"Okay, have it your way. Let's talk business first," Jason Guo said with a relaxed smile. He placed the suitcase on the coffee table and added, "Everything about the deal is in here. Take a look."
"Oh?" A flicker of curiosity crossed Bartholomew's face. "All in there?"
"Yes. Everything." Jason nodded confidently.
As Bartholomew opened the suitcase, his eyes scanned the contents. Neatly arranged Marlboros occupied a corner, but the rest was filled with bundles of cash. As a seasoned officer familiar with smuggling operations, Bartholomew could size up money at a glance. His quick calculation put the amount at around 100,000 rubles.
"Impressive. Looks like Jason's grown some guts—bringing five 'loads' in one shot." He chuckled. In their line of work, a "load" referred to a shipment unit: typically the cargo space of one speedboat or one truck. So five loads meant this operation would require five vehicles—no small feat. Their prior arrangement had always been clear: Bartholomew and his men handled transport and were paid per load.
While this per-load model seemed advantageous to the smugglers on the surface, it was the transporters like Bartholomew who truly profited. Thanks to the easing of Sino-Soviet tensions, border patrols were now more relaxed. Both sides had loosened controls along the river border to accommodate fishing activity. Smugglers like Bartholomew knew the routines and blind spots of the border guards inside out. As a result, these operations were practically risk-free—just a matter of collecting cash for "value-added services."
"Five loads, huh? Shouldn't be a problem," Bartholomew said as he thumped a stack of banknotes on the table. The sound of money echoed as he continued, "The river's still frozen over. We can drive trucks straight across. Set the date, and I'll handle the rest."
Jason raised an eyebrow, glancing at the girls lounging beside Bartholomew. "Not even curious what I'm smuggling?"
"I don't care what it is. We've worked together before—you know our rule: no drugs, and pay up front. Beyond that…" Bartholomew started to wave him off but stopped cold. His eyes drifted back to the suitcase. Four cartons of cigarettes? That's it?
His voice dropped. "Wait... you mean *those* are the goods?"
"Surprised?" Jason asked, amused as the four girls quietly slipped away into the shadows.
Bartholomew stared at the Marlboros in stunned silence. His fingers grazed the suitcase. "I can't believe it. Jason, when did you grow the balls for something like this? Do you realize what this is? Forget five loads—just one load of this, if caught by the Trade Commission or Ministry of Internal Affairs, we're both finished!"
Jason's expression didn't waver. He calmly replied, "I know. But I also know this shipment could net nearly one million rubles. Back home, we say 'fortune favors the bold.' If you're too scared to take risks, then you might as well go lie in bed and wait to starve."
Bartholomew didn't respond. As a mid-ranking officer, he knew all too well that the Soviet Union was unraveling. Moscow was in chaos. The military, the KGB, and the central leadership were locked in power struggles. Morale was low, salaries worse, and oversight minimal. If anything happened now, no one was coming to save him.
Jason leaned in. "Listen, my friend. I need you for more than just one shipment. Think about it: I supply the product, you handle the transport *and* sales. We split profits 50/50. With these five loads, we're each looking at around..."
He held up five fingers.
"Half a million?!" Bartholomew's mouth fell open. That kind of money wasn't just life-changing—it was freedom. With a few more deals like this, he could disappear to the West and never worry again.
But then came the doubts. Logistics, market contacts, protection—it would all fall on him.
Jason, sensing hesitation, gave a friendly pat. "Don't overthink it. The way things are going here, who knows how long you'll have power? Better to get out while you can—and do it rich."
Bartholomew exhaled hard. "Three days. I need three days to secure buyers. If I can find the right market, I'll reach out."
"No problem," Jason grinned. "I'm at the Friendship Hotel. Send word anytime. I'll be waiting for good news."
"Hold on!" Bartholomew suddenly grabbed Jason's arm. "We need to change the terms."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "Terms? You'll handle transport and sales, I supply the goods. What's there to change?"
Bartholomew shook his head. "I'm taking all the risk. The cut has to reflect that—60/40, in my favor. And I still get my transport fee separately."
Jason looked offended. "That's outrageous. I'm footing the bill for the product, and manufacturing this stuff isn't easy. You're already getting 100,000 for the haul—now you want *more*?"
"I do," Bartholomew replied firmly, pressing a hand to the suitcase. "Without me, you have no operation. Take it or leave it."
Jason let out an exaggerated sigh. "Bartholomew, you missed your calling. You should've been a businessman."
"Hahaha! Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment," Bartholomew laughed heartily. He clapped his hands. "Well then, let's celebrate our future success! Where did the girls go? Girls!"
"Forget it," Jason stood up with mock irritation. "Your girls are too pricey. I just handed over hundreds of thousands. Let me go calm down."
"No, no, you're not leaving!" Bartholomew grabbed him and dragged him back onto the couch. "Tonight, you're staying. These four girls—fresh, untouched. I'll let you pick two first."
Jason could only stare, speechless.