I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 181: Chapter 91: The Disappearing Writer

"It’s an old car. Been on the road for five years," Werner said, handing him a cigarette. "It was all mud over there. Couldn’t even wash it all off."

The policeman took the cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag. "Alright, go on. Remember to wash the car next time."

Werner breathed a sigh of relief and drove back to the warehouse.

Hank was working on another car. When he saw Werner return, he gave him a thumbs-up. "So? My handiwork’s not too shabby, eh?"

"Excellent," Werner said, tossing him the keys. "Keep this car for now. I might need it again in a few days."

Back in his secret office, Werner poured himself a glass of liquor and sat by the window, watching the sky gradually darken outside.

The manuscript was sent. Next was sending the man.

He closed his eyes, and the familiar, translucent interface appeared in his mind. The system’s text pulsed in his vision:

[Intelligence Analysis: Checkpoint patrol intensity increased by 40% this week.]

Werner opened his eyes, his brow furrowed.

’A 40% increase in patrol intensity... what does that mean? A routine spot check, or are the Stasi looking for someone?’

He remembered Reynard’s warning—the Stasi were cleaning out dissidents.

’Perhaps Lainer has made a new move, or maybe another department is taking action. Either way, it’s too risky to take someone through the checkpoint right now.’

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

The next evening, Werner went to Lucas’s apartment again.

As he knocked on the door, he noticed the new smell of something burnt in the hallway.

Lucas opened the door faster than last time, clearly having been waiting for him. The writer’s face was pale and his eyes were sunken, as if he hadn’t slept well in days.

"Did the manuscript make it?" he asked eagerly.

"It did." Werner stepped into the room and noticed that more than half the books on the desk were gone. "You’ve been burning things?"

"You told me to get rid of sensitive materials last time." Lucas pointed to a metal bucket in the corner, which was filled with a pile of black ash. "Diaries, drafts, some letters from friends... I burned them all."

Werner walked over to take a look. The bucket indeed contained only ashes, with almost no trace of the original writing visible.

"Good job." He turned and scanned the room. "Anything else you need to bring?"

Lucas pointed to a canvas bag on the bed. "Just this. Two changes of clothes, my identification card, and a photo of my mother."

"That’s enough," Werner said, sitting down in a chair. "But you’ll have to wait a few more days."

Lucas’s expression stiffened. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"The checkpoints are on high alert lately." Werner lit a cigarette. "It’s safer to wait until things cool down."

"But..." Lucas clenched his fists. "I feel like someone’s watching me. A stranger came by downstairs yesterday, said he was checking the electric meter, but they just checked it for this building last month."

Werner narrowed his eyes. "What did he look like?"

"In his forties, gray coat, wearing a flat cap." Lucas recalled. "He wandered around the hallway for a bit and stopped at my door for a long time, as if he were listening for sounds inside."

"Did you open the door?"

"No. I saw him through the peephole." Lucas’s voice trembled slightly. "He eventually left, but I think he’ll be back."

Werner stood up and walked to the window. On the street below, a black Warsaw sedan was parked under a streetlight. Two figures could be faintly seen inside.

A Stasi car.

"From now on, don’t open the curtains," Werner said, turning back to Lucas. "Don’t turn on the lights at night, and try to stay in the back of the room during the day. If someone knocks, don’t open the door, no matter what they say."

"Then when can I leave?"

"Wait for my signal," Werner said, walking to the door.

"What if they come to arrest me in the next few days?"

Werner stopped and turned back to look at the frail writer.

Lucas stood in the dim room, the empty bookshelves and the metal bucket of ashes behind him.

"I’ll figure something out, as soon as possible," Werner said. "Your book is already on its way to the publisher. It will speak for you."

Leaving the apartment building, Werner didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he sat in a nearby tavern for half an hour.

Through the tavern’s glass window, he could see the black Warsaw sedan.

The men inside didn’t get out, nor did they leave. They just sat there silently, like two vultures waiting for their prey.

Werner finished his beer, got up, and walked out of the tavern. He deliberately walked past the car, glancing inside out of the corner of his eye.

In the driver’s seat was a young man in his twenties with a crew cut. He was wearing plainclothes, but his posture was ramrod straight—clearly a trained professional.

In the passenger seat was a middle-aged man reading a newspaper, but he was holding it too high, obviously using it to conceal his face.

Werner went into the cigarette shop next door, bought a pack of cigarettes, and casually asked the owner, "How long has that car across the street been parked there?"

"Two days, I’d say." The owner was a portly old man, busy tallying his accounts. "Been there the whole time. Don’t know what they’re waiting for."

"Maybe waiting for someone," Werner said as he paid and turned to leave.

Back in his car, he started the engine and drove away. In the rearview mirror, the black Warsaw sedan remained where it was, not following him.

’Looks like the Stasi are only watching Lucas; they don’t suspect me yet. But this surveillance net could tighten at any moment. I have to get him out soon.’

Werner turned into a small alley and stopped his car at a public phone booth. He inserted a coin and dialed Matthias’s number.

"It’s me," he said, lowering his voice. "Three days from now, four in the morning, Friedrichstrasse checkpoint. This one might be a little tricky."

The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds.

"How tricky?" Matthias asked.

"The Stasi might be onto it."

"...I understand." Matthias’s voice turned serious. "I’ll be on duty at four. But Werner, this is the last time for a while. The higher-ups have been cracking down lately. I can’t take any more risks."

"I understand," Werner said.

Werner hung up the phone, leaned against the glass of the phone booth, and lit a cigarette.

The smoke filled the small space, making him cough. He pushed open the door of the phone booth, and a cold wind rushed in, carrying the chill of November.

In three days, he had to get Lucas out. The manuscript was already on its way to the publisher; it was time for the author to follow his work.

Werner dropped his cigarette butt, slipped into his car, and disappeared into the Berlin night.

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

At 3:30 a.m., the streets of the Prenzlauer Berg District were deserted.

Werner parked his car in the alley behind Lucas’s apartment building, cut the engine, and waited in silence.

A fine winter rain was falling outside the window, and the wipers traced arcs across the glass.

He lit a cigarette, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror—the black Warsaw sedan was still parked at the street corner, but the men inside seemed to be asleep. The head of the person in the passenger seat was slumped to one side, motionless.

At 3:45, the side door of the apartment building opened with a CREAK.

Lucas poked his head out, looked left and right, then walked quickly toward Werner’s car.

He was wearing a faded worker’s jacket, a flat cap, and had a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. The rain quickly soaked his shoulders, but he didn’t run. He maintained a steady pace, like a worker heading to an early morning shift.

Werner pushed open the passenger-side door. Lucas scrambled into the car, bringing a damp smell with him.

"Are they asleep?" Lucas asked in a low voice, his glasses fogged with a layer of mist.

"Looks like it." Werner started the engine. "But we can’t use the main entrance."

He put the car in reverse, backing slowly out of the alley before turning onto another street.

After circling two blocks, Werner finally turned onto the main road leading to the checkpoint.

"Are you sure this plan will work?" Lucas’s fingers were clenched tightly around the strap of his canvas bag.

"There’s a hidden compartment in the back seat that can fit one person," Werner said, glancing at him. "But you’ll have to curl up and stay completely still for at least half an hour."

"I can do it." Lucas took off his glasses and wiped them with his sleeve. "As long as I can get out, I’d lie in a coffin if I had to."

Werner didn’t reply.

He drove to a secluded street and stopped. "Get in now. We don’t have much time."

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