I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 131: Chapter 41: From Crack to Sunlight

The first order of business was to screen the list. Having been in the business of dealing with political prisoners for so long, he had already compiled detailed files. He spread the documents on the table and examined them one by one.

"Hans Miller, thirty-two, engineer. Crime: illegally listening to the RIAS Radio Station. Sentence: two years. Time served: ten months."

"Greta Schulz, twenty-eight, teacher. Crime: spreading reactionary remarks in the classroom. Sentence: one and a half years. Time served: eight months."

"Peter Claus, forty, journalist. Crime: writing articles critical of the government. Sentence: three years. Time served: one year."

As he read, he took notes on a piece of paper.

The lighter the crime, the better. The shorter the sentence, the better. Anyone who had organized riots or served as a spy was immediately eliminated.

In the end, he selected five people. They all had the most minor offenses, and all had relatives in West Germany willing to pay.

The second order of business was finding houses.

Werner summoned Keller.

"Go find a few houses in the Prenzlauer Berg District," Werner said. "They need to be in a remote area. Detached houses are best, with a courtyard and no close neighbors."

"How many should I find?" Keller asked.

"Find three for now," Werner said. "Each should be able to house two to three people. Don’t get anything too run-down, but not too nice either. They should look like the residences of ordinary workers."

"Rent or buy?"

"Rent," Werner said. "Sign a six-month lease under a fake name. As for the landlords, you go handle them. Make sure they don’t ask too many questions."

"Understood." Keller nodded.

"Once you’ve found the houses, they’ll need some modifications," Werner continued. "Install heavy curtains on the windows, replace the doors with sturdier ones—preferably with a deadbolt. The courtyard walls need to be raised so no one can see in."

"Are we imprisoning people?" Keller asked, a little confused.

"Not imprisoning, protecting," Werner said. "The people staying there have special circumstances. Outsiders can’t know about them. Get some trustworthy men to stand guard in shifts. I want them watched around the clock, no gaps."

"Got it." Keller nodded. "Anything else?"

"The food needs to be good," Werner stressed. "Meat, butter, coffee—all the necessities. I want the people in West Germany to see that their relatives are eating well and living well with me."

After Keller left, Werner summoned Franz.

"I need you to do something for me," he said.

"What is it?" Franz asked.

"Go find Eva and buy some Western daily necessities," Werner said. "Soap, toothpaste, toilet paper, as well as canned goods, chocolate, and coffee. Buy a lot, enough for at least ten people for a month."

"Ten people?" Franz was surprised.

"That’s right," Werner said. "Just do as I say. I’ll give you the money."

Franz nodded and didn’t ask any more questions.

For the next few days, Werner was swamped.

Keller found three suitable houses, all on the outskirts of the Prenzlauer Berg District.

The houses were all two-story buildings with small courtyards and distant neighbors. The landlords were all simple, honest workers who didn’t ask questions once they were paid.

Werner personally inspected each house.

He had the curtains replaced with heavy, dark fabric and the locks changed. He also had barbed wire added to the top of the courtyard walls. Each house was furnished simply with beds, tables, chairs, wardrobes, as well as a stove and kitchen utensils.

Franz returned from the foreign trade shop with a large quantity of Western daily necessities, filling three large boxes.

Werner distributed these items among the three houses, ensuring each room was stocked.

He also arranged for guards.

Two men were assigned to each house, working in three shifts to provide twenty-four-hour coverage.

The guards were his most trusted men, and they were paid double their usual wages.

Once everything was ready, Werner gave the list of five names to Vogel to pass on to Hopter.

A few days later, the release orders came through.

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

「Hohenstein Prison, on the outskirts of Berlin.」

Peter Claus sat on the wooden plank of his cell bed, staring blankly at a crack in the wall.

He had been watching that crack for over a year, seeing it slowly widen from a fine line to its current state.

He was alone in the cell.

It was cramped, damp, and cold. A wooden bed, a toilet, and a small window that let in a sliver of faint light.

He had already lost track of the date.

Time had lost all meaning here. Every day was the same: wake up at six, drink a watery gruel, then work in the factory workshop, return in the evening for another bowl of gruel, and sleep.

