"Boss, I want to report someone for betrayal."
Allen immediately went to Karpov and accused Wilson of defecting to S.H.I.E.L.D.
Karpov held several positions and came to work at the Weapons Development Bureau two days a week.
"Who?"
Karpov frowned.
Treason was a grave crime. With international tensions running high, the greatest concern was trouble from within. Once discovered, it had to be purged immediately.
"The traitor is Wilson. I heard him arranging with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to leave tomorrow night at nine." Allen said indignantly, "Who would have thought he was that kind of person? The country gave him so much, yet he still craved wealth and luxury. Unlike me, I'm satisfied just sweeping up trash."
"..."
Karpov did not believe him at all.
Wilson had just been promoted and had a bright future ahead of him. Had his brain been used for hotpot that he would decide to defect to another country?
"I'll have someone interrogate him immediately," Karpov replied perfunctorily.
He was even considering whether to fire Allen. If this lunatic had started playing dirty tricks like framing people, there was no telling what crazy things he might do in the future.
As for Wilson, Karpov trusted him without reservation.
"Don't act rashly."
Allen closed the door, then shut the window and lowered his voice. "This is my chance, Allen's chance, to serve the country."
"You want to serve the country?"
Karpov wore a strained expression and said earnestly, "It's good that you have such ideological awareness, but you need to act within your capabilities."
"Thank you for recognizing me, Boss. Let me tell you my plan."
Allen failed to catch his meaning and blurted out his idea. "Boss, Wilson is escaping tomorrow night. I'll follow him, infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D., and send intelligence back home."
You little brat, why couldn't you listen? You were even dreaming of being a spy. Please don't drag down the professional standards of the espionage industry.
"Very good. What cooperation do you need?"
Karpov went along with him verbally while considering how to find an opportunity to drive him out.
Allen clenched his fist and declared grandly, "Everything is under control. At last, I can be useful like a sheet of toilet paper."
"..."
The next day, nine at night.
A speedboat docked beside a large river in the outskirts.
Wilson, carrying two suitcases, hid in the woods and shivered from the cold.
The Soviet Union was known as the land of winter. Winters came early and lasted long, with some regions dropping below minus thirty degrees Celsius. Every year, drunkards who failed to return home overnight were found the next day frozen stiff as boards.
"Doctor Duke, it's time to leave."
A middle-aged man pointed at the speedboat as a reminder.
"Then let's go."
Wilson glanced once toward the capital, feeling a faint trace of guilt in his heart.
Under cover of night, the two headed toward the shore, preparing to board the boat and leave Soviet territory.
"Wooo..., wooo..., wooo..."
At that moment, the strange sound prompted the people on the speedboat to raise their weapons.
Allen came running from the other side of the woods, making the noise as he shouted, "You're under arrest! Take off your pants and lick your ass with your tongue!"
Click.
The guns were cocked, and the extraction team prepared to deal with Allen.
"Don't shoot."
Wilson recognized Allen at a glance. Since Allen had once saved his life, he naturally could not watch him die on the spot.
"Allen, stop messing around. It's dangerous here. Leave immediately," Wilson urged.
"If you're afraid of death, you're not a Soviet."
Allen shaped both hands into guns, blew on his fingertips, and said proudly, "But I'm afraid of death."
"..."
Was being afraid of death something to be proud of?
"Wilson, precisely because I'm afraid of death, I need to leave with you."
Allen put one hand on Wilson's shoulder and said, "Everyone at the bureau knows our relationship is unclear. If you leave, I'll definitely be the first one in trouble."
"You're just a janitor. They won't make things difficult for you."
You weren't just a janitor. You were also a lunatic. Who would be full enough to target you?
"You heartless bastard, you're going off to enjoy wealth and luxury by yourself, and now you're turning your back on me, is that it?"
Allen worked hard to squeeze out tears, trying to look like someone who had been used and abandoned. "In the end, I gave my heart to the wrong person."
"What are you trying to do?"
Wilson grabbed his hair in frustration, unable to figure out what Allen was plotting.
Allen said solemnly, "Let's roam the world together and become a pair of crazy lovers."
"You want to come with us? I need to ask them."
Time waited for no one. Every extra second could bring unforeseen trouble, so Wilson turned to ask the extraction team.
Their answer was that it would not be a problem.
When they came, they had considered that Wilson might have family, so they had prepared for three people.
Allen happily boarded the speedboat, which headed straight for the designated meeting point at sea with the cargo ship.
Before him lay a vast expanse of ocean, endless darkness as far as the eye could see.
"I, the first-generation Caribbean pirate, will become the man who becomes the Pirate King!"
Allen stood at the bow with his mouth wide open, facing the frigid sea wind.
"Ah la la la la..."
The wind poured fiercely into his mouth, puffing out his cheeks.
After a long while, Allen said with satisfaction, "Drinking the northwest wind really fills you up. It tastes a little salty, and it has now been added to Allen's deluxe private cuisine."
After racing across the sea for three hours, they finally found the target cargo ship.
The Soviet Union and America were allies and maintained trade relations, so most ocean-going cargo ships could enter each other's waters directly.
Of course, everyone knew they were poaching from each other, but no one put it out in the open.
It looked like a cargo ship on the surface, but there was more to it inside.
The first basement level of the ship had been converted into an office area, where numerous S.H.I.E.L.D. agents worked while receiving telegrams.
This was a supply ship, specially used to remotely deliver supplies to agents carrying out missions abroad. It also handled extraction duties.
"Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Doctor Duke."
"No need to welcome me."
Peggy Carter looked at the overly familiar Allen with a puzzled expression.
"Don't mind him." Wilson said awkwardly, "There were a few complications."
"It doesn't matter. As long as you're safe, that's enough." Carter said with a smile.
Meanwhile, Allen looked at the blank paper on a nearby table and began drawing on his own.
He had to cause trouble.
If he did not cause trouble for even a minute, Allen felt uncomfortable all over.
Wilson and Carter chatted for a while, eventually discussing the treatment he would receive in America.
They had always used money to win over experts who defected to them.
"No more pretending!"
Allen shouted, pointing at Wilson. "He's a fraud! I designed the AK rifle!"
At once, the gazes of numerous agents converged on him.
"Allen, what nonsense are you talking about?!"
Wilson panicked inwardly, then quickly regained his composure. Could a lunatic design firearms? Who would believe that?
"Wilson, to be honest, I've been plotting against you all along."
With a mischievous grin, Allen revealed the truth. "I drew those blueprints for you because I wanted S.H.I.E.L.D. to notice you and guide what happened next. When something isn't your own achievement but you take all the credit, you're bound to feel insecure. I only had to trick you a little, and you really fell for it."
"How do you prove that you designed it?" Wilson demanded.
Allen slapped a blueprint onto the table, and everyone immediately understood.
It was another firearm with an entirely new design, completely different from the AK rifle.
"You can prove yourself when S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits you. Why did you have to frame me?"
At that moment, Wilson questioned him loudly. Being fooled by a lunatic was too humiliating.
"That's different. The Soviet Union is hunting you, the AK designer. I'm just a janitor."
"..."
Was this really a plan a lunatic could come up with?
Framing someone and shedding his shell like a cicada—he played it brilliantly.
Before you continue