Get up at 5:30 in the morning.
Then I run for an hour in a nearby park, take a quick shower and eat, and say goodbye to my wife and children at 7:10 on time, and ride my bike to work.
Arrived at 7:50. …
Martin's life is almost unchanging, at least in the past fifteen years, his life has never changed.
As usual, after arriving at the unit at 7:40, he had to go through several security checks before entering the building.
The Investigation Department is always like this.
If you want to enter the investigation department, you need to go through a lot of examinations.
At around 7:55, Martin arrived at his desk, turned on the desk lamp as usual, and started his day's work.
His job was very simple, which was to collect intelligence from newspapers, both foreign and domestic. As an intelligence analyst, he was undoubtedly competent. Over the past fifteen years, he had done an excellent job and even received awards.
For naturalized citizens, this is undoubtedly the greatest recognition.
"All the intelligence in the world is hidden in public information..."
Martin knew what he needed to look for.
He could obtain the British army's movements from British newspapers, master the British army's logistical supplies, and find many things that seemed to have no connection, but there were many connections between them. For intelligence analysis, Martin had his skills, and it could even be said to be a talent - his father was the shogunate's wind talker, and the Martin family was known as the four famous families with Yoshio, Konishi, and Motoki. The shogunate's wind talkers were very efficient in collecting overseas intelligence. During the shogunate era, they collected a lot of intelligence from the Qing Dynasty and Europe. Although he didn't know much about Europe, the Martin family's expertise in intelligence analysis was still inherited by Martin. As an unemployed samurai, he relied on this expertise to enter the investigation department and become an intelligence analyst.
After flipping through a newspaper delivered from the UK, Martin poured himself a cup of tea and sat down at the same table with a colleague who was obviously tired because he yawned repeatedly.
"You didn't sleep all night?"
Martin asked.
"Yes, I'm on night duty. And these newspapers..."
A colleague pointed to the newspaper on the table and said.
"There are still a lot of things you haven't finished reading. Domestic newspapers are like this. Even if you read them all, you may not gain anything."
"perhaps……"
Martin glanced at the newspaper, and suddenly he said "Huh" and pointed at the newspaper.
"Have you seen this obituary?"
The colleague said as he looked at the obituary he was pointing at.
"Oh, it's a very ordinary obituary. This man named Ma Bangde came to Daming on August 23, the 16th year of Shengde. He died in Xuzhou in an accident in the 22nd year of Shengde. His funeral was... There's nothing unusual about it."
"Nothing unusual?"
Martin picked up the newspaper, unfolded it, and asked.
"What kind of newspaper is this?"
"Interim report? What's that?"
My colleague said this while yawning.
"The circulation of Zhongbao exceeds 300 copies. Almost every city in Ming Dynasty publishes such a newspaper."
Ma Tianyi's words made his colleague stop yawning and his face turned pale.
In the office, everyone knew that Martin was very powerful. When he said this, other colleagues stared at the newspaper - they all remembered an unspoken rule that everyone published obituaries in the local morning newspaper because obituaries only needed to be read by local people.
"How much does an obituary like this cost? 10 dollars? Or 20 dollars?"
Martin pointed to the obituary and said.
"No one would spend so much money to publish an obituary. He is not a big shot. There must be something wrong with this obituary!"
Ten minutes later, Martin came to the director's office and reported the "abnormal information" to him.
"Well, something is wrong."
The director took a look and then said.
"Well, I think we should inform the Imperial Security Bureau of this information first. They will handle the domestic affairs."
Soon this information was sent to the Imperial Security Bureau. Almost at the time when the Imperial Security Bureau received the information and deployed agents to investigate, what they did not know was that this "obituary" was actually the British calling for spies lurking in the Ming Dynasty.
"They will definitely be able to see that message,"
At the British Embassy, Major Anderson said,
"According to the intelligence we have, Lawrence doesn't know much about the recruitment back then. He may be in control of the intelligence network, but he doesn't control all the people. And according to the official news from the Ming Dynasty, there must be people who have not been arrested. So I assume, and everyone else assumes so, that if someone has not been arrested, then they must be hiding, right?"
"So, we need to wake them up through the news in the newspaper, right?"
Sam asked, holding up the newspaper.
"But this funeral is fake, and the deceased is also fake. Even if they see this obituary, how can they contact us?"
"They will definitely find a way, and this is just the beginning,"
Anderson said,
"Now all we need to do is tell them that the British Empire knows they are still lurking and is calling them. If anyone among them sees this, they will definitely respond. Believe me, their hatred for the Ming Dynasty will drive them to take the initiative to restore contact with us! In some special way."
Anderson took the newspaper and said.
"This newspaper is published all over the country, they will definitely be able to see it..."
…
At 6:30 p.m., Zhang Lun stood up from the desk where he had been working, and walked towards his car, carrying his leather handbag, as usual.
At this moment, he was filled with fear and excitement. Perhaps because of the excitement, he could even hear his own heartbeat. When he got into the car, he took out the "China News" from his bag again. Then he said to himself.
"Mabond, Mabond..."
When he said the name, he seemed a little excited. The flesh on his cheeks and chin seemed to be trembling slightly. At this moment, he looked not like an engineer but rather like a gambler in front of the gambling table.
Yes, he was gambling!
He stared at the newspaper and thought for an unknown amount of time before he drove the car out of the factory, then carefully drove out of the city and headed west to the train station. After arriving at the train station, he parked the car at a roadside parking lot, walked about half a mile, walked into a red public telephone booth, and dialed a number.
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