London is the most prosperous city in the entire British Isles.
However, in the Newham district in East London, a completely different picture is presented... This is the area with the highest concentration of immigrants in London and one of the poorest areas in the UK, commonly known as the "slum".
In Conan Doyle's writings, this is undoubtedly the most dangerous place in foggy London; the famous "Jack the Ripper" once operated here.
Dock workers, prostitutes, blacks... almost all of these people at the bottom of London society live here; of course, now perhaps refugees from the former Soviet Union should also be added to the mix.
After the collapse of the giant country in the East a year ago, countless refugees who gained "freedom" rushed to the West. In London, Paris, Amsterdam, and the slums of every major Western European city, many unfamiliar Eastern European faces can be found.
…
When a strange face appeared in Newham, several black men with bad intentions quickly surrounded him.
However, after the blacks took a look at the target's muscular body, they felt that he was not easy to deal with, so they slowly dispersed.
This 1.9-meter-tall, dark-skinned, fierce-looking and rough-looking burly man held a bottle of wine in his hand... He just glanced at the black men and hurried towards his destination... As Conan Doyle said, this land was indeed full of sin, and he didn't want to fall here.
...
...
Ten minutes later, he arrived at his destination: a low-rise apartment.
The entire apartment has the style of a 19th-century building. The plaster on the walls has fallen off, revealing an ugly gray color; several pillars look shaky and may cause the apartment to collapse at any time.
The stranger stopped and knocked gently on the door.
"Come in!" A weak and decadent voice came from inside the house.
Pushing open the greasy wooden door, the space inside was incredibly narrow... An old sofa took up a small half of the entire apartment, and the rest of the space was piled with various wine bottles.
Although the invaders didn't know much about the types of wine, they could still see that these were cheap and inferior wines.
"Who are you?" Lying on the sofa was a middle-aged man with gray hair and a decadent look. He was wearing a gray dock worker's coat.
The intruder couldn't help but frowned, then handed over the bottle of wine in his hand.
"Vodka!" The middle-aged man who had just looked as decadent as an old dog suddenly became energetic.
He quickly took the bottle of vodka, bit open the bottle with his teeth, and then poured it down his throat like mineral water.
…
"Sergei Ivanovich Pavlov?" the tall invader asked softly.
The middle-aged man drank half a bottle of vodka, raised his head and his eyes became sharp.
"Born in Ukraine in 1955..."
"Since 1976, he has worked for the Soviet State Security Committee..."
"In 1979, he participated in the war in Afghanistan..."
"In 1985, he was awarded the Order of the Red Banner..."
The burly man's voice was calm, as if he was reciting an ordinary resume.
"Who are you...Scotland Yard or MI6?" Pavlov, lying on the sofa, growled; he was now like a polar bear that could attack at any time, full of danger.
"Don't get me wrong!" The burly man smiled and said, "I just came here because of your reputation... My name is Urian Wrynn!"
That doesn't sound like an English name, Pavlov thought to himself.
"Sir Wrynn, what may I do for you?" His English was not standard and if you listened carefully you could find many grammatical errors.
An envelope was pushed in front of Pavlov, and when he opened it puzzled, he was completely shocked.
The envelope contained at least twenty £100 notes.
Pavlov's hands trembled slightly. He was short of money, very short of money.
"I can't do anything illegal..." But he still had some rationality: "Scotland Yard has been eyeing me for a long time. They want to throw me into Edinburgh Prison... I don't have the same privileges as those black people. I still have a wife and daughter to take care of."
"Nothing illegal will happen. I am a law-abiding citizen!" Urian said solemnly, "I just want to know something... Do you know Mr. Robert Wilson from Southampton?"
"Mr. Wilson helped me, my wife and daughter sneak into the UK a year ago, right at Southampton Port!"
"Mr. Wilson told me that you were a very good KGB agent?"
"When I was training in Kazan, I was always the top performer in every subject."
"When you were fighting in Afghanistan, you once shot and killed six Afghan militants who tried to break into the military camp in the dark night without any lights... and you were awarded the Order of the Red Flag for this!"
"Yes, I have good hearing and can locate the target through my ears. I killed six terrorists in this way!" Pavlov said with a wry smile, "It's a pity that I exchanged the medal for two pieces of black bread in Moscow."
"Then this gun, can you see if you can use it?" The intruder threw a Desert Eagle Mark I pistol to Pavlov. "The recoil is very strong, but you'd better try to use it with one hand!"
Before Pavlov could reply, the door of the apartment was suddenly pushed open.
An Eastern European woman burst in.
She was wearing a low-cut top and a miniskirt that reached almost her waist, with only a cotton jacket on the outside... She had bright red lipstick on her lips and even though her face was covered with foundation, it couldn't hide the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
It seems that she must have been a very beautiful girl when she was young, but unfortunately she is only in her thirties, but her face looks old that does not belong to her age.
"Sergei... I'm sorry... I didn't know you had a visitor..." she stammered.
Then she lowered her head and went into the inner room of the apartment.
"She...is Sarah... my wife..." Pavlov stammered, his head completely lowered.
"Take a look at the gun first!" the intruder deliberately changed the subject.
…
"No problem." Pavlov replied, "The Desert Eagle Mark I semi-automatic pistol developed by Israel in 1985 does have a lot of recoil, but with my strength, it shouldn't be a problem to operate it with one hand... If you don't believe me, I can find a shooting range to try it out."
"No need, I believe you!" The burly man nodded.
"What do you need me to do for you?" the former Soviet veteran asked softly, "Be your bodyguard?"
"No..." The other party shook his head: "I just need a little bit of your hair!"
"hair?"
"That's right..." The other party took out an envelope again: "The total is three thousand pounds. I want to buy your hair, just a little bit will do!"