I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 121: Chapter 31: Something’s Gone Wrong

Werner stubbed out his cigarette, walked over, and pressed the hidden catch.

The seatback flipped open. Wolfgang struggled out like a fish, collapsing onto the ground and gasping for air.

His face was flushed, his forehead covered in sweat.

"I can’t," he said, panting. "I can’t do it."

Werner crouched down, staring at him.

"If you can’t do it, then you’re not going."

Wolfgang looked up, his eyes filled with panic.

"But—"

"No ’buts’," Werner said. "When we cross the checkpoint, you’ll have to stay in there for at least twenty minutes. If you can’t take it and come out early, we’re all done for."

Wolfgang grabbed Werner’s sleeve.

"I can do it, I can!" His voice was on the verge of tears. "It was just so sudden. I wasn’t ready. Give me another chance. I know I can do it!"

Werner looked at him, not saying anything for a long moment.

"Get up," he finally said.

Wolfgang struggled to his feet, his body still trembling.

"Go home for now," Werner said. "Come back here tomorrow at seven in the evening. I’m going to have you practice until you can last for thirty minutes."

"Tomorrow?" Wolfgang paused, stunned.

"Yes, tomorrow," Werner said. "I’m not letting you go now. You’re in no condition."

Wolfgang nodded like a child who had done something wrong.

"I’m sorry."

"Don’t apologize," Werner said. "Go."

After Wolfgang left, Werner sat alone by the car, smoking.

’This is harder than I thought.’

’It’s not a technical problem, it’s a psychological one.’

’Wolfgang isn’t a soldier or an agent. He’s just a regular high school teacher. Making him hide in that small, dark space is like burying him alive.’

’But there’s no other way.’

For the next three days, Wolfgang came to practice every night.

The first day, he could only last ten minutes. The second day, fifteen. The third day, twenty.

On the evening of the fourth day, he finally lasted thirty minutes.

When Werner opened the seatback, Wolfgang was soaked through, as if he’d been pulled from a river. But his eyes were bright.

"I did it," he said.

"Mm," Werner nodded. "Get ready. We’ll make our move soon."

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

「A few weeks later, six in the evening.」

Werner stood at the warehouse entrance, waiting for Jonas.

Jonas had been introduced by Joshua. He was a West German in his early thirties who used to drive a taxi in Munich. His record was clean, he had a valid West German passport and driver’s license, and he was fearless—not one to shy away from trouble.

A motorcycle sped down the alley and stopped in front of Werner.

Jonas got off the bike and took off his helmet, revealing a sharp, chiseled face. His hair was short, his gaze sharp.

"Ready?" Werner asked.

"Ready," Jonas said. "Where’s the car?"

"Inside."

The two of them walked into the warehouse. Wolfgang was already there waiting.

He was wearing a clean suit, his hair neatly combed, but his face was pale.

"Nervous?" Jonas walked over and clapped him on the shoulder.

"A little," Wolfgang said with a forced smile.

"That’s normal." Jonas grinned. "The first time my brother snuck across, he hid in a pile of coal in a truck. When he came out, he was as black as a lump of charcoal. The Border Guards saw him and didn’t even realize he was a person."

Wolfgang stared blankly for a second, then actually laughed.

Werner walked to the table and picked up a folder.

"Jonas, these are your papers." He handed over the folder. "You’re a volunteer for the West German Church, heading to a conference at St. Matthew’s Church in West Berlin."

Jonas opened the folder. Inside was a pass, a letter of introduction from the Church, and a conference invitation.

"Nicely done," he said.

"Pastor Weber helped us out," Werner said. "Remember, if the guard asks you any questions, just say you’re from Munich and you work in youth education. Don’t say anything more."

"Got it."

"One more thing," Werner said, looking at him. "Don’t be nervous when you’re driving. Keep a normal speed, not too fast, not too slow. When you get to the checkpoint, hand over your papers and just wait. Do whatever the guards tell you to do. Don’t speak unless spoken to."

"Okay."

Werner turned to Wolfgang.

"As for you, once you’re in the compartment, don’t make a sound no matter what happens. Even if you hear someone knocking on the car, even if you hear people talking, don’t move. Understand?"

Wolfgang nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

"Understood."

"Then let’s get started."

Wolfgang climbed into the Isetta and curled up sideways into the compartment behind the seatback.

This time, his movements were practiced. He was hidden in less than a minute. Werner fastened the seatback, checked the seams, and confirmed that nothing looked out of the ordinary.

"Can you breathe?" he asked.

"Yes," came Wolfgang’s muffled voice from inside.

Jonas got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The Isetta’s engine was quiet, humming like a big bumblebee.

"Go," Werner said.

Jonas nodded, closed the front door, and drove out of the warehouse.

Werner stood at the entrance, watching the small car disappear at the end of the alley. Then he turned, locked the door, and got on his bicycle, heading toward the checkpoint by another route.

He had to watch with his own eyes.

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

「Friedrichstrasse border checkpoint, 6:15 p.m.」

This was one of the main checkpoints from East Berlin to West Berlin. Vehicle traffic was usually light, consisting mainly of Allied military vehicles and a few authorized East German officials.

The checkpoint was simple: just a crossing barrier, two guard posts, and a line of barbed wire and concrete walls.

A military truck was parked next to the barrier, with several stone-faced Border Guards sitting on top, holding submachine guns.

Werner was hiding behind a building across from the checkpoint, looking out a window.

At 6:20, the Isetta appeared.

The small, blue-and-white car looked particularly conspicuous in the setting sun, like a toy. It slowly approached the checkpoint and stopped before the barrier.

Jonas rolled down the window and handed his papers to the guard.

The guard was a young soldier in a gray-green uniform and a peaked cap. He took the papers, flipped them open, glanced at them, then looked up to size up Jonas.

"What’s your business in West Berlin?"

"Attending a Church conference," Jonas’s voice was calm. "St. Matthew’s Church, a youth education project."

The guard looked at the papers again, then turned and walked toward the guard post.

Werner’s heart leaped into his throat.

That guard was Peter Neumann. Matthias had specifically arranged his shift.

According to the plan, Peter was supposed to give the papers a quick check and let him through. But now he was walking into the guard post. ’Is he going to make a phone call to verify them?’

A minute passed.

Two minutes passed.

Peter still hadn’t come out.

Werner’s fingers tapped on the windowsill. Once, twice, three times.

In the third minute, the door to the guard post opened.

Peter came out, but he wasn’t just followed by Matthias Schmidt—there was another man with them.

He was a man in his forties with a square-jawed face and a sharp gaze, wearing a uniform with no rank insignia. His posture was ramrod straight, every step firm and steady.

Werner’s heart sank.

’An inspector.’

’An inspector sent down from above.’

He looked at Matthias. Matthias’s expression was a little stiff; his eyes darted toward the Isetta for a split second before quickly looking away. It was a subtle movement that would be unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know Matthias well.

But Werner saw it.

’Something’s gone wrong.’