I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 156: Chapter 66: Power Reshuffle

Lainer moved fast. That very afternoon, he delivered the materials to Director Herman’s office.

Herman was a man in his sixties with graying hair, but his eyes were sharp. He carefully read through all the materials, his expression growing increasingly serious.

"A corruption case involving a high-ranking Soviet Army officer?" Herman set the documents down and looked at Lainer.

"Yes, Comrade Director." Lainer stood ramrod straight. "The amount of money involved is enormous, and the nature of the crime is heinous. If the Stasi can crack this case, it will be a major accomplishment."

"And the black market dealer involved is Walter?" Herman asked.

"Yes."

"Isn’t he Lorentz’s informant?" Herman’s eyes narrowed.

"He is," Lainer said. "But according to our investigation, Lorentz might have been aware of it, or even involved. He knew Walter was smuggling Soviet Army supplies, but he never took any action."

Herman said nothing. He lit a cigar, the smoke curling and lingering in his office.

"Lainer, you and Lorentz..." Herman said slowly.

"Comrade Director, this isn’t a personal grudge," Lainer cut in. "It’s a matter of principle. If Lorentz really took a share of the profits, then he has betrayed the Party and the nation."

Herman stared at Lainer for a few moments, then nodded. "You’re right. Principle is paramount. I’ll approve your operation, but remember: the evidence must be irrefutable."

"Sir!" Lainer saluted.

Meanwhile, in another Stasi building, Deputy Director Schmidt also received a file.

The file had been delivered by Vonke. Its contents were largely the same as Lainer’s, only with a few sensitive details redacted.

After reading the file, Schmidt let out a cold sneer. "So, one of Herman’s men is in trouble?"

"Yes, Comrade Deputy Director," Vonke said. "The black market dealer Lorentz was protecting colluded with the Soviet Army to smuggle military supplies."

"Interesting." Schmidt tossed the file onto his desk. "Herman is always saying we in the Old Conservative Faction are too passive. It looks like the New Radical Faction isn’t any better."

"Comrade Deputy Director, if Lainer launches his operation..." Vonke asked tentatively.

"Don’t stand in his way," Schmidt said. "Let him investigate. If he turns something up, it benefits us. If he doesn’t, it doesn’t matter. Either way, Herman is the one who loses face."

Vonke nodded and turned to leave.

Though their positions differed, the two factions had reached a rare, unspoken agreement: let Lainer proceed unchecked. Herman wanted to secure a major achievement; Schmidt wanted to weaken his rival. And Lorentz and Walter, caught in the middle, had become sacrifices.

「In the early morning of February 17th, Lainer led the operation.」

A dozen Stasi vehicles silently surrounded the abandoned brewery. Lainer, dressed in uniform and wearing gloves, stood at the front of the convoy. He raised his hand, making a gesture.

"Go!"

Stasi agents stormed the brewery. The interior was brightly lit, where Walter’s men were sorting cargo. Everyone froze when they saw the Stasi charge in.

"Don’t move! Stasi!" Lainer brandished his credentials. "Everyone, get against the wall!"

Walter wasn’t on site, but his warehouse manager, Kurt, was. Kurt’s face was ashen. He raised his hands, his legs trembling.

"Search the place!" Lainer ordered.

The agents began tossing the place.

Soon, they uncovered large quantities of Soviet Army supplies: tons of military-grade tobacco stacked in a corner of the warehouse, the Soviet Army insignia on the boxes clearly visible; hundreds of tires of Soviet military-spec; dozens of barrels of diesel, the yellow drums printed with Cyrillic letters; and even a few crates of guns and ammunition, wrapped in oilcloth and hidden in the very back.

"Guns and ammo?" Lainer walked over and pulled back the oilcloth. Inside were more than a dozen AK-47 assault rifles and several boxes of bullets.

"Th-that’s not ours!" Kurt was so frightened he nearly wet himself. "Walter got that from the Soviet Army! He said he was going to sell it to other black market dealers! I didn’t know..."

"Confiscate it. Confiscate it all!" Lainer ordered.

At the same time, the Soviet Army was also making its move.

Lainer had gone through his superiors to contact the Soviet Army’s Political Department, providing them with evidence of Sokolov’s crimes. The Soviet Political Department moved swiftly, raiding the Quartermaster’s Department.

Sokolov was in his office forging documents when the door was suddenly kicked open. Several Soviet political officers stormed in, led by a colonel.

"Major Sokolov, you are under arrest!" The colonel produced a warrant. "On suspicion of embezzling military supplies, forging military documents, and withholding soldiers’ rations."

The pen fell from Sokolov’s hand and clattered to the floor.

The officers began to search the office.

They found a trove of forged documents: fake "Material Disposal Forms," fake "Transfer Logs," and fake "Inventory Sheets." All of them bore Sokolov’s signature and official seal.

