Chapter 061: Changing Plans Once Again

At the Bayer pharmaceutical plant in Leverkusen, Chen Jiehua was responsible for killing but not for covering up. After he left with Mio Fujiwara and Ramsey, the SS conducted a thorough investigation inside the factory. According to several eyewitnesses, the spies were two people, matching the description given by the taxi driver: a Japanese man and woman. Apart from killing a few patrolmen and dogs and destroying a car, the two didn’t take anything with them. As for the missing boxes of medicine from the workshop, no one would notice such a small loss.

The patrol teams reported that, judging by the timeline, the spies were detected by patrol dogs before they even entered the laboratory. They escaped into the second-floor dormitory and, being pursued, had to jump out of the window and flee. They had no time to take anything with them.

Outside the pharmaceutical plant, the SS mobilized all their forces, even calling in the Abwehr military police. Roadblocks were set up at every border crossing, as well as at train stations, bus stations, and along waterways, but to no avail—the two seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Tracing the matter back, the SS and Abwehr military police tracked the two through their entry records at the Port of Hamburg and the checkpoint records where Hamburg’s temporary garrison let them through. The minor ringleader and police officer who had accepted bribes to let the pair go suffered for it—both were beaten within an inch of their lives.

Considering that the pair’s identities were likely false and the factory had suffered no significant loss, the Abwehr merely sent a diplomatic note to the Japanese embassy in Berlin, requesting an internal investigation to find out who had stirred up trouble in Leverkusen.

In truth, the Abwehr knew nothing would come of it. The matter faded away after three days, though security was tightened at the pharmaceutical plant and all transportation hubs in Leverkusen, making it even harder for spies from other countries to infiltrate the plant.

At the same time, in the Northeast, Zhao Shiyu received a telegram from the organization: establish contact with Hong Luan as soon as possible and obtain the formula for the miraculous American or German medicine.

Zhao Shiyu tried multiple times to contact Hong Luan by telegram, but each attempt failed. He was extremely anxious, but there was nothing he could do. After replying to the organization, he set up regular calls at three times each day, but due to time differences and radio power issues, Chen Jiehua never received them.

At that moment, Zhao Shiyu was working with Liu Junze to raise funds and tirelessly rescue thirteen comrades from the Manchurian Provincial Committee.

Thanks to Liu Junze’s constant efforts and support, the comrades had recovered physically. In the cells of the Northeast Army, their treatment had greatly improved—no more interrogations, better food, and, apart from not being able to leave, even some time outdoors and reading privileges.

Thanks to Chen Jiehua’s earlier warning and advice, Zhao Shiyu and Liu Junze had rapidly improved their skills in clandestine work. Even under Tufei Yuan’s jurisdiction, they managed to operate smoothly, though they were cautious and hadn’t recruited many new members.

Meanwhile, in the Weimar Republic of Europe:

The Rhine river steamer from Cologne docked at Koblenz. After disembarking, Chen Jiehua stood on the platform, observing the many smokestacks in the distance, the trains and trucks coming and going, and quickly concluded that this was no place to linger.

He had only intended to pass through here on his way to France, and now, with the warning from his dream, it was even clearer that staying was not an option.

Koblenz was obviously a heavy industrial city. Two well-dressed Easterners visiting for tourism—what were they here to see, the smokestacks? Or had they come specifically to inhale toxic fumes? It would be all too easy for the authorities to mistake them for industrial spies. The SS’s tortures were infamous worldwide.

Moreover, the warning from his dream was a first—bizarre, yet so real. It could be his future, or not, depending on the choices he made.

After boarding the steamer, Chen Jiehua had considered sending a telegram to the organization, passing the dilemma to his superiors. But then, inexplicably, he fell asleep and dreamed.

The system, through his dream, warned him that this telegram was not appropriate—he couldn’t send it.

Standing on the dock was no place to think deeply, nor to study a map, but Chen Jiehua knew Germany’s traditional tourist cities well enough.

He took Mio Fujiwara by taxi straight to the train station ticket office and checked the fares to estimate distances. The cheapest tourist destination was Frankfurt, which meant it was the closest. So, he bought tickets for Frankfurt.

Tourism was one reason, but leaving a trail was another. The main priority was to make a decision while still inside Germany.

Mio Fujiwara didn’t understand why Chen Jiehua suddenly changed plans, but she knew he must have his reasons and followed without question. When the time was right, he would explain.

On the evening of April 15, 1929, Chinese tourist Ye Fei and his wife Lin Ke arrived in Frankfurt, Germany’s tourist city. After disembarking, they ate a simple meal on the street and checked into a small inn.

Once the routine sweep for listening devices was completed, Chen Jiehua spoke:

“Mio, you must have been getting anxious. We can finally relax a little. Koblenz isn’t a tourist city—it’s a heavy industrial center. The two of us visiting there for tourism would be very odd and we’d easily be mistaken for spies by counterintelligence. That’s why I didn’t stay and came straight here. Frankfurt is a traditional tourist city, so we can linger here, think carefully about our next move, and then act.”

“I understand. I’ll follow your lead.”

As for the production formula for the sulfa drug Prontosil, deciding who to give it to was a matter of strategic importance. According to organizational discipline, Chen Jiehua should let the organization decide. But for now, he couldn’t hand it over—at least, not before that 1931 event.

There were still two years to go. Time was running out. America had penicillin, Germany had Prontosil—how much could they produce in two years? Would they become overconfident? Would the world order change? No one knew.

To restore the course of history, perhaps the best course was to make the formula public—both Prontosil and penicillin. Level the playing field for all the great powers, so everyone could manufacture them and start from the same line.

As for the consequences, could they really be any worse than the current situation?

The last time two teams were brought together for research, the system’s Hong Luan was present. Not only did she tacitly approve, she even helped.

That meant the outcome shouldn’t disrupt the world order or history’s progress—otherwise, she would have intervened.

He, Chen Jiehua, was just an insignificant figure. Even with a god’s-eye view of the world, he was still just a small man; there was no need to think himself so important.

Understanding this, Chen Jiehua felt no more psychological burden.

Perhaps, during their stay in Frankfurt, he and Mio could organize the formulas and key data for both drugs onto microfilm, to give to Sorge as a greeting gift when they met. What Sorge did with it, and how history unfolded, would be left to fate.

No sooner thought than done. Chen Jiehua and Mio Fujiwara spent their days sightseeing and their evenings compiling data. In a week, they had finished organizing the materials, and in the process, visited every famous site and major shop in Frankfurt, leaving their footprints all over the city.