I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 155: Chapter 65: Closing the Net

February 15th, 1:00 AM.

Werner sat in his office. A cup of strong coffee, now cold, sat on the desk. He hadn’t touched it, just stared at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand sweep around and around.

Franz had left an hour ago with three trusted men, along with Erich and his camera. They would find a good position around the abandoned brewery and wait for the transaction.

Werner lit a cigarette and walked to the window.

Outside, East Berlin was pitch black, with only a few scattered streetlights casting a faint glow. The distant sound of a patrol car’s engine occasionally drifted by, exceptionally clear in the silent night.

The clock struck two.

2:00 AM.

Werner stubbed out his cigarette and lit another.

Meanwhile, at the abandoned brewery in the Lichtenberg District, Franz lay prone on the rooftop of the building across the street, a pair of military-grade binoculars beside him. Erich crouched next to him, camera in hand, its lens aimed at the brewery’s main gate.

"The boss said the deal is at three in the morning," Franz whispered, glancing at his watch. "We have another hour."

"I know." Erich’s voice was trembling, whether from the cold or fear, it was hard to say. "Franz, are you sure we won’t be discovered?"

"Shut up. Don’t be nervous." Franz shot him a glare. "Just take the pictures. Don’t worry about anything else."

Below the brewery, two other men were hidden behind a derelict car, responsible for watching the back entrance.

At 2:20 AM, the sound of engines echoed from the distance.

Franz raised his binoculars and saw two Soviet Army trucks approaching from the end of the street, their headlights piercing the darkness. The trucks stopped at the brewery’s entrance, their engines cut, and their lights went out.

"They’re here," Franz said in a low voice.

Erich raised his camera, his finger resting on the shutter button.

The truck cabin doors opened, and several men in Soviet Army uniforms jumped down.

The man in the lead was in his forties, of medium build, and wore a military cap. The stars on his epaulets glinted in the streetlight.

"That must be Sokolov," Franz murmured to himself.

Sokolov scanned his surroundings. After confirming no one was there, he gestured toward the brewery entrance. The door opened from the inside, and Walter walked out, followed by four or five of his men.

"Good evening, Major Sokolov." Walter’s voice carried clearly in the silent night.

"Enough with the pleasantries. Start unloading." Sokolov’s Russian accent was thick.

CLICK. Erich pressed the shutter.

The back of the truck opened, and several Soviet soldiers began to unload the cargo. There were crates of tobacco, each stamped with Cyrillic letters and the Soviet Army emblem; bundles of tires, their black rubber glistening under the streetlights; and barrels of diesel fuel, the yellow containers piled up like a small hill.

CLICK. CLICK. Erich pressed the shutter relentlessly.

Walter’s men began to inspect the goods. They opened a few crates of tobacco to check them, broke open some bundles of tires to count them, and unscrewed the barrels to sniff the contents. Sokolov stood to the side, smoking a cigarette with an impatient look on his face.

"Comrade Major, the goods are in order," Walter said after finishing his inspection.

"Then give me the money." Sokolov held out his hand.

Walter pulled a thick envelope from inside his coat and handed it over.

Sokolov opened the envelope, gave the Marks inside a cursory count, and stuffed it into an inner pocket of his military uniform.

CLICK. Erich captured the entire scene.

"Same time next month?" Walter asked.

"We’ll see." Sokolov threw his cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with his foot. "Things are tight up top lately. We need to lay low."

"I understand." Walter nodded and bowed obsequiously.

Sokolov got into the truck. The two vehicles started their engines and drove off into the night. The entire transaction had lasted over an hour, and every detail had been recorded.

"We got it." Franz lowered his binoculars and clapped Erich on the shoulder. "Let’s go. Time to report back."

At 4:00 AM, Werner received a call from Franz.

"Boss, we got it," Franz’s voice was tinged with excitement. "We took over forty photos, all crystal clear. Sokolov’s face, the license plate numbers, the cargo, the money changing hands—we got everything."

"Excellent." Werner breathed a sigh of relief. "Come back immediately."

After hanging up, Werner walked to the window. Dawn was breaking; a sliver of pale white appeared in the eastern sky. Early-rising workers were beginning to head to the factories.