Day after day.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

Peter looked up.

The footsteps stopped at his cell door, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock.

The door opened.

A uniformed prison guard stood in the doorway, holding a document.

"Peter Claus?"

"That’s me," Peter’s voice was hoarse.

"Pack your things," the guard said. "You’re being released."

Peter froze. "What?"

"You’re being released," the guard repeated, his tone flat. "Amnesty order, approved by the Ministry of Justice. You have ten minutes to collect your personal belongings at reception, then leave."

Peter’s mind went blank.

He stared at the guard, wondering if he had misheard.

"Released? I... I still have two years left on my sentence..."

"I don’t know," the guard cut him off. "I’m just here to inform you. Hurry up and pack, don’t waste time."

The guard turned and left, leaving Peter sitting on the bed, completely stunned.

’Release? Amnesty? Is this real?’

His hands were trembling.

He stood up and looked around the cell he had lived in for over a year. There was nothing to pack. His only possessions were the prison uniform on his back and a photograph of his wife hidden under the bed plank.

He picked up the photograph, tucked it carefully into his pocket, and walked out of the cell.

The corridor echoed with footsteps and the clang of iron doors.

A few guards stood by, watching him with indifference.

Peter kept his head down and followed the directions to the reception area.

An employee at reception handed him a paper bag. "Your things. And this, your release certificate. Hold on to it, don’t lose it."

Peter opened the paper bag. Inside were the clothes he was wearing when he was arrested: an old shirt, a pair of patched trousers, and a pair of leather shoes with worn-out soles. He changed in a small booth. The clothes no longer fit; he had lost too much weight.

Holding the release certificate, he walked to the prison’s main gate.

The heavy iron gate opened slowly, and the sunlight outside made him squint.

He stood at the entrance, unsure of where to go.

He hadn’t seen the outside world in over a year.

"Peter Claus?"

A voice came from the side.

Peter turned his head and saw a young man in his early twenties standing there.

He was wearing a neat gray overcoat, holding a cigarette, and looking at him.

"You are...?" Peter asked warily.

"My name is Werner Betelich." The young man came over and extended a hand. "Your wife asked me to come pick you up."

"My wife?" Peter’s voice trembled. "Liesel? She... where is she?"

"In West Berlin," Werner said. "She’s been trying to get you out this whole time. Now that you’re free, I’ll arrange for you to see her."

Tears suddenly welled up in Peter’s eyes.

He gripped Werner’s hand tightly, his whole body shaking.

"I... I can really see her?"

"Yes," Werner said. "But it will take a little time. For now, come with me. I’ve arranged a place for you to stay."

"A place to stay?"

"That’s right." Werner released his hand and gestured to a black sedan parked by the road. "You just got out of prison. You need to rest for a few days and recover your strength. Once the exit permit comes through, I’ll send you to West Berlin."

"Exit permit?" Peter was confused. "What permit?"

"Let’s talk in the car." Werner pulled open the car door. "This isn’t the place to talk."

Peter hesitated, but ultimately got into the car.

He was simply too weak, and his mind was too foggy to think. He could only follow this stranger.

The car started and drove away from the prison.

Peter sat in the back seat, watching the streets outside.

Everything was so strange yet familiar. East Berlin was just as he remembered: gray buildings, empty streets, and the occasional pedestrian hurrying by.

"Your wife gave me a sum of money," Werner began, his voice steady. "To get you out of prison and then send you to West Berlin."

"Liesel... How could she have money?" Peter murmured. "We’ve always been poor..."

"She found a job in West Berlin and saved for a long time," Werner said. "She also contacted some charitable organizations and raised part of the money."

Tears streamed down Peter’s face again.

He covered his face, his shoulders trembling.

More than a year of suppression and fear all erupted at this moment.

Werner didn’t say anything, just kept driving.

These people had been in prison for too long. Their emotions were always unstable upon their sudden release.

After driving for more than twenty minutes, the car finally stopped in a quiet alley in the Prenzlauer Berg District.

"We’re here," Werner said.