I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 96: Chapter 6: The Predicament of the Watched

"What is it you really want to know?" Werner asked directly.

Anna was taken aback for a moment, then she smiled.

"You’re very direct," she said. "Alright, I won’t beat around the bush. The organization needs to understand the situation with these officials, to see if there are any... unreliable people. You understand what I mean, don’t you?"

"So you want me to spy on them?" Werner asked.

"Not spy," Anna corrected. "Just... keep an eye on things. If you notice anything unusual, just let me know."

She paused, her voice softening.

"This is for your own good too, Werner. Your position is delicate right now. Some people aren’t happy with how quickly you’ve risen. If you can prove your loyalty, those doubts will naturally disappear."

It was a threat, but also a temptation.

Werner was silent for a few seconds.

’What would Anna do if I refused? Brand me as an "unreliable element"? Or just make me disappear?’

’But if I agree, I’ll be stepping into an even more dangerous game.’

"I need to think about it," he finally said.

"Of course." Anna stood up and straightened the lapels of her trench coat. "But don’t take too long. Time waits for no one, Werner. The Wall is up, a new era has begun, and everyone needs to choose their side quickly."

She walked to the door and placed her hand on the knob, then suddenly turned back.

"By the way, how is that friend of yours, Eva Honer, the one who works at the foreign trade shop?"

Werner’s fingers stiffened slightly on his cigarette case.

"She’s fine," he said calmly. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Anna smiled, but it was a smile filled with meaning. "I just heard she was very upset the day the Wall went up, that she almost did something foolish. It’s a good thing someone helped her, otherwise... the consequences would have been unimaginable."

She paused, her eyes staring straight at Werner.

"Emotionally unstable people are prone to doing foolish things. Wouldn’t you agree?"

With that, she pushed the door open and left.

The crisp, rhythmic CLICK-CLACK of high heels echoed in the hallway, gradually fading into the distance.

Werner stood at the door until the sound had completely vanished, then closed it.

He walked to the window and lit a cigarette.

Through the window, he saw Anna exit the building, pause for a moment at the street corner, and then head toward the subway station.

Her steps were light and quick, like an ordinary woman who had just finished a pleasant visit.

But Werner knew she was anything but ordinary.

He replayed their conversation in his mind, analyzing every detail.

’Anna’s line of questioning was too strange.’

’On the surface, she was gathering intelligence for the Stasi, but the questions she really cared about always skirted the key points the Stasi would normally focus on.’

’If the Stasi suspected an official was a traitor, they would ask directly: "Has this person had contact with the West?" "Have they exhibited any abnormal behavior?" "Have they made any political statements?"’

’But Anna didn’t.’

’She asked: "What are their attitudes toward the West?" "What are their lifestyles like?"’

’These questions were more like an assessment of whether someone could be easily corrupted or bought.’

’Just like what West German intelligence agencies would do when screening targets for recruitment.’

Werner stubbed out his cigarette and lit a second one.

He couldn’t be sure of Anna’s true identity, but a suspicion was slowly forming: this woman... was playing a very dangerous double game.

She might indeed be Stasi, but she could also be working for someone else.

And now, she wanted to pull him into this game too.

He needed to make a decision.

’Should I refuse Anna and risk being suppressed by the Stasi?’

’Or should I pretend to agree, but only provide inconsequential information?’

’Or... should I use this opportunity to get more intelligence from Anna myself?’

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

Early morning in East Berlin was shrouded in a gray, hazy fog.

Werner followed Joshua through a narrow alley.

"This way," Joshua whispered, suddenly turning into an even narrower alley.

Werner followed close behind, his feet stepping through puddles and splashing murky water.

The alley was flanked by old apartment buildings with peeling paint and faded curtains hanging in the windows.

An old woman was watering flowers by a window. The moment she saw them, she quickly pulled her head back, and the curtains were drawn with a sharp RUSTLE.

"It’s always like this," Joshua said flatly. "After the Wall went up, people are even more afraid to look where they shouldn’t."

They rounded two street corners and arrived in the Prenzlauer Berg District.

The buildings here were older, some still retaining their pre-war appearance, with bullet holes and shell marks clearly visible.

Werner noticed a man in a gray trench coat on the corner reading a newspaper, but he was holding it upside down.

"Ignore him," Joshua said, noticing Werner’s gaze. "He’s Stasi, but he’s not watching us today."

They walked for another ten minutes before Joshua suddenly stopped, leaning against a wall to light a cigarette.

Werner understood he was checking their tail, so he stopped too, pretending to tie his shoelace.

