I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 98: Chapter 8: Eavesdropping

Werner smiled. "I’m just a businessman. My clients are all respectable people."

"They’d better be." Matthias stubbed out his cigarette. "If anything goes wrong, we’re all screwed."

"Don’t worry." Werner patted his shoulder. "I know what I’m doing."

After they parted ways, Werner didn’t go straight back. Instead, he took a detour to a state-run bakery nearby.

A long line had already formed at the entrance, mostly middle-aged and older women holding cloth bags, waiting with expressionless faces.

Werner got in line at the back and lit a cigarette.

An older woman in front of him turned and glanced at him. "Young man, smoking so early in the morning is bad for your health."

"It’s a habit," Werner said.

"Cigarettes are so expensive now, too," the woman sighed. "A pack of ’Kabin’ used to be just eighty pfennigs, and now it’s gone up to two Marks."

"Yeah," Werner replied noncommittally.

"West German cigarettes are still better," an older man next to them chimed in. "My son brought back a pack of ’Marlboros’ from West Berlin last week. The flavor... TSK TSK."

"People can still go to West Berlin now?" the woman asked, curious.

"My son works for the Ministry of Foreign Trade. He has a special pass," the man said, a bit smugly. "Not just anyone can go."

Werner listened, sneering inwardly.

After the Wall went up, the East German Government sealed the border completely. They were especially strict with young people, terrified of losing their labor force.

Only a very small number of people with special passes—diplomats, high-ranking officials, and foreign trade personnel like this man’s son—could legally enter and exit West Berlin.

If he remembered correctly, it wouldn’t be until 1964, when relations between East and West Germany had thawed slightly, that the government would start approving some retirees to leave the country and visit relatives in West Germany. After all, in the eyes of the East German Government, those people had no economic value left to extract.

Before that, ordinary East Germans, especially the young, could not go to West Germany.

And it was precisely because of these controls that his Black Market business was so good.

West German goods became scarce commodities. Whoever could get their hands on them was in high demand. It wasn’t just cigarettes, coffee, and nylon stockings; even carrying a letter or passing on a message could earn you a pretty penny.

These next few years would be his golden age.

The line inched forward. Werner smoked with his head down, his mind churning with other matters.

Doing business with Reynard at the checkpoint through Matthias was just a temporary measure. He would have to find a way to get a pass to West Berlin eventually. There were some things that had to be handled in West Berlin.

Although he held the title of purchasing agent for a subsidiary of the Ministry of Foreign Trade, which theoretically allowed him to apply for a pass to procure goods in West Berlin, it was just a front. The position was created to serve as a front for people like Section Chief Klein, and it never involved any real procurement.

The Wall had only been up for a few weeks, and the higher-ups were cracking down. A nominal purchasing agent like him trying to get a pass without a legitimate reason would be impossible.

He had to wait for things to cool down and the situation to stabilize. Then he could figure out a way to arrange a proper procurement mission and go to West Berlin legitimately.

The line finally reached Werner. The clerk asked lazily, "What do you want?"

"Two loaves of black bread."

"Ration tickets."

Werner handed over the ration tickets and money, took the two rock-hard loaves of bread, and turned to leave.

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

「A few weeks later, at dusk」

Werner arrived at the underground storage room of the abandoned textile factory.

Joshua was already waiting there.

"Did the stuff arrive?" Joshua asked.

"It’s here." Werner took what Joshua wanted out of his briefcase and placed it on the table. "Check it yourself."

Joshua examined it carefully, a satisfied expression on his face. "Not bad. The models are all correct. You’re reliable."

"Is this enough?" Werner asked.

"It’s enough." Joshua put the items away.

"Nine hundred West German Marks," Werner said. "It’s more expensive than the market price, but in this situation, you’re lucky to get it at all."

Joshua pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Werner.

Werner opened it and looked inside. It was a thick stack of West German Marks. The amount was correct.

"Pleasure doing business with you." Werner slipped the envelope into his pocket. "Need anything else?"

"Not for now," Joshua said. "But I might need your help again in a while."

"Anytime," Werner smiled. "As long as the price is right, I can get you anything."

"Good to know." Joshua gathered his things and turned to leave, but then he suddenly stopped.

"By the way, what about the matter with those three people? Have you given it any thought?"

"I’m still thinking about it," Werner said. "This isn’t something that can be sorted out in a day or two. It requires time, connections, and the right opportunity. I’ll feel things out, but you need to be patient."

"I understand," Joshua said. "No rush, take your time. As long as it gets done, money is no object."

"That works for me." Werner smiled. "Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. This is a big deal. I’m even more invested in it than you are."

Joshua nodded and turned to leave.

The sound of his footsteps gradually faded in the stairwell.

Werner remained in the storage room and lit another cigarette.

He took out the envelope and counted the money again.

Nine hundred West German Marks. After deducting the two hundred for cost, he had a net profit of seven hundred.

’Seven hundred Marks for one job really isn’t much.’

But that wasn’t important.

What was important was that he had now established a solid working relationship with Joshua and had also made contact with those three political prisoners.

The business that followed would be the real prize.

If Joshua had other clients, this connection could become a continuous source of income.

Werner put the money in his pocket, turned off the light, locked the door, and walked out of the basement.

The sky was completely dark now, and the ruins of the textile factory looked particularly sinister in the night.

Werner lit a cigarette and walked out slowly.

He recalled what Matthias had said—"An order came down from above. They say there are West German spies active near the border."

’Joshua is that spy.’ Werner was well aware of this.

But he didn’t care.

As long as the money was right, he couldn’t care less if the man was a spy or a saint.

Werner walked out of the abandoned factory and turned into a small alley.

The night wind blew past, carrying a slight chill.

He wrapped his coat tighter and quickened his pace.

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

Werner stood beneath an old apartment building, looking up at the faint light coming from a window on an upper floor. This was the meeting place Joshua had arranged—Lucas’s apartment.

It had been over a month since the Berlin Wall was built.

In that month, the escape attempts by East Germans had reached a fever pitch.

People jumped from buildings, swam across rivers, dug tunnels, and rushed checkpoints.

Werner had heard all sorts of stories on the Black Market—few were successful, a great many were caught, and several had died by the Wall.

The Border Guard’s countermeasures were becoming stricter. The barbed wire fences were raised higher, more searchlights were added, and the patrol dogs were replaced with more vicious breeds.

As he walked up the stairs, the sound of a radio drifted from the stairwell. It was an East German station broadcasting good news about agricultural production. Werner knocked lightly on the door three times, paused, then knocked twice more. It was the signal Joshua had set.

The door opened a crack, and Joshua’s wary eyes appeared in the gap. Only after confirming it was Werner did he pull the door open.

"Come in."

Joshua was alone in the room. On the table were several strange devices and some disassembled radio parts. Joshua’s expression was grim, his eyes holding a suppressed fury.

"What’s wrong?" Werner closed the door and lowered his voice.

Joshua didn’t speak. He picked up a small metal box from the table, about the size of a matchbox, and handed it to Werner.

"Guess what this is."

Werner took it and examined it. It had a metal casing, a tiny antenna on top, and welding marks on the side. He’d seen similar things in movies in his past life.

"A listening device?"