"Take him away!" the colonel ordered with a wave of his hand.

Sokolov was handcuffed and marched out of the office. In the hallway, other officers stared, their eyes filled with undisguised schadenfreude.

News traveled fast.

By noon on February 17th, the rumor had spread throughout the East Berlin black market: Walter was finished. His warehouse had been seized by the Stasi, his contact in the Soviet Army had been arrested, and a warrant was out for him.

Walter was hiding at a mistress’s apartment when he heard the news. His face was ashen and his hands trembled, scattering cigarette ash all over the floor.

"How is this possible... How is this possible..." he muttered to himself.

But a more fatal blow was yet to come.

That afternoon, Hans publicly betrayed Walter, turning informant for the prosecution. He took half of Walter’s men with him and turned over all of Walter’s ledgers, transaction records, and bribery lists to the Stasi.

"Walter screwed us over!" Hans declared publicly on the black market. "He promised us a bonus if we won the price war, and what happened? We got nothing! Now he’s in trouble, so why should we go down with his ship?"

Walter’s men began to turn on him. Some fled, others threw in their lot with other black market bosses, and some went directly to the Stasi to surrender, hoping for leniency.

Walter’s operation crumbled overnight.

Lorentz was also in hot water.

To distance himself from the scandal, Director Herman publicly stated that he "had no knowledge of Lorentz protecting Walter and would deal with the matter severely." Lorentz was suspended pending investigation, his office was sealed, and all his authority was revoked.

「On the evening of February 18th, Werner sat in his office, listening to Franz deliver the latest news.」

"Walter is completely finished," Franz said excitedly. "His goods were seized, his backer fell, and his crew scattered."

"What about Sokolov?" Werner asked.

"The Soviet Army has already passed sentence," Franz said. "Military tribunal. Embezzlement, forgery, and dereliction of duty. They threw the book at him—twenty years of hard labor. I heard he cried in court, begging for a lighter sentence because he has elderly parents and young children. But it was useless. The Soviets have zero tolerance for this stuff."

Werner nodded but didn’t speak.

"Also, Lorentz has been suspended," Franz continued. "Director Herman kicked him to the curb, citing ’poor management and poor judgment in his appointments.’ Lainer’s star is on the rise; rumor has it he’s getting a promotion."

"As he should," Werner said. "He broke a huge case."

"Boss, the black market is in chaos now," Franz said in a low voice. "Walter’s turf is open, and a lot of people are scrambling for it. We should..."

"Patience." Werner stood and walked to the window. "Let them fight over it first. When they’re tired, we’ll make our move."

"Has the tobacco from Carl arrived?"

"It has," Franz said. "Five thousand cartons of Danish tobacco. It’s all in the port warehouse."

"Excellent." Werner turned around, his eyes cold and hard. "Starting tomorrow, we slash the prices. Camels for two Marks, Marlboros for two and a half. We’re going to devour every last bit of the market share Walter left behind."

"Understood!" Franz shot to his feet, excited.

Werner returned to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out a chart. It was covered in a dense web of names and arrows, a record of the war that had been raging for over a month.

Now, he crossed out Walter’s name with a red pen. Lorentz’s name was also crossed out. And over Sokolov’s name, he drew a large X.

Only the names Lainer and Vonke were circled.

Werner tore the chart to pieces and tossed it into the wastebasket. Then he switched off the light and walked out of the office.

He pushed open the door of the building, and the night wind, damp with the scent of early spring, rushed to meet him.

The snow on the street had begun to melt, revealing the black asphalt beneath.

Werner pulled up his scarf and disappeared into the night.

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

On the morning of February 19th, the East Berlin black market erupted.

"Have you heard? Werner dropped the price on his tobacco!"

"By how much?"

"Camels for two Marks, Marlboros for two Marks and fifty pfennig! That’s twenty percent cheaper than Walter’s old prices!"

The black market hub at Alexanderplatz was packed with people. Werner’s distributor, Old Pete, stood behind his stall, with cases of tobacco stacked high in front of him. His throat was raw from shouting.

"Two Marks! Camels for two Marks! Plenty in stock, cash on the barrelhead!"

The crowd surged forward, bills flying toward Old Pete like snowflakes. He was in a flurry of activity, sweat streaming down his face.

"Slow down, slow down! One at a time!" Old Pete wiped away his sweat. "Don’t shove! There’s plenty for everyone!"

A few of Walter’s old customers stood on the edge of the crowd, watching hesitantly. One of them, a middle-aged man, gritted his teeth and pushed his way through.

"Old Pete, give me twenty cartons of Camels!"

"Well, well, Old Mueller. Weren’t you just stocking up from Walter the other day?" Old Pete asked with a wide grin.

"Walter can’t even save his own skin. Why would I stick with him?" Old Mueller pulled out his money. "Hurry up and give me the merchandise."