I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 179: Chapter 89: Arrested

Lainer put down the file and leaned forward slightly. "Tell me."

"Three days ago, I was asking around in the Black Market and heard someone was peddling master plates for fake passports." Werner’s tone was calm. "The seller mentioned that the plates were stolen from a warehouse near Holy Cross Church, and that he’d seen people in black robes active in the area."

"Priests?" Lainer narrowed his eyes.

"Most likely." Werner nodded. "I spent a few more days verifying and found that Holy Cross Church does indeed have a warehouse that’s rarely visited. And..." He paused. "Isn’t there a Father Marcus Wolf on the surveillance list? He happens to be at that church."

Lainer’s eyes lit up.

He opened the file folder on his desk and pulled out a document.

"Marcus Wolf. We suspected him of being involved in the escape of political prisoners before, but we never found any hard evidence."

"Maybe we’ll catch him this time," Werner said.

Lainer closed the file, a satisfied smile on his face. "This lead is very valuable, Betelich. I’ll send someone to verify it immediately. If the evidence is solid, we’ll move this afternoon."

"Then I’ll be waiting for your good news." Werner stood up to leave.

Walking out of the Stasi Building, Werner took a deep breath.

The winter sun pierced through the clouds, shining on the street, but the air was still icy cold. He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke dissipate into the air.

’Those five should all be safe by now.’

Anselm had spent three days as Pastor Weber’s "nephew." Gretel was settling in comfortably at the nursing home. The Blooms and Erich had already been working at the port for three days, and Lieselotte had arrived in Dresden yesterday.

’The timing is perfect.’

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

Three afternoons later, a black Stasi Volga sedan pulled up at the entrance of Holy Cross Church.

Lainer walked into the church with two agents and went straight to Marcus’s office. Marcus was sitting behind his desk, reading the Bible. When he saw them enter, his fingers trembled slightly.

"Father Wolf, a routine inspection," Lainer said politely. "Your cooperation, please."

The two agents began to search the office. Soon, one of them pulled a manila envelope from a hidden compartment behind a bookshelf.

"Major, look at this."

Lainer opened the envelope, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

Master plates for fake passports, photos, letters of recommendation... The evidence was conclusive.

He thought of the lead Werner had brought him three days ago and inwardly marveled at Betelich’s intelligence-gathering skills.

"Father Wolf, please come with us."

Marcus stood up, calmly took off his priest’s robes, revealing an old sweater underneath. He glanced out the window. Under the gray sky, the church’s cross swayed slightly in the wind.

"May I bring my Bible?" he asked.

"You may," Lainer said.

Marcus picked up the Bible from his desk and followed them out of the office.

The church bells began to ring again. One toll, two, three...

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

That evening, Werner met Lainer at the Song of the Workers restaurant.

Lainer was in a good mood. He ordered a bottle of vodka and poured Werner a full glass.

"Well done, Betelich." Lainer raised his glass. "Your tip was perfectly timed. Father Wolf has already confessed to everything—helping three political prisoners escape: the Stein family, the Hoffmans, and Krause."

Werner took a sip of his drink, his expression impassive.

"Director Schmidt is very pleased," Lainer said, lowering his voice. "He says you’re a reliable comrade. Your network of informants is well-placed, and your intelligence is timely. Keep an eye on those other people. Especially that writer, Lucas. I suspect his West German publisher is an intelligence agent."

"I’ll keep an eye on him," Werner said.

Lainer clapped him on the shoulder and poured another drink. They clinked glasses, the liquor shimmering with a greasy sheen in the dim light.

Werner finished his drink and got up to leave. As he walked out of the restaurant, a cold wind hit him. He pulled his coat tighter and lit a cigarette.

Franz stepped out from the shadows.

"Is everything arranged?" Werner asked.

"All set." Franz handed him a piece of paper. "All five have been moved. Anselm is with the Church, Gretel is at the nursing home, the Blooms and Erich are at the port, and Lieselotte..." Franz paused. "She’s already on the train to Dresden."

Werner took the paper, glanced at it, then struck a match and lit it, watching it burn to ash in the night wind.

"Boss, what about Marcus?" Franz asked.

"The sentence hasn’t been handed down yet, but it’ll be five years at most." Werner exhaled a puff of smoke. "I’ll have Lawyer Vogel follow up and try to get the sentence reduced. When he gets out, he can go to the Church in Dresden. Lieselotte will take care of him."

