I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 125: Chapter 35: Anna’s Warning

"Then why are we still working with him?"

"Because it’s not profitable for him to betray us right now," Weber said. "As long as we can provide him with a steady income, he’ll keep working with us. Vogel is a businessman; he knows how to weigh the costs and benefits."

Werner smiled. "You’re right. We’re all businessmen."

He picked up his hat and headed for the door.

"Werner," Weber called out to him. "Be careful. This business is getting bigger and bigger. It’s bound to attract attention sooner or later."

"I know," Werner said. "But for some things, if you don’t do them now, you lose your chance."

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

After leaving the church, Werner didn’t go straight back to his residence. Instead, he headed to the Black Market.

After Krupp’s fall, all the warehouses that had once belonged to the old man fell into his hands.

Werner had Franz act as his frontman to reorganize all the peddlers and middlemen. Now, for every transaction in East Berlin’s entire Black Market—from cigarettes to nylon stockings, from West German magazines to canned goods from the United States—he took a cut.

Franz was waiting for him in the warehouse.

The tall, skinny young man was now one of Werner’s most trusted subordinates, responsible for the daily operations of the Black Market.

"Boss, the shipment’s here." Franz pointed to several wooden crates in the corner. "It’s from Matthias’s side. All daily necessities from West Germany. Soap, coffee, and two boxes of nylon stockings."

Werner walked over, pried open a crate, and took a look.

Inside were dozens of neatly stacked bags of coffee, their packaging brand new.

"Matthias said he can get another batch," Franz said. "But he wants to raise his fee. The border is getting tighter, and the risk he’s taking is greater."

"Let him raise it," Werner said, closing the crate. "Tell him to keep the goods coming. We’ll have no trouble selling this stuff."

Franz nodded and took out a notebook. "Also, Joshua’s been pressing again. He said the last group we sent over all made it safely to West Berlin, and their families are very satisfied. He has twelve more people he needs to send now and wants to know when you can arrange it."

"Tell him to wait," Werner said. "I’ve found a new channel. It’s safer than the old method, but it’ll take time to prepare."

"A new channel?" Franz asked curiously.

"Don’t ask too many questions." Werner glanced at him. "You just need to know that the risk of sending people across will be much lower in the future."

Franz tactfully shut his mouth and flipped to another page in his notebook. "Right, there’s also news from Ivanov. He said his regiment is rotating out and might be transferred somewhere else. Before he leaves, he wants to get his hands on some West German goods. He asked if you could get him some West German watches."

Werner thought for a moment. "We can do that. The price will be the usual. Tell him that I don’t care where he’s transferred; as long as he’s still in East Germany, our business can continue."

"Understood." Franz jotted it down. "And about Anna—"

"What about Anna?" Werner immediately became alert.

"She came by yesterday, said she wanted to see you," Franz said. "She didn’t look right. Seemed like something urgent."

Werner frowned.

Anna had rarely contacted him of her own accord recently.

"Where is she?"

"She said she’s waiting for you at the usual place," Franz said.

Werner glanced at his watch. It was almost four in the afternoon.

He hesitated for a moment but decided to go see Anna after all.

The woman was dangerous, but she was also his most important informant inside the Stasi.

"I’ll go see her," Werner said. "You divide up these goods. Half for our regular clients, the other half for the downstream dealers in the Black Market."

"Got it," Franz replied.

Werner left the warehouse, cut through a few old streets, and arrived at the café.

The café was small, with only five or six tables. A few people sat inside, all talking in low voices.

Anna was sitting in a corner, a cup of long-cold coffee in front of her.

She wore an overcoat, her hair tied back carelessly. She looked much more haggard than the last time they’d met.

Werner walked over, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

"You’re here," Anna said, looking up.

"What happened?" Werner asked in a low voice.

Anna glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to them before saying, "Vonke is investigating you."

Werner’s heart tightened. "Investigating what?"

"All of your businesses," Anna said. "He recently got a report about an investigation into East Germans illegally crossing the border. The report indicates someone is organizing their escapes. He’s already got his eye on you."

"Does he have any proof?"

"Not yet." Anna shook her head. "But he’s looking into your finances, your connections, and everyone you’ve been in contact with. He’s also assigned people specifically to watch the places you frequent."

