I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 177: Chapter 87: The Father’s Choice

Two days later, Werner returned to Lucas’s apartment.

Lucas opened the door quickly this time, clearly having been waiting for him.

"Well?" he asked eagerly. "Did you read it?"

"I have," Werner said, stepping inside and placing the manuscript on the table. "It’s very well-written."

Lucas’s eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes," Werner said, sitting down and looking at him. "I can get the manuscript out. But I suggest that after it’s sent, you should leave as well."

Lucas froze. "What do you mean?"

"Mr. Baker, you know what the Stasi will do to you once this book is published in West Germany," Werner said. "It’s better to leave now than to wait around to be arrested."

Lucas fell silent, his expression growing complicated.

"I’ll arrange it," Werner continued. "We’ll send the manuscript over first, and the publisher can begin printing. While that’s happening, I’ll arrange for you to cross at a checkpoint. We have enough time."

"How much will it cost?" Lucas asked.

"Five thousand West German Marks."

Lucas sucked in a sharp breath. "I don’t have that kind of money."

"The publisher can provide an advance," Werner said. "I’ll speak with them."

Lucas stood up and began pacing the room, his expression fraught with conflict.

Leaving East Germany meant abandoning everything—his home, his friends, the familiar streets. This place was oppressive, drab, and full of lies, but it was still his homeland.

But if he stayed, all that awaited him was prison, or worse.

"I need to think about it," Lucas said.

"Of course," Werner said. "But time is short. I need your answer in three days, at the latest."

Lucas nodded, then suddenly asked, "Why are you helping me?"

Werner was silent for a moment before speaking.

"Mr. Baker, let me ask you a question. If one day your book could be freely published in this country, sold openly in bookstores, and read by students without restriction, when do you think that day will come?"

Lucas gave a bitter laugh. "That day will never come."

"It will," Werner said, his voice firm. "Maybe not next year, or even ten years from now, but that day will come."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because of the direction of history," Werner said. "No wall can stop humanity’s desire for freedom. The Berlin Wall, no matter how high, will fall one day."

Lucas stared, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"That’s why your book is important," Werner continued. "It’s a record of what this era is truly like. When the wall falls and people can read freely, they’ll need to know this history. They’ll need to know that there was a group of people who insisted on speaking the truth, even in the darkness."

"And you—" Werner pointed at Lucas. "You are one of them."

Tears streamed down Lucas’s face, and his shoulders trembled.

Werner patted his shoulder. "That’s why I have to help you. Not because I’m some great man, but because your very existence is an act of defiance against this absurd era."

He stood and walked to the door. "I’ll be back for your answer in three days. Same time."

Outside the apartment building, Werner lit a cigarette at the street corner.

Dusk settled in as the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a dim, yellow halo.

’Half of what I said was true,’ he thought to himself. ’I do believe the wall will fall, and I do think his book has value.’

’But the other half—’

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching it scatter in the cold wind.

’I’m also just giving myself a reason to feel like ’less of an asshole’.’

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

The bells of Holy Cross Church tolled in the cold rain. Once, twice, three times.

Werner stood outside the church’s side entrance, the cherry of his cigarette glowing and fading between his fingers.

Rainwater dripped from the hem of his wool coat, spattering on the flagstones below. He had been waiting for twenty minutes, but Marcus Wolf still hadn’t appeared.

’Maybe he’s not coming.’ Werner stubbed out his cigarette. Just as he was about to turn and leave, the side door opened with a CREAK.

Father Markus peeked out, his face pale. His once-sturdy frame had visibly thinned over the past few days, and his black cassock hung loosely on him.

"Come in," Marcus’s voice was hoarse. "Don’t stand out there."

Werner followed him into the back room of the church.

The room was cluttered with old pews and faded holy icons. The air hung thick with the smell of mildew and candle wax.

Marcus closed the door, his fingers lingering on the knob as if he were hesitating.

"I’ve been thinking about what you said." Marcus turned, his eyes shot with blood. "Every night, I’ve knelt before the altar and prayed, asking God what I should do."

"And what did God say?"

"He said nothing," Marcus replied with a bitter smile. "But I know it’s time for me to make a decision."

Werner pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Marcus.

The priest shook his head, then hesitated before taking it and lighting up.

"Those people you mentioned—" Marcus took a deep drag and began to cough. "The Stein family, the Hoffmans, and young Anselm... I helped them all escape myself. If the Stasi finds out..."

"They’ll lock you up in Horner Schonehausen Prison," Werner cut in. "An interrogation room in the basement. No windows. Whips and cattle prods on the wall. They’ll make you confess to everything, then sentence you to twenty years."

Marcus’s hand trembled, dropping ash onto his cassock.

"But if you cooperate with me," Werner said, lowering his voice, "you’ll only confess to helping the three who have already escaped. Lainer has files on them, so there’s no hiding it anyway. As for the others, I guarantee they’ll be safe."

"How can you guarantee that?" Marcus stared at Werner. "You’re not God."

"I’m Werner Betrich," Werner said calmly. "In this city, that’s more useful than God."

Marcus stared for a moment, then suddenly laughed. The sound echoed in the empty room, tinged with a desperate absurdity.

"Alright." He stubbed out the cigarette and pulled a manila envelope from an inside pocket of his cassock. "Here is the proof of my sins—the template for the forged transit passes, the Stein family’s photo, and the letter of recommendation I wrote for the Hoffmans. Is it enough?"

Werner took the envelope, testing its weight. "It’s enough. I’ll ’accidentally’ discover a lead on the Black Market about you forging documents, and then I’ll report it to Lainer." He tucked the envelope into his coat’s inner pocket. "Three days from now, Lainer will come for you. The Stasi will ’find’ this evidence in your office."

"Why wait three days?"

"Because the others need time to get away," Werner said, looking Marcus in the eye. "When it happens, you only need to confess to helping those three escape. Nothing else. Remember: you know nothing about anyone else."

"What about the others?"

"I’ll take care of them."

"How?"

"You don’t need to know," Werner said, turning toward the door. "Father, some things are safer left unknown."

Marcus stood frozen, watching Werner’s silhouette disappear into the curtain of rain. He lit another cigarette, and this time, his fingers were steady.

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