, retreat to cover, or climb over the balcony railing at any moment.

Zhou Yi belatedly came to his senses and, seeing the two of them tense up, couldn't help but chuckle. He quickly made a "relax" gesture.

Then, he lowered his head, thought for a moment, and quickly said, "You all stay here and continue filming and recording data."

As soon as he finished speaking, Zhou Yi stood up, adjusted his non-prescription glasses, and lowered his sleeves.

"Where are you going?" Bud asked.

"Go downstairs."

Zhou Yi took two steps outside, stopped, turned around, and explained briefly:

"If nothing goes wrong from here on out, I think I have a well-developed plan."

"Don't worry about Langley hunting you down all over the world after the operation."

(End of this chapter)