Werner was silent for a few seconds.

’Vonke’s no fool. He was bound to get suspicious sooner or later.’

’But the timing is bad. I just sealed the deal with Vogel and was about to go big. If I’m targeted now, all my future plans will go up in smoke.’

"How long can I stall?" Werner asked.

"I don’t know," Anna said. "But you’d better be prepared. Vonke is serious this time. He wants to use you to make a name for himself."

"Can you help me?"

Anna was quiet for a moment before finally nodding. "I’ll do my best to delay his investigation, but I can’t be too obvious about it, or he’ll get suspicious of me."

Werner looked at her. "Why help me?"

Anna smiled, a bitter one. "Because we’re in the same boat. If you go down, I won’t last much longer either."

Werner didn’t ask any more questions. He stood up to leave. "Thanks."

"Be careful," Anna said. "Don’t give Vonke anything to use against you."

Werner walked out of the café. It was already getting dark outside. The streetlights came on, casting a dim yellow glow on the snow. He pulled his overcoat tighter and walked toward his residence, his mind racing as he calculated his next move.

’Vonke has started investigating me. It was only a matter of time.’

’But Vogel’s appearance has given me a new opportunity. If I can package the business of smuggling people as a "legal procedure," then even if Vonke finds out, I’ll have a plausible explanation.’

Werner quickened his pace.

The streets grew emptier, until the only sound was his own footsteps crunching in the snow.

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

The second time Vogel came to the church, he brought three case files.

Werner sat in the reception room, looking through them one by one.

The files were thick, containing court verdicts, prison records, family applications, and some handwritten letters. The writing was crooked and messy, smudged in places by tears.

"These three are all political prisoners," Vogel said. "The first is Erich Mueller, forty-two years old. Sentenced to five years for distributing Western newspapers, has already served three. The second is Carl Braun, thirty-six. Sentenced to seven years for organizing illegal assemblies, has served four. The third is a woman, Gretchen Schmidt, twenty-eight. Sentenced to three years for attempting to cross the border, has just begun her sentence."

Werner closed the file. "Are their families in West Germany?"

"All of them," Vogel nodded. "And they’re all willing to pay. Mueller’s younger brother owns a factory in Hamburg and can offer twenty thousand West German Marks. Braun’s wife has remarried, but his ex-wife’s new husband is a doctor and is also willing to pay fifteen thousand. Schmidt’s parents are in Munich and can offer ten thousand."

Werner did the math. That was forty-five thousand West German Marks in total. At the current Black Market exchange rate, that was roughly equivalent to two hundred thousand East German Marks. This was a big deal.

"Do you think you can handle it?" Werner asked.

Vogel was silent for a moment, then shook his head. "It’s hard to say. All three cases are tricky, especially Braun’s. He was classified as a ’counter-revolutionary organizer,’ which is a very serious charge. The Ministry of Justice might not be willing to budge."

"So what’s your plan?"

"I’ll start with the easiest one," Vogel said. "Schmidt’s case is relatively simple. She only attempted to cross the border; she didn’t organize any activities or distribute pamphlets. I can frame it as a ’youthful impulse’ and then apply for a humanitarian exemption on the grounds of ’family reunification.’"

"How long will it take?"

"At least three months," Vogel said. "I have to visit her in prison first, then write the application report, submit it to the Ministry of Justice, wait for approval, and then go to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to handle the paperwork. Every step requires greasing some palms and takes time."

Werner frowned. "Three months is too long. If every person takes this long, our business won’t be profitable."

"Then what do you have in mind?" Vogel asked.

Werner stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the street below. The snow was still falling, and the street was nearly empty.

He thought for a long time.

’He had been observing, waiting for the right moment, and hadn’t rashly proposed this idea.’

’Now, it seemed, the time was ripe.’

’Or rather, he had to take the initiative and push things forward.’

’Even if it meant accelerating the course of history, it didn’t matter. After all, only by opening up official channels could this business truly grow and thrive.’

’Relying on illegal border crossings, or spending months, even years, fighting legal battles for each political prisoner... that was ultimately just small-time stuff.’

Werner turned around. "We need to change our approach."