Chapter 54: Chapter 54: The Use of Litmus Paper
A strong, acidic smell wafted out, making him instinctively step back.
Joseph knew nothing about chemistry, but after years of knocking around the Black Market, he’d learned a few crude methods.
He pulled a strip of litmus paper, stolen from a hospital, out of his pocket and dipped it into the liquid with a trembling hand.
The paper instantly turned a deep red.
"At least it’s acidic," he muttered to himself, leaning closer to smell it again.
The pungent odor made his eyes water, but it certainly smelled like nitric acid should.
Just then, the warehouse door CREAKED open.
Hank walked in—he was their inside man at the chemical plant, a gaunt, middle-aged man who was always stooped over.
"You’re just in time," Joseph gestured. "Help me take a look at this stuff."
Hank came over. Instead of leaning directly over the barrel to smell it like Joseph had, he fanned the air, wafting the chemical scent from the barrel toward his nose. He sniffed, then frowned. "This smell... it’s like nitric acid."
He poured a little into a clear bottle, carefully observing the liquid inside. "The color is right, too. Transparent and colorless."
"But what about the concentration?" Joseph asked eagerly.
Hank shook his head. "I can’t determine that. We have special instruments at the factory, but here..." He glanced around the dilapidated warehouse. "I can only make the most basic judgment."
He took a small copper strip from his toolbox and, using tweezers, slowly lowered it into the liquid. Almost instantly, the copper began to react violently, emitting brownish-red smoke and a HISSING sound.
"The reaction is very strong," Hank observed. "It shouldn’t be fake. But the exact concentration... it could be 60%, it could be 80%. I really can’t say for sure."
Joseph’s emotions were on a roller coaster.
’The goods are real, which is good news. But the uncertain concentration means this shipment is still a risk.’
"What about the others?" he asked, pointing to the remaining containers.
Hank checked the hydrogen peroxide and sulfuric acid one by one.
When poured on the ground, the hydrogen peroxide bubbled up profusely. It was definitely genuine.
The test for the sulfuric acid was more cautious—Hank just dipped a glass rod into it and let a single drop fall onto a piece of organic cloth. The fabric was immediately corroded, leaving a hole.
"The stuff should all be real," Hank finally concluded. "But I can only confirm what they are, not their exact concentration. This is the best we can do."
Joseph nodded, though he still felt a sense of unease.
Black Market traders like them could only rely on such crude methods. They had no laboratories, no precision instruments; everything depended on experience and luck.
Hank looked at his watch, a hurried expression on his face. "I have to go. There’s a mandatory factory-wide meeting tomorrow morning to discuss increasing production efficiency and supporting the Soviet Union’s new policy."
He packed up his tools as he spoke. "You know how it is. There’s one political study session after another these days. If I’m absent, the workshop supervisor will put it in my file. Besides, security at the factory is getting tighter. We have to sign in and out, so I can’t be back too late and get noticed by the gate guard."
Joseph nodded.
In East Germany at that time, the political atmosphere was growing increasingly tense. Everyone had to be careful. Workers not only had to meet production quotas but also attend countless political study sessions. The slightest misstep could lead to their political loyalties being questioned.
For someone like Hank, who had "extracurricular business," maintaining a good image within the official system was a matter of life and death.
"Be careful," Joseph reminded him in a low voice. "Things are tense lately. You need to be extra cautious about everything."
Hank nodded and quickly left the warehouse.
One of Joseph’s men wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Boss, what’s the plan?"
"We’ll treat it as genuine for now," Joseph said thoughtfully, "but we’ll have to discount the price. Tell the buyer the goods are authentic, but they’ll need to confirm the concentration themselves."
Just then, the basement door was suddenly kicked open.
"Ministry for State Security of the German Democratic Republic! Everyone, hands up!"
A dozen plainclothes Stasi agents rushed in, the dark muzzles of their submachine guns aimed at the four men in the room.
The man in the lead was none other than Inspector Vonke, his face as grim as stone.
"Don’t move! On the ground!"
’The Stasi? How is that possible? How did they find this place?’ Joseph was completely stunned.
"Comrade, there must be some misunderstanding..." he began to explain, but two agents forced him to the ground, twisting his arms behind his back.
Vonke scanned the basement, his gaze landing on the chemical packaging boxes.
He put on a pair of gloves and carefully examined a few of the boxes. His expression grew darker the more he looked.
"Hans, come take a look at this," he called to a technician.
The technician inspected the labels on the boxes, using a magnifying glass to examine the English letters. "These are all markings for products made in West Germany. And..." He picked up a box and sniffed it. "It really is a chemical agent inside."
Vonke nodded and turned to face the now-handcuffed Joseph. "Joseph Hoffman, you are under arrest. The charges are: theft of military-industrial materials, collusion with a Western Spy, and endangering national security."
"Impossible!" Joseph struggled and shouted. "That stuff from West Germany isn’t ours! We’ve been framed!"
"Caught red-handed and you still want to deny it?" Vonke sneered. "Where did these chemicals made in West Germany come from? Did they fall from the sky?"
"They really aren’t ours!" one of Joseph’s men desperately explained. "We... we stole that stuff from someone else..."
"Stole?" Vonke’s eyebrow shot up. "So you admit to robbery? Excellent. That’s another charge."
Joseph fell into complete despair.
He finally understood. It was a trap.
Werner had lured them in with fake goods, then used the "Made in West Germany" packaging as evidence to convince the Stasi they were connected to a Western Spy.
The deadliest part was that the warehouse also contained the military-grade chemicals they had previously acquired from Hank—those were genuinely dangerous substances, enough to get them locked up for decades.
"Take them away!" Vonke waved his hand. "Interrogate them through the night. A case like this can’t be delayed for a single day."
The four men were pushed into the Stasi’s black sedan.
The windows were sealed shut, and it was pitch-black inside.
Joseph knew that what awaited them was endless interrogation and imprisonment.
And it was all because they had underestimated that seemingly gentle and refined young man—Werner Betelich.
「8:00 PM that night, at the Red Bull Tavern.」
Werner sat at a corner table with a glass of East German beer in front of him. The tavern was thick with smoke, filled with the noisy chatter of dozens of men drinking and talking together.
A photograph of Chairman Ublis hung on the wall next to an East German flag.
A Soviet song, "Moscow Nights," played from a radio, the melody drifting faintly through the haze.
"Werner, boss!" Keller ran over, his face flush with excitement. "Did you hear? The Mole got nabbed by the Stasi!"
