I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 140: Chapter 50: Precise Hunt

Werner, however, wasn’t panicking.

He had never been the type to put all his eggs in one basket.

Von Brown thought he had a handle on all of Werner’s money-making channels. But in reality, Werner had several other avenues the Stasi knew nothing about. There was the network of defectors to West Germany he reached through Martin, the trade in political prisoners he ran with Lawyer Vogel and Hopter from the Ministry of Justice, and... the internal intelligence network within the Stasi that Anna had helped him build.

As long as these three trump cards weren’t exposed, he still had room to maneuver.

The tram arrived at the station, and Werner got off. The man in the gray trench coat also got off, continuing to maintain a distance of twenty meters.

Werner turned into a small alley, crossed a few courtyards, and stopped in front of a state-run food store.

The shop window displayed a few empty tin cans and a faded "Socialism is Good" propaganda poster. From inside came the low murmurs of complaining customers in line.

He pushed the door open and got in line at the bread counter.

The man in the gray trench coat followed him in and stood by the sauerkraut counter, pretending to browse.

Werner bought a loaf of black bread and a small block of butter, then walked out of the store.

He didn’t go home. Instead, he walked in the opposite direction, making a series of twists and turns before finally slipping into a small tavern.

The tavern was thick with smoke. A few men who looked like laborers sat in a corner, drinking cheap beer and talking in low voices. Werner ordered a glass of vodka and sat at the bar, his back to the door.

Ten minutes later, the man in the gray trench coat came in as well. He glanced around from the doorway, then sat down at a window seat and ordered a beer.

Werner finished his vodka, got up, and headed for the restroom.

The restroom was at the back of the tavern and had a small window opening into a backyard. He pushed the window open, climbed out, and landed amidst a pile of trash cans.

The stench was overwhelming, but he couldn’t be bothered with it. He quickly crossed the backyard and left via another street.

By the time the man in the gray trench coat realized he was gone and ran to the backyard, Werner had already boarded another tram and vanished into the night.

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

Back at his secret office, Werner took out the list Von Brown had given him and began to study it carefully.

Frank Master, Hans Mueller, Carl Schaefer, Hannas Schmidt, David Adler.

These five men were all his competitors, but none of them were pushovers. If he really followed Von Brown’s orders to surveil them, not only would he arouse their suspicion, but he could also land himself in deeper trouble.

But if he refused to cooperate at all, Von Brown would definitely become suspicious of him.

He needed to find a balance—making Von Brown feel that he was cooperating, without actually ruining them completely.

Werner lit a cigarette and thought for a long time. Finally, he picked up a pen and circled two names on the list: Hans Mueller and David Adler.

One of them, Mueller, was a rival of Ivanov’s. The other, Adler, was of Jewish descent and wasn’t well-regarded in East Germany to begin with. Even if the Stasi targeted them, it wouldn’t affect Werner’s core interests.

As for Fritz, Carl, and Hannas, he could leak some trivial information to make Von Brown think he was making an effort, but not enough for the Stasi to get any real dirt on them.

This way, he could complete Von Brown’s mission without completely alienating his black market peers, and he could also get rid of two thorns in his side.

Killing three birds with one stone.

A cold smile touched the corners of Werner’s mouth.

Von Brown thought he was using him, but in reality, Werner was using Von Brown.

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

Werner spent three days digging up everything he could on Hans Mueller.

The old fox had been in the black market for over a decade, selling military supplies since the time of the Soviet Occupation Zone.

He had a group of fiercely loyal underlings and strongholds in several districts of East Berlin.

Most importantly, he was close with some low- and mid-ranking officers in the Soviet Army and could get his hands on all sorts of military supplies—from canned goods and wool blankets to toolboxes, and even, occasionally, guns and ammunition.

A guy like him was very successful on the black market because military goods were high-quality and durable, and ordinary people loved to buy them.

A Soviet Army wool blanket could sell for fifty Marks, three times the price of a similar item in an East German state store, but they were still in short supply.

Werner didn’t get involved personally. Instead, he sent Moritz to gather information. Moritz had originally been one of Krupp’s men. After Krupp’s fall, Werner recruited him, and he had since become his right-hand man.

The bald man in his thirties was sharp as a tack, well-connected in the black market, and a natural at digging up information.

Two days later, Moritz returned with a crucial piece of intelligence.

"Boss, Hans Mueller is making a big move," Moritz said in a hushed voice. The two were sitting in the corner of a small diner, surrounded by workers eating after their shifts. The noisy chatter provided perfect cover for their conversation. "He got a batch of military-grade diesel generators through a captain in the Soviet Army stationed in Karlskroost."

"Diesel generators?" Werner raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, old stuff the Soviet Army was getting rid of, but they still work." Moritz pulled a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket, which had a simple sketch on it. "These generators are powerful, and factories and construction sites in East Germany are desperate for them. Hans Mueller is planning to sell them to some purchasing agents from state-owned enterprises. He can make two thousand Marks per unit."

Werner took the slip of paper and examined it closely.

Diesel generators were military equipment. According to East German law, the private sale of military supplies was punishable by up to ten years in prison. Hans Mueller was playing with fire this time.

"Where’s the shipment now?" Werner asked.

"Hidden in an abandoned factory in the Treptow District," Moritz said. "Hans Mueller hired a couple of his guys to guard it. He’s planning to ship them out in batches in a few days."

Werner nodded. A plan was already forming in his mind.

He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. "Keep an eye on that factory. Log everyone who goes in and out. Also, find out who Hans Mueller has been in contact with recently. The more detail, the better."

"Understood." Moritz stood up as well. He was about to leave, but then turned back. "Boss, are we going to make a move?"

"No," Werner shook his head, a cold smile touching his lips. "We just need to get the information to the right people."

After Moritz left, Werner thought for a moment, then picked up the phone and dialed a number.

The phone rang five times before a slightly hoarse male voice answered, "Hello?"

"Erich, it’s me, Werner Betelich."

There was a pause on the other end, and then the voice became more polite. "Mr. Betelich, what can I do for you?"

"Remember what you said last time? That if I needed help, you’d consider it." Werner’s tone was calm. "Well, I need your professional skills now."

Erich was silent for a few seconds. "Photography?"

"Yes," Werner said succinctly. "Something needs to be documented, but it’s not convenient for me to go myself. The job has some risk, but I think you’ll be interested."

"What is it?" Erich’s voice held a note of caution, but also a hint of curiosity.

"Evidence of someone trafficking military supplies," Werner lowered his voice. "Someone is privately selling off Soviet Army equipment, and a significant amount of it. If this kind of thing is allowed to continue, it will cause big problems sooner or later."

Another silence on the other end of the line.

"You want to report them?" Erich asked.