The Warsaw freight yard held its breath.
Coal smoke drifted under a pale Polish moon. Everything was still, suspended between fear and violence.
Yagoda stood frozen. The Party's confident courier suddenly looked small, his slick mask stripped away. He had led his prize straight into a lion's den — and realized it too late.
Behind Koba, Pavel loomed like a statue of granite, silent but ready. Murat and Ivan shifted slightly, hands slipping into their coats. One wrong word, and this corner of the yard would become a killing ground.
Herr Schmidt's words still hung in the cold air.
Surrender the ledger.
Koba's mind split in two. The cold strategist and the panicked man inside him fought for control.
[Jake]: Give it up. It's just a book! That man represents an empire. He could have soldiers in the shadows. We hand it over, we live. That's what matters.
[Koba]: Wrong. The ledger is not paper — it's power. Without it, we're beggars in Zurich. The Germans want to declaw us. So we won't play their game. We'll make our own.
Koba met the German's gaze, his expression calm, almost curious. When he spoke, his tone was quiet — conversational, like a scholar at a lecture.
"The shipment on August 14th last year," he said. "You know the one?"
A flicker crossed Herr Schmidt's face. The question had thrown him off. "I'm not at liberty to discuss—"
"Six crates," Koba cut in, his voice steady. "From Krupp Works in Essen. Labeled precision tools. Signed by a Herr Müller. Sent through Libau, not Kronstadt. Payment order 77B. Three hundred thousand gold marks."
The German froze.
Koba continued, relentless. "The money didn't touch Krupp's accounts. It went through Copenhagen, into a numbered account at the Swiss Bank Corporation — Basel, account 227. Hidden from both Krupp and the Admiralty."
For the first time, Herr Schmidt looked uncertain.
Koba leaned in. "Those crates contained six Zeiss rangefinders. The most advanced fire-control systems in the world. For the Gangut-class battleships."
Silence. Only the faint hiss of steam broke it. Koba had made his point — he was the ledger. The knowledge lived inside him now.
"You want the book so this never sees daylight," Koba said. "Understandable. But if you think killing me ends it, you're mistaken."
He spun his lie with perfect calm. "Copies of the worst pages — and an explanation — are with a comrade in a neutral country. A watchmaker. He waits for my telegram on the first of every month. If he doesn't get it, he delivers the packet to Le Temps in Paris."
The words hung like frost in the air. "So if I die, you lose control. And the world learns exactly what Krupp sold your Admiralty."
The German said nothing. The tension shifted. For the first time, he wasn't the predator.
Koba pressed on. "But I'm reasonable. I have no quarrel with Germany. My war is with the Tsar. So let's give each other something."
He opened his satchel. His men stiffened — then relaxed as he produced not the whole book but two pages. He sliced them out cleanly with a knife and held them out.
"These detail the Russian bribes at Libau. No mention of Krupp or Germany. They'll make Stolypin's men squirm, but they won't touch you. Bring them to Berlin. Tell your superiors you contained the leak. You'll have proof. And a victory."
Herr Schmidt stared at him. He understood. The gesture was small — and devastating. A token win masking total defeat.
After a long moment, he reached out and took the pages.
The tension bled from the air. The deal was done.
Koba had won.