I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 145: Chapter 55: First Meeting at the Port

"Mm."

"You want to get into the port business?" Carl lifted his eyelids. "Kid, the port is deep water. It’s not for just anyone to wade into."

Werner put down his glass, pulled a pack of West German Camel cigarettes from his pocket, and pushed it across the table.

Carl glanced at it, a slight smile touching his lips. "The boss of the Berlin Black Market. Interesting."

"I hear business hasn’t been great for you lately, Captain," Werner said, lighting a cigarette. "The land borders are tight, and that’s put the squeeze on the port as well."

Carl’s smile vanished. He stared at Werner, his gaze turning dangerous. "What are you trying to say?"

"I have suppliers, funds, and channels," Werner said, exhaling a puff of smoke. "You, Captain, have the port, the ships, and the warehouses. We can work together."

"Work together?" Carl sneered. "I’ve been in this port for thirty years. I’ve seen countless young men who wanted to do business. They all said they had suppliers and channels. And the result? They either got caught or double-crossed."

"I’m not like them."

"How are you different?"

Werner didn’t answer directly. Instead, he took a document from his briefcase and pushed it in front of Carl.

Carl frowned, took it, and flipped through it. His expression changed.

It was a shipping schedule for Rostock Port, detailing the arrival and departure times of cargo ships for the next month, along with a list of the customs officers responsible for inspections.

Most importantly, red dots were marked next to the names of several officers.

"What’s this mean?" Carl lowered his voice.

"The ones marked with red dots are officers who can be... ’persuaded.’" Werner flicked his ash. "I have someone in the Stasi."

He had asked Anna to get this list for him earlier.

Carl fell silent.

He re-evaluated the young man before him—in his early twenties, with a steady gaze, and a calm, deliberate way of speaking. Most importantly, he could produce a list like this.

In East Germany, information was power, and power was business.

"The Stasi?" Carl’s voice was probing. "Are you an informant?"

"No, I’m a partner," Werner corrected. "They need intelligence, and I need protection. We each get what we need."

Carl nodded. He understood the logic. If you were in the Black Market in East Germany without an official umbrella of protection, it was only a matter of time before something went wrong.

"What kind of cargo are you looking to move?" Carl handed the document back to Werner.

"First shipment, West German coffee and cigarettes," Werner said, stubbing out his cigarette. "I have a supplier in West Berlin. We can ship it by sea from Hamburg, transfer through Denmark, and on to Rostock. Once the goods arrive, you’ll be responsible for unloading and warehousing. I’ll handle distribution. We split the profits fifty-fifty."

"Fifty-fifty?" Carl raised an eyebrow. "Kid, the risks at the port are much greater than on land. Customs, port police, the Stasi... if any one of them causes a problem, the whole shipment goes down the drain."

"Which is why I brought this." Werner took a stack of East German Marks from his briefcase and placed it on the table. "Fifty thousand Marks, as a show of good faith. If there’s a problem with the first shipment, the money is yours."

Carl stared at the stack of bills, his eyes glinting.

Fifty thousand Marks was no small sum. It was enough to buy a new Volga sedan.

But he didn’t agree immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. "You run the Black Market in Berlin. Why come to Rostock?"

"Because the ceiling in Berlin is too low," Werner said. "After the Berlin Wall went up, land-based smuggling became more and more difficult, but the demand is still there. The port is the only way through."

"And you’re not afraid I’ll double-cross you?"

"You won’t," Werner smiled. "You’ve been in this port for thirty years. If you were the type to double-cross people, you’d have done it long ago. The fact that you’re still here means you understand the rules. Besides..."

He paused, then lowered his voice. "You’re on a Stasi surveillance list, Captain."

Carl’s hand froze in mid-air, his gaze suddenly sharp. "What do you mean?"

"I have a superior in the Stasi named Von Brown," Werner said. "He gave me a Black Market surveillance list to investigate. Your name is on it."

Carl’s face darkened.

"But I haven’t made a move against you," Werner continued. "Because I figured, rather than eliminating you, it would be better to work with you. You have port resources, I have Stasi connections. We can protect each other."

Carl stared at Werner, silent for a long time.

The noise of the tavern seemed to fade away, leaving only the static from a radio in the corner.

Finally, Carl suddenly burst out laughing, his laughter echoing through the tavern.

