I stood there thinking about the consequences… the consequences that drew from the plans… the plans I knew I shouldn’t have, but I did. I stole the plans. Why, you ask? It was my duty, to serve Mother Russia, that is what was drilled into us Soviets. As they always used to say, “It was only espionage”. Only... Only. That was the word that would stick with me for the rest of my life.

I knew it was wrong, but I still did it. I desperately needed the money. Oh, the money. Either the bomb would be built by the Americans or the money. A tough decision, but I knew it was my duty to serve my nation, no matter the cause, no matter the cost and boy did it cost me.

I knew this guy, his name was Jones, he smelled of old cigarettes and yesterday’s wine. He was one of Oppenheimer’s previous associates. Nice enough fellow, or so I thought. I had met him at a forgotten side alley pub, where old stories and new beer were spilled on the floors. He had some interesting political views that I didn’t entirely agree with. You see… he was a capitalist, like all those Americans. I despised capitalism, it's how I was brought up. He didn’t side with Oppenheimer though. Oh no, he didn’t like the plans, oh those plans. The ones that will be burnt in my memory forever, the ones I took and ran with, far away with. He had some points though, points that made me think, interesting points about the way capitalism succeeded in the West. Something deep inside me would not allow me to accept the reality of living with capitalism. My idea of success, different. My idea of freedom, my idea of rebellion, and all because I stole those plans.

Ever since I was five years old, I have felt a strong calling to serve my country. That dream came true and then came crashing down when I stole those plans and got arrested. My life will change forever.

The cell was grubby, like a bomb had exploded in it. Tortured, by inmates I was, tortured. But, alas, I got used to it. Lessons I would learn, it was as if fate had finally caught up with me, as if all I did in the past was coming back to haunt me for a reason. The jail cell was a wretched place to be in, over and over again, like a cycle of days and nights: torture, eat, drink, sleep. Torture, eat, drink, sleep. Why did they give me a rough time, you ask? The inmates hated communists, the whole lot of them. But that’s the way it was, I was just a stupid person, with stupid ideology. Blaming myself for all this, just because I was trying to serve my country.

50 years until I was free, 50 depressing years. Displaced from reality, I stepped back into life, confused and lost about where I was, who I was, and what had happened.

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