A Modestly Grand Confession. Notes From A Very Busy Mole

Day 1. Arrival With Luggage and Purpose

I arrived in Moscow with two suitcases and a destiny. The first suitcase contained clothes. The second suitcase contained clothes for the first suitcase. Such is the life of a person with layers. The hotel clerk asked what brought me here. I said research. This was true. A mole must research breakfast hours.

At noon I met my handler, or perhaps a concierge masquerading as a handler. He arrived in a beige coat that looked like it had retired but still came to work out of habit. We sat at a café called The Diplomatic Spoon. He slid a napkin toward me that read, in looping cursive, Welcome, customer. I chose to interpret this as a mission directive.

My plan was simple. I would blend into the city like a comma in a long sentence. I would keep a low profile, speak in metaphors only when absolutely necessary, and gather intelligence on matters of state, culture, and pastry.

Day 2. Induction Into Important Bureaucracy

I secured a short term position as a policy intern at the Ministry of Unread Emails. Their motto spoke to my soul. If it is urgent, it will be sent again. My desk was

the wall depicted a man staring into the middle distance as if he’d just remembered he left his samovar on.

My duties included:

Shuffling papers from one pile to another.
Nodding gravely during meetings about “strategic forward planning,” which mostly involved deciding which meetings to hold next week.
Watering the office ficus, codenamed “Leaf-1.” I suspect it listens.

By lunch, I’d already mastered the art of looking busy while contributing nothing tangible – a skill vital to any mole worth their salt (or sugar, in case of tea).

Day 3. Cultural Immersion

Determined to infiltrate the cultural elite, I attended a poetry night at Café Pushkin’s Elbow. The poets read in hushed tones about love, war, and the mysterious disappearance of their cats. My contribution was a limerick about an undercover operative who infiltrated a bakery but fell in love with the rye bread. They applauded politely, possibly because the lights were too dim to find the exit.

A man in a fur hat whispered to me, “The bear dances only for those who know the tune.” I wasn’t sure if this was code, metaphor, or an invitation to a circus. I nodded anyway.

Day 4. Mission: Grocery Reconnaissance

Operations sometimes require mundane errands. Today’s task: buy eggs. At the local supermarket, I examined the options like a true intelligence professional. Brown eggs. White eggs. A carton with one egg missing – suspicious. I bought that one, convinced the missing egg had been smuggled to a safehouse.

Outside, a babushka stopped me. “You have the eyes of a man who knows secrets,” she said. I replied, “Only the price of eggs, ma’am.” She squinted knowingly.

Day 5. High Level Meeting

Today I was summoned to a “strategic coordination session” in a dimly lit basement. The attendees sat around a large table, all wearing scarves indoors for reasons that may or may not be strategic. A map of Europe hung on the wall, covered in sticky notes with cryptic labels like “Operation Cabbage” and “Project Very Strong Tea.”

My assigned task: keep the samovar warm and “look mysterious.” I excelled.

Day 6. Encounter With Counterintelligence

While feeding pigeons in the park (classic low-profile cover activity), a man sat beside me. He wore sunglasses despite the snow.

“You are being watched,” he said.
“I assumed so,” I replied. “I’m very photogenic in winter.”

He tossed me a chess piece , a knight , and walked away. I have no idea what it means, but I’m keeping it in my coat pocket in case it opens a secret door someday.

Day 7. Existential Doubts

A mole’s life is not all glamour. Sometimes it is endless waiting, sipping tea, and wondering whether your coded messages are just being used as grocery lists. Did my last “urgent” transmission really inspire policy change, or did it just remind someone to buy dill?

Still, my cover remains intact. To the world, I am simply an inconsequential bureaucrat with too much interest in pastries. To myself, I am… well, still mostly that, but with a diary.