"Interesting. Goddamn interesting!" He slapped the table. "Kid, I like your honesty. You don’t hide things. You’re much better than those bastards full of lies."

"So?"

"So, I’m in!" Carl extended his hand. "But on one condition."

"What’s the condition?"

"The first shipment has to be successful." Carl’s gaze turned serious. "If anything goes wrong with it, whether it gets seized or double-crossed, our partnership ends immediately. I won’t risk working with someone who has bad luck."

Werner shook his hand. "Deal."

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

「A week later」, the first shipment arrived at the port.

At two in the morning, at Pier 7 of Rostock Port, a cargo ship flying the Danish flag slowly pulled alongside the dock.

Werner and Carl stood in the shadows of a warehouse, watching the busy workers on the pier.

The sea breeze blew in, carrying the salt tang of the water and the pungent smell of diesel fuel. A distant lighthouse flickered in the darkness, and the waves of the Baltic Sea crashed against the shore with a low roar.

"That ship," Carl pointed. "The ’Andersen’ from Denmark. The captain is an old friend of mine. He’s been running the Baltic Sea route for twenty years. He’s reliable."

Werner nodded.

He saw several workers in port uniforms board the ship and begin unloading. On the surface, they were unloading timber. Thick pine logs were lifted out of the hold and stacked on the pier.

But Werner knew the real cargo was hidden beneath the timber—fifty crates of West German coffee, thirty crates of cigarettes, and twenty crates of French perfume.

"Is customs taken care of?" Werner asked.

"Taken care of," Carl said, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Mueller is on duty—the one with the red dot on your list. I gave him a few cartons of West German cigarettes, and he’s turning a blind eye. It’s the old routine. He only looks at the surface cargo, doesn’t check deep in the hold."

The unloading continued for an hour.

The workers piled the timber on the pier. A few men in customs uniforms walked over, shone their flashlights around, jotted down a few notes, and then waved them through.

Once the customs men were a safe distance away, Carl let out a whistle.

Several workers immediately sprang into action, pulling out the crates from under the timber and loading them onto two trucks. The roar of the truck engines sounded particularly piercing in the night, but no one paid it any mind—trucks came and went from Rostock Port every night. It was normal.

The trucks drove into the warehouse district and stopped in front of a derelict fish processing plant.

"This is my warehouse," Carl said, opening the large doors. "Before the war, it was used for processing herring. It was abandoned afterward. I spent a little money to rent it for storing goods. Customs has inspected it twice, but they’ve never found a thing."

The warehouse was filled with the lingering smell of old fish. Rusted processing equipment was piled in the corners, and a broken conveyor belt hung from the ceiling. The workers unloaded the crates and pried them open for inspection.

Werner picked up a bag of West German coffee, tore open the packaging, and took a deep breath. The rich aroma of coffee filled his nostrils, completely overpowering the fishy smell of the warehouse.

"The goods are fine," he said to Carl.

Carl nodded and pulled a small notebook from his pocket. He flipped it open and read from it, "Fifty crates of coffee, twenty bags per crate, one thousand bags. Thirty crates of cigarettes, fifty cartons per crate, one thousand five hundred cartons. Twenty crates of perfume, thirty bottles per crate, six hundred bottles."

"What’s the Black Market price?" Werner asked.

"Fifteen Marks per bag of coffee, twelve Marks per carton of cigarettes, and fifty Marks per bottle of perfume," Carl calculated quickly. "At retail prices, the total value is forty-eight thousand Marks. But we’re not selling retail. We’ll wholesale it to our contacts at seventy percent of that—thirty-three thousand Marks."

"Fifty-fifty," Werner said, extending his hand. "A pleasure doing business with you, Captain."

Carl grasped his hand and shook it firmly. "A pleasure, Werner."

"Captain, this first shipment is just a test run. If it sells well, I want to increase the order."

"How much bigger?"

"Double," Werner said. "Next time, one hundred crates of coffee, fifty crates of cigarettes, and add thirty crates of West German canned goods."

Carl let out a low whistle. "You’ve got a big appetite."

"The advantage of the port is its capacity. It would be a waste not to use it," Werner said. "Besides, I have a ready-made sales network in Berlin. I’m not worried about being able to sell it."

Carl thought for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But there’s one problem."