I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 142: Chapter 52: Hard Goods and a Soft Knife

Normannen Street. The same office, the same potted pothos.

Von Brown took the manila envelope from Werner, opened it, and carefully looked through the materials inside.

His expression was focused, his pale blue eyes scanning every page. He would occasionally pause to tap a finger on a detail in one of the photographs.

The whole process took ten minutes.

The office was silent, filled only with the rustling of paper.

Werner sat in his chair, relaxed, a cigarette held between his fingers, waiting patiently.

Finally, Von Brown looked up, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Comrade Betelich, you’ve done well." He placed the report back on the desk and leaned back in his chair. "This intelligence is extremely valuable. We’ve had our eye on this Hans Mueller for a long time but could never find concrete evidence. You’ve been a great help."

"I serve the people," Werner said flatly.

Von Brown laughed, a pleased sound. "You know, many people report intelligence to me, but most of it is trivial stuff—who bought West German cigarettes on the Black Market, who was listening to Western radio stations. That stuff is useless. An arrest only leads to a few days in jail, just enough to scare them a little."

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked out with his hands behind his back. "But you’re different. The intelligence you bring me is always solid, the real deal. It shows you’re smart. You know what the Stasi truly needs."

Werner didn’t respond, just listened quietly.

"Hans Mueller has been illegally selling military supplies. That is a serious crime." Von Brown turned around, his gaze sharp. "According to Article 37 of the National Defense Act, that’s punishable by five to ten years in prison. If firearms and ammunition are involved, the maximum sentence is death."

He walked back to his desk, picked up the phone, and dialed an internal line. "This is Von Brown. Dispatch an action team to the Treptow District immediately. The target is Hans Mueller. The charge is illegal sale of military supplies. Yes, move now. Don’t tip him off."

After hanging up, Von Brown sat down again, took an envelope from his drawer, and pushed it across the desk to Werner.

"This is this month’s operational fund. One thousand Marks," he said. "That’s five hundred more than last time. You’ve earned it. From now on, if you bring intelligence of this caliber, this will be the price every time."

Werner took the envelope, weighed it in his hand, and then slipped it into his pocket. "Thank you, Comrade Von Brown."

"By the way," Von Brown said suddenly, "after Hans Mueller falls, his crew will surely scatter. Are you interested in taking over his business?"

Werner’s interest was piqued, but his face remained impassive. "I’m just a small-time operator. I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of ability."

"Don’t be modest." Von Brown smiled. "The Black Market needs order. It needs someone to manage it. Rather than letting those people run wild and do as they please, it’s better to have a reliable person coordinate everything. Don’t you agree?"

Werner was silent for a few seconds, then nodded. "I understand what you mean. If the opportunity arises, I will do my best to maintain stability on the Black Market."

"Excellent." Von Brown stood and extended his hand. "A pleasure doing business with you, Comrade Betelich. I’m sure we’ll have many more opportunities to cooperate in the future."

Werner also stood and shook his hand. "A pleasure."

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

Two days later, news of Hans Mueller’s arrest spread throughout the East Berlin Black Market.

Rumor had it the Stasi dispatched an entire action team to raid an abandoned factory in the Treptow District. They arrested Hans Mueller and two of his subordinates on the spot, confiscating twelve Soviet Army diesel generators, along with a large batch of military tools and spare parts.

Hans Mueller was sent directly to Horner Schonehausen Prison, and it was said he wasn’t even allowed to see a lawyer.

When his men heard the news, they scattered in fear, terrified they would be implicated as well.

As soon as Werner got the news, he moved into action.

He sent Keller to contact the members of Hans Mueller’s crew who hadn’t been arrested. The message was simple: anyone willing to work for him would have their past forgiven, and the pay would be better than what they got from Hans Mueller.

The effect was immediate.

Hans Mueller’s crew had always been a motley bunch, following him only for the money. Now that their boss was in prison, his fate uncertain, who was going to talk about loyalty?

Within three days, five members of Hans Mueller’s original crew had defected to Werner. Among them was an East German employee who worked as a translator at the Karschost Soviet Military Base.

His name was Kurt. He was in his thirties, tall and thin, with sharp, clever eyes. He had worked at the Soviet military base for seven years, knew many low- and mid-ranking officers, and was a key figure in Hans Mueller’s military supply smuggling network.

Werner met Kurt in a tavern.

"Boss Betelich." Kurt sat down and studied Werner cautiously. "I heard you wanted to see me?"

"I hear you’re a translator at the Soviet military base?" Werner cut straight to the chase.

"Yes, for seven years now." Kurt nodded. "I’m mainly responsible for helping Soviet officers deal with local East German authorities and handle some administrative procedures."

"What was your role in Hans Mueller’s operation?"

Kurt hesitated, then lowered his voice. "I helped him contact the Soviet Army’s supply and logistics departments to see what decommissioned materials could be sold. Sometimes it was surplus canned food, other times old clothes, blankets, and tools. Occasionally, there were bigger items, like the generators this time."

"What was your cut?"

"Ten percent of every deal," Kurt said. "Boss Hans was pretty fair, but now..."

He trailed off, but the meaning was clear: with Hans Mueller gone, his source of income was gone too.

Werner lit a cigarette and took a slow drag. "I can give you fifteen percent, but on one condition."

Kurt’s eyes lit up. "What condition?"

"From now on, all deals must be approved by me," Werner said. "No more high-profile jobs like the generators—it’s too risky. We’ll stick to small items. High volume, low risk. A steady stream is better in the long run."

Kurt thought for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, no problem."

"Good." Werner flicked his ash. "Then from now on, you work for me. In a few days, I’ll give you a settling-in fee of five hundred Marks, as a welcoming gift."

Kurt stood up excitedly and extended his hand. "Thank you, Boss Betelich! I’ll work hard for you!"

Werner shook his hand, then gestured for him to leave.

After Kurt left, Keller came over from a nearby booth and sat down across from Werner.

"Boss, there are still three guys from Hans Mueller’s crew who haven’t responded," Keller said. "Want me to go lean on them a bit?"

"No need." Werner shook his head. "If they don’t want to join, let them go. You can’t force it. Keeping them around would just be trouble."

"Understood."

Werner used this opportunity to absorb some of Hans Mueller’s high-quality clients and channels, further expanding his share of the Black Market.

More importantly, these new men had arrived at the perfect time.

Not long ago, Ivanov had told Werner that he was being transferred to a Soviet base in Poland and would be leaving East Berlin within two months. Although Ivanov promised to introduce Werner to his replacement, that would take time, and the new officer might not be as easy to deal with as Ivanov.

Now, with Kurt as a connection, even after Ivanov left, Werner’s channel to the Soviet Army wouldn’t be cut off.

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

Over the next week, Werner turned his attention to the second target on his list: David Adler.

This Jewish middleman was a cautious man. He never handled the goods himself, only acting as a go-between. He had relatives in West Berlin, which gave him access to sources there, and he would connect them with buyers in East Berlin, earning a commission in the process.

David was smart. He never touched contraband, sticking to business in the gray areas—like helping people buy books, records, and cosmetics from West Berlin. While not entirely legal, these items weren’t likely to land him a heavy sentence.

But Werner had uncovered a key piece of information: David was currently helping the wife of an East German official purchase jewelry from West Berlin.

The official’s name was Helmut Schwartz, a deputy director in the Ministry of Transport, responsible for overseeing the operations and scheduling of the East Berlin railway system. His wife was a vain woman, constantly obsessed with outshining the other officials’ wives with her clothes and accessories.

This was an opening he could exploit.