I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 159: Chapter 69: A Crisis from a West German Newspaper

Prenzlauer Berg was the Old Town in northern East Berlin. Brick houses were packed tightly together, their alleys so narrow two people could barely brush past each other. Stasi agents hated going there; the complex layout made it easy to lose someone. That was why Black Market dealers loved to make their deals there.

Last Wednesday, Werner had met Carl there to trade a shipment of tobacco from Hamburg Port.

"If he got pictures..." Keller didn’t finish.

He didn’t have to. Werner knew what it meant.

West German newspapers loved this sort of thing.

Spiegel Magazine, the World Newspaper... every so often, they’d publish an "East Germany Exposé" piece, complete with blurry photos and written like a spy novel. Readers loved them, editors loved to run them, and reporters could win awards from them.

But for Werner, this was anything but good news.

His current role was that of a Stasi informant, nominally assisting in the "investigation of smuggling cases." Lainer tacitly permitted his Black Market dealings because he provided valuable intelligence.

This understanding was a delicate one—not something that could be brought out into the open.

Werner was now the de facto ruler of the East Berlin underworld. It was an open secret in those circles, but a truth that had always been kept in the shadows.

If West German newspapers were to splash his story across their pages under a headline like "The Kingpin of the East Berlin Black Market," his position as a Stasi informant would become precarious.

Once he was exposed by the Western media, even if the Stasi wanted to continue using him, they’d have to consider the political fallout. After all, how would they explain to their superiors that a "Black Market boss" named by a West German newspaper was still working for the state security department?

"Have you found out where he’s staying?" Werner asked.

"I have." Keller took out a small notebook. "Alexander Stein, a reporter for the Hamburg Evening Post. He’s staying at the People’s Inn in the Mitte District, room 317. Checked in yesterday. Said he was here to do a story on the ’happy lives of the East German working class.’"

Werner gave a cold laugh.

The People’s Inn was a hotel for foreigners under the East German Ministry of Foreign Affairs, specifically for hosting Western journalists and businessmen. The rooms were definitely bugged, and the staff were all Stasi agents. This Stein fellow openly claimed to be interviewing workers, but secretly ran off to the Black Market to take pictures. He had some nerve.

"Have you figured out his routine?"

"Leaves at nine every morning, returns to the inn around seven in the evening," Keller said. "Eats lunch at a state-run cafeteria, then wanders around in the afternoon. Yesterday he went to Prenzlauer Berg, the day before he was in Friedrichshain. Both are hotbeds for the Black Market."

"Tail him," Werner said, turning around. "See where else he goes, what else he photographs. Don’t let him spot you."

"Understood." Keller stubbed out his cigarette. "But boss, should we..." He made a throat-slitting gesture.

"No." Werner shook his head. "He’s a West German journalist with diplomatic immunity. If we touch him, it’ll be hard to answer to Lainer."

"Then what do we do?"

Werner was silent for a few seconds.

"Let me think."

「The next afternoon」

Werner received even worse news.

Keller brought back a roll of film.

"Got it from the owner of a photo developing lab," Keller said. "Stein dropped it off yesterday. The owner is one of our guys. He secretly made a copy."

Werner spread out the photos, his face growing darker.

The first photo: an alley in Prenzlauer Berg, two men exchanging boxes. The image was blurry, but you could make out one of the men’s profiles—it was him.

The second: a Black Market stall, displaying West German cigarettes and chocolate.

The third: a woman holding a child, taking a bag of flour from a Black Market dealer. The exhaustion and desperation on her face were plain to see.

The fourth: him again, this time a frontal shot, talking to Carl. Although it was taken from a distance, if the photo were enlarged, he would be instantly recognizable.

"The son of a bitch is a real pro," Keller tutted. "He knows his angles and lighting."

Werner laid the photos out on the table one by one, his mind racing.

’What was Stein planning to write? An exposé on the East German Black Market? A critique of the socialist system? Or was he trying to paint a picture of a populace "struggling to survive under oppression"?’

’No matter what he writes, if he uses these photos, I’m finished.’

"Boss, we can’t wait any longer," Keller said in a low voice. "We have to deal with this, fast."

Werner lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

’Taking him out directly won’t work. Trying to get the Stasi to deport him won’t work either—Stein has diplomatic immunity. Deporting him would only make the West German media hype it up even more.’

’Destroy the photos? He’s bound to have copies.’

’A bribe? West German reporters aren’t short on money, and they aren’t short on guts either.’

’Threats? Even more useless. It would just make him write with more gusto.’

Werner stubbed out his cigarette and suddenly smiled.

"Keller, I have a job for you."

"What is it?"

"Contact Pastor Weber. Tell him I want to organize a charity event."

Keller was stunned. "What?"

"A charity event," Werner repeated. "To hand out things to the poor. Bread, potatoes, canned goods—whatever we can get our hands on. The location will be Friedrichshain, the day after tomorrow at three in the afternoon."

"Boss, are you crazy?" Keller’s eyes went wide. "We’re in the Black Market business, not charity!"

"Who says we can’t?" Werner leaned back in his chair. "Take some of the money we make from the Black Market and use it for charity. What’s the problem?"

"But..."

"Just do as I say," Werner said, standing up. "Also, have Old Pete spread the word. Remember, make it sound casual. Don’t let anyone think we’re intentionally leaking it."

Keller still looked completely bewildered. "Boss, what are you really up to?"

Werner clapped him on the shoulder. "Just do it. I’m going to see Pastor Weber."

「Pastor Weber’s church.」

Werner pushed the door open and went inside. The place was empty except for Weber, who was arranging Bibles.

"Werner?" Weber looked up, a bit surprised. "What brings you here at this hour?"

"Pastor, I’d like to ask the Church for a favor," Werner said, getting straight to the point.

Weber put down the Bible and gestured for him to sit. "Go on."

"I want to hold a charity event to distribute goods to the poor," Werner said. "In the name of the Church."

Weber was silent for a few seconds, his expression turning complex. "Werner, you never get involved in a losing business. What are you after this time?"

"Pastor, you know me too well," Werner said with a small smile. "A West German reporter has been taking pictures of me. He wants to write a negative story about the Black Market. I need to change his impression."

"So you want to put on a show of ’robbing the rich to feed the poor’?"

"It’s not an act," Werner said seriously. "The goods are real, and they’ll really be given to the poor. It’s just that I’ll also be making sure that reporter happens to see it."

Weber stared at him for a moment, then suddenly sighed. "You... you’re terrifyingly shrewd."

"So you’ll agree to it?"

"The Church can provide the venue and its name," Weber said. "But on one condition—the goods must actually reach the hands of the poor. No faking it."

"Of course," Werner nodded. "I’ll prepare more than enough. Bread, potatoes, canned goods... I’ll get as much as I can."

Weber looked at him, his gaze profound. "Werner, you’ve changed."

"Hm?"

"Before, when you did business, you only thought about making money," Weber said. "Now you’ve learned how to put on a show, how to use public opinion. You’re becoming more and more like a real..." He paused. "Politician."