I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 106: Chapter 16: Invitation

Thursday, 3:00 PM.

In a small diner near the South City Industrial District, Werner watched the inconspicuous maintenance hatch across the street through the window.

It was one of the entrances to East Berlin’s sewer system, a place usually only visited by municipal workers for routine maintenance.

After the Berlin Wall went up, surveillance on the surface grew increasingly strict. But the underground sewer system, like a giant spiderweb, still stretched to every corner of the city—including West Berlin.

A smuggling route established here could bypass every checkpoint and patrol on the surface.

Of course, Werner had no intention of actually using this route. He had scouted it before the Berlin Wall was even built, but he had kept it in reserve, unused, precisely for a day like today.

Besides, he already had channels through Ivanov and Matthias; there was no need to expose this backup line.

But he needed others to believe that this sewer route was vitally important to him.

Outside the window, a municipal maintenance truck slowly drove past and stopped near the maintenance hatch.

Two workers in overalls got out. One of them was Keller in disguise.

They lifted the cover off the maintenance hatch and pretended to inspect something, putting on a show for any interested onlookers.

In a corner of the diner, two men in work jackets were staring at the maintenance hatch, speaking in low voices.

Werner recognized one of them. It was a man named Wolf, one of Krupp’s people, who specialized in intelligence gathering.

’Good. The fish is already eyeing the bait.’

Werner finished his coffee, stood up, and left the diner.

He walked slowly, pretending to be on a casual stroll while actually observing his surroundings.

Sure enough, Wolf and his companion left the diner and fell in behind him.

Werner paid them no mind and kept walking.

He turned into a quiet alley, where he had a "chance encounter" with a municipal worker—a man Keller had arranged in advance, someone who owed them money and had agreed to play a part.

"Mueller." Werner shook the worker’s hand. "Is the route confirmed?"

"It’s confirmed," the worker said, lowering his voice. "Next Wednesday, ten o’clock at night, I’ll switch out the lock on that maintenance hatch. Have your people show up on time. I’ll be waiting below to guide them. Remember, take pipe C-7. Don’t get it wrong; the other pipes are all dead ends."

"Don’t worry." Werner stuffed a wad of bills into his hand. "Get this done, and there’s more where that came from."

"No problem, no problem." The worker pocketed the money, then added, "Oh, right. Patrols have been tight recently. You’d better bring some municipal work IDs. It’ll be easier to handle if you run into someone."

"I know." Werner patted his shoulder.

The worker hurried away.

Werner turned and left the alley, a satisfied smile on his face.

He knew Wolf must have seen the whole exchange and overheard their conversation. He and the worker had deliberately raised their voices just enough for someone hiding at the mouth of the alley to hear.

Now Krupp would be convinced that Werner truly controlled a sewer smuggling route with a direct line to West Berlin.

Furthermore, the route seemed well-established: a municipal worker on the inside, a specific pipe designation, and a set time and rendezvous. For Krupp, who was backed into a corner, this was a heaven-sent opportunity.

Werner lit a cigarette and walked down the streets of East Berlin.

The trap was set. The bait was cast.

Now, all that remained was to see if the big fish, Krupp, would bite.

Werner guessed that given Krupp’s current predicament, he would.

And bite hard.

Because this was his last chance.

*****************

Monday, 2:00 PM.

Werner was in the warehouse taking stock when Keller pushed the door open, a letter in his hand.

"Boss, someone delivered this." Keller handed the letter over. "It’s from Krupp’s people."

Werner took the envelope. It bore no markings, just a plain manila envelope.

He opened it. Inside was a neatly folded sheet of ivory-white paper of excellent quality. In a place as short on supplies as East Berlin, such paper was a rare sight.

The letter was handwritten with a fountain pen, the script neat and orderly:

Mr. Betelich:

Circumstances have changed. Perhaps a discussion is in order.

This Wednesday, eight in the evening, at the Black Bear tavern.

H.K.

Werner finished reading the letter, slowly folded it, and slipped it into his pocket.

"So, what’s the word, boss?" Keller asked. "You going?"

"I’m going," Werner said.

Keller nodded and turned to leave.

Werner walked to the window and lit a cigarette.

Krupp’s letter was concise, just a single sentence, but Werner could read between the lines. The old-timer, who had been entrenched in the East Berlin Black Market for over a decade, really couldn’t hold on any longer.

Now, he had finally bowed his head.

But he had done so in a way that maintained his dignity—"Perhaps a discussion is in order," not "Please help me" or "I need a favor." He used reserved, formal phrasing to package his plea for help as a negotiation between equals.

Werner stubbed out his cigarette, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

He would be there on Wednesday night, right on time.

***************

Wednesday, 8:00 PM.

The Black Bear, a tavern in East Berlin’s Lichtenberg District, was tucked away deep in an unremarkable alley.

The tavern had no sign, just a faded wooden plaque hanging by the door with a crudely drawn bear on it.

Only those in the know recognized it as a regular haunt for Black Market merchants.

Werner pushed open the heavy wooden door, and an odor of stale tobacco, beer, and sweat washed over him.

Under dim lights, a dozen or so tables were crammed into the small space, packed with men in work clothes and old jackets. Some were playing cards in a corner, a few Mark coins piled on their table.

Krupp was already waiting in the rearmost booth.

Werner made his way through the crowded tavern and pushed open the door to the booth.

Krupp sat with his back to the wall, a full glass of beer on the table before him.

He wore a well-tailored dark suit over a crisply starched white shirt. His hair was impeccably combed, and his salt-and-pepper sideburns were neatly trimmed.

He wore gold-rimmed glasses and held an unlit cigar. He looked less like a Black Market kingpin and more like a pre-war banker or lawyer.

"Werner." Krupp stood up, his voice even and courteous. "Thank you for gracing me with your presence. This era belongs to you young folks."

"You’re too kind." Werner sat down opposite him. "When you extend an invitation, how could I dare refuse?"

Krupp’s posture remained composed, but fine lines of fatigue creased the corners of his eyes. The gaze behind his lenses, however, was as sharp as ever.

"What will you have?" Krupp asked. "The drinks here aren’t great, but at least they’re clean."

"Beer is fine."

Krupp clapped his hands lightly. The tavern owner entered, set down two beers, and retreated without a word.

Krupp raised his glass. "To be honest, I’m surprised I was able to get you to come."

Werner clinked his glass against Krupp’s. "You exaggerate. When it comes to experience and connections, I’m no match for you."

Krupp set down his glass and slowly lit his cigar. "Werner, I remember the last time I saw you, you’d just taken over the Mole’s business. I should have realized it then. Times change. The new always replaces the old. The era of us old-timers... it’s over."

"You give me too much credit, Mr. Krupp. I was just lucky."

"Luck?" Krupp chuckled. "Werner, we’re both smart men. You’re capable; that’s a fact. In the current climate, you can’t find another person in all of East Berlin who can maintain a stable supply like you can."

He tapped the ash from his cigar. "I won’t lie to you. I’ve run into some difficulties lately. Once the Wall went up, my old methods stopped working. At my age, I should know when to admit defeat."