The final piece on the chessboard had been placed.

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

At 10:00 AM on February 15th, Werner once again appeared in the private room of that same cafe. This time, he carried a thick briefcase.

Lainer was already waiting for him, a steaming cup of coffee on the table.

"Did you get something?"

"I did." Werner placed the briefcase on the table and opened it. "And it’s big."

He took a stack of documents from the briefcase and laid them out neatly on the table.

On top was a handwritten report titled, "Investigative Report on the Case of Large-Scale Embezzlement of Military Supplies by Major Sokolov, Quartermaster of the Soviet Third Army."

Lainer picked up the report and scanned it quickly.

The report detailed Sokolov’s identity and position, Walter’s background, the time and place of the transaction, the type and quantity of the supplies, and the amount of money involved—an initial estimate of over five hundred thousand Marks.

"Five hundred thousand?"

"A conservative estimate," Werner said. "The actual figure is likely higher. Sokolov used forged documents to declare supplies meant for his soldiers as ’scrapped,’ then sold them to the Black Market. This isn’t just embezzlement; he’s also withholding his soldiers’ rations."

Lainer put down the report and picked up the photographs.

There were over forty photographs, each one perfectly clear: Sokolov’s face, the rank on his epaulets, the license plate numbers of the Soviet Army trucks, the crates of tobacco, the bundles of tires, the barrels of diesel fuel, and the moment Walter handed over the envelope.

"These are..."

"The scene of the transaction from this morning," Werner said. "I had my men photograph the entire thing. Comrade Lainer, these pictures are enough to send Major Sokolov to a court-martial."

Lainer put the photographs down and picked up the other documents.

Inside were detailed supply lists, transaction records, and witness testimony. The testimony was from Hans, who was willing to act as a compromised witness and testify against Walter and Sokolov’s collusion.

"This Hans..." Lainer looked up.

"Walter’s second-in-command. He’s been with him for over a decade," Werner said. "But Walter treated him poorly, so he’s willing to testify. Plus, he knows a lot of inside details, including how Walter forged accounts and bribed officials."

Lainer leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. The smoke swirled around the private room, obscuring his expression.

Werner knew he was thinking.

"If we crack this case, it would indeed be a great accomplishment," Lainer said slowly. "But Werner, do you know who’s behind Walter?"

"Lorentz," Werner said. "I know."

Lainer’s eyes narrowed. "You know?"

"I spend my time in the Black Market. Of course I know." Werner leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Comrade Lainer, I don’t just know that Lorentz is Walter’s protector. I also know... that Lorentz is likely taking a cut."

"Do you have proof?" Lainer shot upright.

"No direct proof, but a reasonable assumption," Werner said. "Walter pays ’tribute’ to Lorentz to the tune of one thousand Marks a month—that’s an open secret on the Black Market. Besides, Lorentz knows perfectly well that Walter is smuggling Soviet Army supplies, yet he never investigates him. If that’s not participation, what is?"

Lainer didn’t speak. He stared at the documents on the table, his fingers drumming lightly on the surface.

"Comrade Lainer, this is an opportunity," Werner continued. "If you can investigate both Walter and Lorentz, your position with Director Herman will be second to none."

Lainer looked up, his gaze sharp. "You have a way with words, Werner."

"I’m just telling it like it is," Werner said. "You and Lorentz both work for Director Herman, but you’re also rivals. Now Lorentz has made a mistake, giving you a chance to eliminate a competitor. Why not seize it?"

Lainer stood up and paced back and forth in the private room.

"You’re right." He finally stopped pacing. "This is an opportunity. But Werner, you have to guarantee that all of this material is authentic. There can be no mistakes."

"I guarantee it," Werner said. "Comrade Lainer, all you have to do now is submit these documents. Director Herman will support you."

"I know." Lainer packed all the documents back into the briefcase and stood up.

Werner stood up and extended his hand. "I wish you success, Comrade Lainer."

Lainer took his hand and shook it firmly. "Werner, if this succeeds, I won’t forget you."

Walking out of the cafe, Werner took a deep breath. The winter air was bitingly cold, but he felt more at ease than ever before.

The hook had been dropped, the fish had taken the bait. Now, it was just a matter of reeling in the net.