I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 180: Chapter 90: The Manuscript’s Journey

Lucas took a deep breath. "I... I’ll go."

"Good." Werner stood up. "Get rid of anything sensitive at home. Just keep your essential documents and a change of clothes. Don’t bring anything else."

"When?"

"Wait for word from me." Werner walked toward the door. "I have to deliver the manuscript first, then I’ll arrange your escape based on the situation. Don’t leave the house for the next few days, and don’t contact anyone. If something comes up, put a flowerpot on the windowsill. When I see it, I’ll come find you."

Lucas nodded, then suddenly called out to him, "Mr. Betelich, what if... what if I can’t get out?"

Werner turned back and looked at the frail writer. "Then at least your book got out. The stories you wrote, the names... someone will remember them."

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

At four the next morning, Werner set out from the warehouse in the Yifa truck.

This was the first time he had been approved to go to West Berlin since the Berlin Wall was built.

He’d gotten the pass through Klein, the department head of quotas at the Ministry of Foreign Trade, under the pretext of "procuring special machine parts."

Klein had taken five hundred West German Marks from him but had been efficient. Within three days, the temporary pass, stamped with a red seal, was in his hands.

In a hidden compartment under the truck, Lucas’s manuscript was securely fastened. The cargo bed held a few boxes of "parts"—actually old gears and screws from the warehouse, used as cover.

At this hour, the streets of East Berlin were empty, save for the occasional passing tram and patrol car.

Werner kept his speed around forty kilometers per hour, not so fast as to arouse suspicion, nor so slow as to seem questionable.

This trip to West Berlin wasn’t just to deliver the manuscript; it was also to solidify his connections in the West.

Reynard was a shrewd businessman, but more importantly, he was well-connected in West Berlin.

When the wall eventually fell, the political dissidents Werner had helped, the families who had successfully escaped—they would all be his bargaining chips to clear his name.

The Friedrichstrasse checkpoint glowed with ghastly white lights in the morning fog.

Seeing the concrete structure in the distance, Werner’s heart began to beat a little faster.

Seven or eight cars were lined up before the checkpoint. A truck delivering bread, and a few private cars. Werner got in line at the back, lit a cigarette, and feigned a drowsy look.

When it was his turn, a young Border Guard approached and knocked on his window. Werner rolled it down.

"Pass."

Werner handed over the paper stamped with the red seal of the Ministry of Foreign Trade. "Going to West Berlin to procure parts. An order from the machinery plant."

The guard took the pass and inspected it carefully. Another guard went to the back of the truck, opened the cargo bay, and shone a flashlight on the boxes.

"Open them."

Werner got out of the truck and undid the iron latches on the boxes. Inside was a pile of rusty gears and screws, reeking of machine oil. The guard prodded the contents with his baton, confirming there was nothing else hidden inside.

"Open the hood."

Werner complied. The guard inspected the engine compartment, then walked a circle around the truck.

Then, he crouched down and shone his flashlight under the truck.

Werner’s palms began to sweat.

Just as he was about to say something to distract the guard, a man walked out of the checkpoint office. Mathias Bauer, wearing a Border Guard uniform, the brim of his cap pulled down low.

He waved a hand at the young guard. "Go over there. There’s a suspicious vehicle that needs a thorough check."

The young guard hesitated for a moment, glancing from Werner’s truck to Matthias. "But Captain, this one..."

"Let him go," Matthias cut him off, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no argument. "I just looked at the register. This truck’s pass was approved by the Ministry of Foreign Trade. It’s fine."

The young guard saluted and turned to another lane.

Matthias gave Werner a slight nod, so small it was almost imperceptible.

Werner stepped on the gas, and the truck slowly drove through the checkpoint, crossing the dividing line.

The dawn in West Berlin didn’t look much different from the dawn in East Berlin.

Except... the streets were clean, shop windows were filled with colorful goods, and the roadside cafes were already open, the aroma of roasting bread and coffee wafting out.

Werner parked the truck in a small alley in the Charlottenburg District, locked it, and walked to a nearby bookstore.

Reynard was already waiting there.

He was sitting in the bookstore’s reading area with a thick philosophy book open in front of him, though he wasn’t actually reading a single word. When he saw Werner come in, he closed the book and jerked his chin toward a small meeting room in the corner.

The two of them entered the meeting room, and Reynard closed the door.

"Where’s the merchandise?" he asked in a low voice.

"Here." Werner handed him a stack of papers.

Reynard took the documents and stuffed them into his briefcase. "The publisher is already waiting. If all goes well, it could be published within two months."

"The author himself will be coming over soon, too."

"Oh?" Reynard raised an eyebrow. "How do you plan to get him across?"

"Still planning it." Werner sat down in a chair and lit a cigarette. "But Reynard, I didn’t just come to deliver a manuscript this time."

"I know." Reynard lit a cigarette as well. "You want to secure a way out for yourself in the West."

Werner didn’t deny it. "No matter how good business is on this side of the Wall, it’s just dancing on a knife’s edge. The Stasi could turn on me at any moment. When that happens, I’ll need something to prove my worth."

"Like the political prisoners you’ve helped?"

"Right." Werner flicked his ash. "Lucas is a writer. When his book is published in West Germany, people will know who helped him get out. And there are others—the teachers, the engineers who came here through me... they will all be my bargaining chips in the future."

Reynard was silent for a moment, then said slowly, "Do you know what you’re saying? It sounds like..."

"Like I want to be an informant?" Werner cut him off. "I’m not planning to work for West German intelligence. I just want to build some... connections. If there are people or organizations in the West who need information from the East—some insignificant economic data, policy trends—I can provide it. Nothing military, nothing that gets people killed."

"Why?"

"Because if the Wall falls one day and the reckoning begins, I need to prove which side I was on." Werner looked Reynard in the eye. "You have connections in the West. Keep an eye out for me, see which people or organizations might have a use for me. I don’t want money. I just want... a guarantee."

Reynard took a deep drag from his cigarette, looking at Werner thoughtfully through the smoke. "You’re more far-sighted than I thought."

"I just want to live a little longer."

"Alright." Reynard stubbed out his cigarette. "I’ll keep an eye out for you. But Betelich, you need to be careful. Helping dissidents in the East, building connections in the West... you’re walking a tightrope."

"I know." Werner stood up. "But these days, the ones who don’t walk the tightrope have already fallen."

"Wait." Reynard stopped him. "They’re cracking down hard in the East lately. You need to be careful. I hear the Stasi is cleaning out dissidents, they’ve arrested a lot of people."

"I know." Werner walked to the door. "That’s why I have to be quick."

After saying goodbye to Reynard, Werner retrieved the truck and drove back to East Berlin.

The line at the checkpoint was longer this time; he waited a full forty minutes for his turn. A different group of guards was on duty, and Matthias wasn’t there.

Werner handed over his pass and the procurement order, silently praying that nothing would go wrong. The guards inspected more thoroughly than they had in the morning. They not only went through the cargo bay but also had him open the hood and even got under the truck to look.

"Why’s the undercarriage of this truck so dirty?" the guard asked as he crawled out from under the vehicle, dusting himself off.

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