Franz nodded, looking like he wanted to say something but held back.

"Spit it out," Werner said, looking at him.

"Boss, I just don’t get it..." Franz scratched his head. "You spent so much money and took such huge risks for these people... It’s not like they can make you any money."

Werner didn’t answer right away.

He looked up at the night sky. There were no stars, only low-hanging dark clouds and the smokestacks of distant factories.

"Franz, some accounts can’t be calculated too clearly," Werner said, flicking his ash. "Lainer wants me to watch these people. If I actually sent them all to prison, what would make me any different from a Stasi dog?"

"But..."

"My black market business depends on people being willing to work with me," Werner cut him off. "If I sell out everyone Marcus helped today just to please Lainer, what will Pastor Weber think tomorrow? Do I still want my connection to the Church? Will the families of political prisoners still dare to come to me?"

Franz nodded thoughtfully.

Werner turned and started walking toward his parked car, his voice dropping lower. "Besides... a man has to be able to sleep at night."

He paused for a moment. "This wall won’t be here forever. What if one day the wall is gone? What will the people I sold out, or their families, do to me?"

Franz stood frozen, watching Werner’s back disappear around the corner.

In the distance, the bells of Holy Cross Church rang out again.

Werner got into his car and started the engine. The headlights illuminated the road ahead, as well as a faded slogan on a nearby wall: THE ENEMIES OF THE PEOPLE WILL BE UPROOTED.

Werner smiled, stepped on the gas, and drove into the Berlin night.

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

Werner stood in the corner of the warehouse, watching Hank crawl under a dilapidated Yifa L60 truck.

"This truck was made in ’57. Simple chassis structure." Hank’s voice, tinged with the echo of clanging metal, came from under the truck. "I can weld a secret compartment between the fuel tank and the drive shaft. You won’t be able to see it from the outside."

Werner crouched down, using the beam of his flashlight to see.

Hank was using a tape measure on the gap in the chassis, sketching a rough draft on a wooden board with a pencil.

"How much can it hold?"

"Not much." Hank crawled out from under the truck, his face smeared with grease. "About this big." He gestured a rectangle, roughly the size of two shoeboxes. "Any bigger and it would affect the truck’s balance. The guys at the checkpoint would notice something’s wrong just by looking at its posture."

"That’s enough," Werner nodded. "When can you have it ready?"

"Give me two days." Hank wiped the engine oil from his hands. "But Boss, this truck can only hold documents or small items. If you want to transport people, you’ll need another plan."

"I know." Werner pulled out a wad of Marks. "Just build the compartment for now. Make it solid. Grind the weld seams smooth so no one can spot any flaws."

Hank took the money and stuffed it into the pocket of his work pants without even counting it. "Don’t worry, a little job like this is no problem for me."

Two evenings later, Werner returned to the warehouse.

The Yifa truck was finished. It was parked in the corner, and the dust on its body made it look no different from the other old vehicles.

Hank opened the driver’s side door and pointed to an inconspicuous iron ring under the foot pedals. "Here, this is the switch. Turn it two rotations to the right, and the compartment in the chassis will pop open a crack, just wide enough to stuff things inside."

Werner bent down to try it. The ring turned almost silently. The compartment’s opening was only a hand’s width, but it was enough to slip in a stack of documents.

"And to close it?"

"Just push it back in. It’ll lock automatically." Hank patted the truck door. "I also added magnets to the latch. Even if someone gets on the ground to look, they’ll just think it’s a normal chassis reinforcement."

Werner walked around the truck once, then nodded in satisfaction. "Give me the keys. I’ll be using it tomorrow."

"Want me to drive?"

"No need." Werner took the keys. "Just do your job. Don’t ask about anything else."

Hank shrugged, turned back to his workbench, and went on fiddling with his parts.

That night, Werner went to Lucas’s apartment.

Werner knocked three times on the door, paused, then knocked twice more. It was their agreed-upon signal.

The door opened a crack, and Lucas’s wary eyes peered out. Seeing it was Werner, he finally breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door completely.

"Come in."

Lucas’s room was overflowing with books. They were piled on the desk, the bed, the floor, and even the windowsill was stacked with yellowing manuscript pages.

Werner sat down in a chair. "So, what’s your decision?"

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