The street was sparsely populated. A few women carrying cloth bags hurried past, and an old man struggled to push his bicycle forward.

"Let’s go," Joshua said, tossing his cigarette butt.

As they turned the final corner, Werner saw the Wall.

’Ugly as all hell.’

Concrete slabs were hastily stacked, with traces of excess mortar still visible at the seams. Barbed wire was stretched across the top, and watchtowers stood at regular intervals, their searchlights looking grim even in the daylight. At the base of the Wall was a strip of empty land, cleared so thoroughly that not a single blade of grass remained.

"Look there," Joshua said, pointing to a slightly lighter-colored section in the middle of the Wall.

Werner narrowed his eyes.

That section of the Wall had clearly been recently repaired; the color of the bricks was different.

"Three days ago," Joshua said, his voice soft. "A truck driver named Rudolf Urban floored it and rammed his truck straight through."

Werner didn’t say anything.

"He brought down that section of the Wall," Joshua continued. "But he took nineteen bullets and died on the spot. The Border Guard called him a counter-revolutionary thug. The New German Newspaper didn’t even mention his name, just said a plot to sabotage the protective barrier had been foiled."

A gust of wind blew past, kicking up dust from the ground. Werner felt his throat tighten.

’Nineteen bullets.’

’How many guns had to fire at once for that to happen?’

"Let’s go," Joshua said, turning around. "Don’t stare too long. There are people in those watchtowers."

They left the Wall, crossed a few streets, and finally stopped in front of a five-story apartment building.

The stairwell was filled with the smell of boiled sauerkraut and cheap cigarettes, and the handrail was covered in a thick layer of dust.

Joshua knocked on the door of the apartment on the left on the third floor—three short knocks, one long.

The door opened a crack, and an eye warily sized them up.

"It’s me," Joshua said.

The door opened completely, revealing a man in his thirties. He wore a patched sweater, his face was pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes, clearly from a lack of sleep.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside.

The room was small, maybe a dozen square meters, and filled with old, pre-war furniture. The sofa cushions were sagging, and on the coffee table sat a half-full cup of cold ersatz coffee that smelled faintly burnt. The curtains were drawn tight, with only a dim table lamp providing light.

From an old-fashioned radio in the corner of the room, the evening news from "The Voice of Democracy" radio station played intermittently.

"Lucas, this is the man I told you about," Joshua said by way of introduction. "He has some connections in East Berlin, maybe he can help."

Lucas sized up Werner, his expression complex. "Can you really help us?"

"That depends," Werner said, scanning the room. "First, tell me about your situation."

"I used to be a lecturer at Humboldt University, teaching philosophy," Lucas said, sitting down and lighting a cigarette with slightly trembling fingers. "Last year, I discussed Heidegger and Sartre in class, and a student reported me for promoting decadent bourgeois ideology. The department warned me at first, but then they just fired me."

He took a deep drag from his cigarette.

"My wife and daughter escaped to West Berlin before the Wall went up. Now I’m the only one left here." He looked up, his eyes slightly red. "I have to get over there. My daughter is only five. She needs me."

A knock sounded at the door—again, three short, one long.

Lucas got up to open it. A young woman in her twenties entered. She wore men’s work trousers, her hair was cut very short, and she carried a canvas bag.

"Alina," Joshua greeted with a nod.

The woman sat on the arm of the sofa and pulled a pack of F6 cigarettes from her bag. "The Stasi came by again. Last night, I came home to find my sketchbook had been gone through. The idiots don’t even know how to put things back where they found them."

She lit a cigarette and took a harsh drag.

"I’m an artist. I draw satirical cartoons for some underground publications. A while ago, I drew a piece called ’New World.’ It showed a worker holding a hammer and sickle, but their shadow was made of barbed wire." She gave a cold laugh. "And just like that, I was on their list."

"What’s it like now?" Werner asked.

"Someone comes by for a ’talk’ every week, asking what I’ve been drawing, who I’ve been seeing," Alina said, flicking her ash. "My landlady writes down what time I leave and what time I come back every day. Last week, I took a trip to Potsdam to see a friend, and I was summoned for questioning as soon as I got back, asking what I was doing there."

There was another knock at the door.

This time, a man of about thirty-five entered. He wore glasses and a neat but outdated suit. His demeanor was different from the other two, more like a high school teacher.

"Sorry I’m late," he said, taking off his glasses to wipe them. "I took a few detours on the way to make sure I wasn’t followed."

"This is Wolfgang," Joshua introduced him to Werner. "His situation is a bit special."