I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 148: Chapter 58: Walter

"What’s wrong?" Keller leaned in.

"It’s too much of a coincidence," Werner said. "Walter suddenly starting a price war, Ivanov’s channel getting investigated... these two things happened at almost the same time."

Keller scratched his head. "Are you saying... someone’s targeting us?"

Werner said nothing.

’Walter’s merchandise probably came from a Soviet Army source, and it sounded like his operation was on a much larger scale than Ivanov’s small-time hustling.’

’But within the Soviet Army, why investigate Ivanov of all people, and not Walter?’

’Unless... Walter has a protector.’

"We’re going to the Black Market." Werner stood up and put on his overcoat. "I want to see this Walter for myself."

The Black Market in Lichtenberg was hidden in a small alley. Two young men stood at the mouth of the alley. The moment they saw Werner, they nodded in greeting. "Mr. Betelich."

"Is Walter here?" Werner asked.

"He’s inside." One of the young men gestured with his chin toward the back of the alley.

Werner and Keller walked into the alley.

On both sides were dilapidated residential buildings with peeling walls and windows covered with newspaper. At the end of the alley was a semi-basement with a sign that read "Coal Distribution Office."

Werner pushed the door open, and a mixed smell of tobacco and sweat hit him.

The basement was packed with people.

A few tables were covered with goods: West German cigarettes, coffee, nylon stockings, and radio parts. A middle-aged man in a thick woolen overcoat was sitting behind the farthest table, haggling with someone.

That was Walter.

Werner sized him up.

Walter was in his early fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair. He spoke loudly with a thick Berlin accent, a fat cigar held between his fingers.

"Two Marks and eight pfennigs. Not a pfennig less." Walter pushed a pack of Camel cigarettes toward the vendor across from him. "Take it or leave it. There’s a long line of people waiting outside."

The vendor hesitated for a moment, then took out his money. After counting the money, Walter looked up and saw Werner.

"Well, if it isn’t Betelich?" Walter grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth. "A rare sight."

Werner walked over and stopped on the other side of the table. "I hear business has been good for you lately."

"It’s alright, it’s alright." Walter flicked the ash from his cigar. "Can’t compare to you. I hear you’re running a big operation over at the port?"

"Just a small business, enough to get by." Werner pulled over a chair and sat down. "I am, however, very curious where you get your cigarettes. The prices are so reasonable."

Walter narrowed his eyes. "That’s not something I can discuss, is it? We all work the Black Market. Who doesn’t have a few secrets?"

"True." Werner nodded and stood up. "Well, I won’t disturb you. By the way, they’re checking the border more strictly these days. You should be careful."

"Thanks for the concern." Walter’s smile froze for a moment before quickly returning to normal. "You take care, too."

Walking out of the basement, Keller said in a low voice, "That old fox is slippery."

"He knows I’m looking into him." Werner lit a cigarette.

"So what do we do?"

Werner exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching it dissipate in the cold wind. "First, we hold our ground. Lower our cigarette prices to match his and order more stock from the port."

"Won’t we lose money doing that?"

"A short-term loss to protect our market share." Werner stubbed out his cigarette. "And then... we find out everything about him."

「For the next three days, bad news came one after another.」

On the first day, Keller reported that rumors were starting to spread on the Black Market, saying Werner’s port channel was unstable and could be investigated at any time. A few small distributors were already wavering and had switched to getting their stock from Walter.

On the second day, Old Pete, who was in charge of the Potsdamer Platz area, came to the office with a worried look on his face. "Mr. Werner, I can’t hold out any longer. Not only are Walter’s prices lower, but he’s also offering credit. All my customers have run off to him."

Werner could only give Old Pete some money to tide him over. But he knew it wasn’t a long-term solution.

On the evening of the third day, Werner was in his office going over the accounts when the door was suddenly thrown open. Ivanov rushed in, his face pale.

"Werner, something’s happened," Ivanov said quickly, his German thick with a Russian accent. "My commanding officer is auditing my accounts. Someone reported me for secretly selling off military supplies."

Werner put down his pen. "Who reported you?"

"I don’t know. But they’re investigating very thoroughly. They even dug up the canned goods I sold off last year. Werner, you have to help me. If they confirm it, I’ll be sent to a military tribunal."

Werner was silent for a few seconds. "Has anyone approached you recently? Asked about your business?"

Ivanov thought for a moment. "Yes... Last month, a man bought me a drink at a tavern and asked if I did any ’small business’ on the side. I’d had too much to drink and said a few things."

"What kind of man?"

"In his forties, spoke very politely. Seemed to be in logistics." Sweat beaded on Ivanov’s forehead. "What is it?"

Werner didn’t answer, only saying, "You should lay low for a while. We’ll pause our business. Let me know immediately if you hear anything."

After seeing Ivanov out, Werner stood at the window, looking down at the empty street below. At ten o’clock at night, there wasn’t a single soul on the streets of East Berlin. Only the distant streetlights cast a dim, yellow glow.

Keller came out of the back room and handed him a cup of coffee. "Boss, I’ve dug up some information."

"Speak."

"Walter really does have a connection in the Stasi." Keller lowered his voice. "Not with Vonke’s people. It’s someone named Lorentz. He and Walter go way back."

Werner picked up his coffee and took a sip.

"Also," Keller continued, "I asked around at the docks. Walter’s goods do come through a Soviet Army channel, but it’s not small-time stuff like Ivanov’s. He’s moving bulk goods from military warehouses—blankets, canned food, medical supplies, even car parts."

Werner’s hand holding the coffee cup tightened. "How large is the scale?"

"At least one truckload a month." Keller lit a cigarette. "But the strange thing is, no one’s ever heard of him being investigated."

Werner put down the coffee cup and walked to the desk.

His mind was racing.

’Ivanov’s level of corruption was actually very small—a few cases of vodka, some cigarettes, canned goods, occasionally sneaking in some military supplies. That level of graft was practically nothing in the occupied zone; it was happening everywhere.’

’And yet, a minor player like him was being harshly investigated by the Soviet Army’s internal affairs, and might even be sent to a military tribunal.’

’And Walter? At least a full truckload of military supplies every month—blankets, canned food, medical supplies, car parts.’

’This wasn’t a matter of a few cases of liquor. This was large-scale theft of military supplies, something that would carry major consequences. Logically, there’s no way the Soviet Army’s inspection department could be unaware of smuggling on this level. There’s no way the logistics system’s books could possibly add up.’

’So why was no one investigating him?’

’There was only one explanation: Walter had someone in the Soviet Army, too. A big shot who could suppress investigations, someone who could "rationalize" the military warehouse’s accounts.’

’But the problem didn’t end there.’

’A series of recent events flashed through Werner’s mind—Walter’s sudden price war, his distributors being poached one by one, the rumors spreading about his unstable supply source, and now, even his supply channel within the Soviet Army—Ivanov—had been "coincidentally" investigated.’

’This was no coincidence.’