I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 123: Chapter 33: The Man Who Discovered the Historical Tailwind

"A coincidence," said Matthias. "Pure coincidence. He goes to West Berlin once a week, has a bad temper, and hates waiting more than anything. The inspector didn’t want any trouble, so he let him pass."

Werner nodded.

"You might not be so lucky next time," Matthias said. "The inspector was just doing a random spot check today. If he’d gotten serious, ordered the car into the inspection shed, and scanned it with an X-ray machine, it would’ve been all over."

"So we can’t try again for at least a month," Werner said.

"A month isn’t enough," Matthias said. "Two would be better. And you can’t always use my checkpoint. You have to switch it up."

"Understood."

Matthias finished his cigarette, stood up, and put on his coat.

"One more thing." He walked to the door and turned back. "Don’t keep using the Church credentials. The Stasi aren’t stupid; they’ll get suspicious if you use them too much. Next time, use a different identity—a businessman, a journalist, anything. Just don’t use the Church again."

"I’ll be careful."

Matthias nodded, then pushed open the door and left.

Werner sat alone in the warehouse, listening to the night wind outside.

’The first attempt was a success, but it also exposed some problems.’

’The inspections are too strict. The inspector could show up at any moment. Relying on Matthias alone to turn a blind eye isn’t enough; I still have to depend on luck.’

’The Church credentials are useful, but I can’t use them too often. And while the hidden compartment in the car fooled the probes, there’d be no way out if they decided to actually dismantle the seats.’

’I have to keep refining the plan.’

’But at least I’ve taken the first step.’

Werner stood up and walked to the window.

In the distance, the Berlin Wall stood silent in the night, a black scar splitting the city in two.

On the other side of the Wall, Wolfgang was reuniting with his parents.

On this side, more than twenty people were still waiting.

Werner stubbed out his cigarette.

’One month, or two.’

’Wait for the heat to die down, then continue.’

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

「A few months later.」

The truck stopped in front of the checkpoint.

Werner sat in the passenger seat, his fingers tapping a rhythm on his knee. The old truck driver in the driver’s seat was named Herman, a new recruit he had hired recently specifically for this route.

"Relax," Werner said. "Just like a regular delivery."

Herman swallowed, his palms sweating as he gripped the steering wheel.

He knew what was hidden in the cargo hold—two political prisoners, curled up in a modified compartment so narrow they could barely turn over.

Werner had made improvements this time.

Before, he had hidden people in an Isetta, but that method had a fatal flaw: the Isetta was too small. It could only hide one person at a time, which was too inefficient.

Worse, the border guards rarely saw such a small car crossing the checkpoint. It was too conspicuous, and the soldiers would easily remember it.

If he were to transport people multiple times, driving the Isetta across the border every time, he would be targeted after just a few trips. ’Why is it this clunker again? Why has this driver been heading to the border so often lately?’

So now, Werner used a truck instead.

He had someone help him modify the side panels of the cargo hold into a double-layered structure. From the outside, it looked no different from an ordinary truck, but people could be hidden inside. The gap was only thirty centimeters wide, but it was enough for an adult to squeeze in sideways.

Trucks were the most common vehicles at the border checkpoint. Dozens of them, hauling supplies, came and went every day, so they didn’t attract any attention at all. Plus, he could hide two or three people at a time, making it much more efficient.

Matthias came out of the guard booth, holding travel documents.

He glanced at Werner, walked expressionlessly to the back of the truck, and patted the side panel.

"What are you hauling?"

"Textiles," Werner said, handing him a manifest. "They’re going to a factory in West Berlin."

Matthias took the manifest, glanced at it casually, then looked up and sized up the cargo hold. Werner could feel Herman holding his breath.

"Alright, go on," Matthias said, handing the manifest back to him and waving him through.

The barrier rose. Herman put the truck in gear, and it slowly drove past the checkpoint. Werner didn’t let out a sigh of relief until the guard booth was out of sight.

This was already the fifth time this month.

He had already sent half of Joshua’s twenty-plus people across. Every time had been smooth, but Werner knew this method wasn’t a long-term solution. While Matthias turned a blind eye, the other border guards might not be so accommodating. If one day they were replaced by someone who took their job seriously, or if a surprise inspection came from above, the whole operation would be exposed.

He needed to find a safer, more respectable way.

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

The air in the church was cold.

Werner sat on a pew, his fingers tracing the brim of the hat on his lap.

The service had just ended. A few old women were still kneeling in the front pews, praying, as candlelight cast mottled shadows on the stained glass.

Pastor Weber entered through a side door, followed by a middle-aged man in a dark gray overcoat.

"Werner, this is Lawyer Vogel," Weber said in a low voice, his eyes scanning the entrance. "Let’s talk in the reception room."

Vogel wasn’t tall. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, and his hair was combed meticulously.

He extended a hand. His handshake was neither too firm nor too light—perfectly measured.

Werner noticed his briefcase was from West Germany. The leather was new, but the corners were deliberately scuffed to look old, as if it were done on purpose.

The reception room was even smaller, with just one table and four chairs.

Weber closed the door and drew the curtains.

After sitting down, Vogel didn’t speak right away. Instead, he slowly took a notebook and a fountain pen from his briefcase, as if observing Werner’s reaction.

"I hear from Weber that you’re in the Black Market business," he finally said. His voice was quiet, but every word was clear. "And you’re doing quite well. Also, you’re in charge of the Church’s charity channels?"

Werner didn’t answer, just watched him.

"I also heard you want to send supplies out through humanitarian channels," Vogel said, pushing up his glasses. "I’m very interested in that."

"Interested in what?" Werner asked, leaning back in his chair and lighting a cigarette.

"Interested in whether we can cooperate," Vogel said, looking him straight in the eye. "You have the channels, and I have the connections. We could do some bigger business together."

"What kind of business?"

"Getting people out," Vogel said bluntly. "Political prisoners, dissidents, anyone who wants to leave East Germany."

Werner took a drag from his cigarette and said nothing.

"Stop pretending, Mr. Betelich," Vogel said with a small smile. "I know what you’re doing."

Werner flicked his ash. "Did Weber tell you?"

"It wasn’t me," Weber said, quickly waving his hands. "Lawyer Vogel figured it out himself."

"Figured it out?" Werner looked at Vogel.

"Not entirely," Vogel said. "Recently, the families of several political prisoners suddenly lost contact with them. Upon further inquiry, it turned out the prisoners were already in West Berlin. That sort of thing might have been possible before the Berlin Wall was built, but now? Impossible without help. I did some checking. You have the most power on the Black Market. Even if it wasn’t you, you couldn’t be completely unaware."

Werner stared at him. "So you came here to threaten me?"

"Threaten you?" Vogel shook his head. "If I wanted to threaten you, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking about cooperation. I came to you because I believe we can do this better, safer, and more profitably."

"How?"

"By making it legal." Vogel pulled a document from his briefcase and slid it across the table. "Take a look at this."

It was a legal document stamped with a red official seal. At the top, it read "Special Exit Permit."

Werner glanced at it. The document had the letterhead of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and there were several signatures at the bottom.

"This is an exit permit I secured for a political prisoner," Vogel said. "It took three months. I had to go through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Justice, and the Prison Administration Office. It cost forty thousand East German Marks."