Chapter 199: Chapter 109: Final Warning
Outside the window were the gray, dreary streets of East Berlin. A military truck drove past slowly, its cargo bed filled with soldiers in gray uniforms.
"You see the situation at the agency now," Von Brown’s voice dropped lower. "Director Schmidt is purging the conservatives. A lot of the old guard will be transferred. In this process, some people will rise, and some will fall."
He turned and looked at Werner.
"I know all about your relationship with Vonke. He protected you, and you provided him with intelligence. There’s no point in hiding it."
Von Brown walked back to the dining table, placed both hands on its surface, and leaned forward.
"But Vonke is finished, Werner. His time is over. If you’re still tied to him, you’ll go down with him."
Werner didn’t speak, just watched Von Brown.
"I’m talking to you about this today to give you a chance." Von Brown straightened up. "A chance to choose again. Follow me, and your business can grow bigger, your status higher. Refuse me, and you can keep messing around in the Black Market, waiting for the day someone sells you out without you even knowing."
He picked up his coat and walked toward the door. At the doorway, he stopped and turned his head to the side.
"Three days, Werner. Think it over carefully."
The door closed behind him, leaving Werner alone in the room.
The venison on the table was cold now, and the wine glass was still half-full.
Werner sat there and lit a cigarette.
Von Brown’s words had been crystal clear.
This wasn’t an invitation. It was an ultimatum.
To agree meant to pledge total allegiance.
To refuse meant burning all bridges.
There was no middle ground.
Werner took a drag from his cigarette. The smoke drifted slowly upward, dissipating near the ceiling.
He recalled the term Von Brown had just used: foreign exchange channels.
A vague memory surfaced in his mind.
’The Department of Commercial Coordination.’
’Yes, that was the name.’
East Germany did indeed have such an agency later on, dedicated to acquiring foreign currency for the state. Nominally, it was a foreign trade company, but in reality, it engaged in all sorts of shady dealings—selling arms to Third World countries, importing luxury goods from West Germany to sell at exorbitant prices to East German elites, and selling political prisoners like commodities to the West German Government.
A considerable portion of East Germany’s entire foreign currency income came from that department.
But he vaguely remembered that after reunification, the head of that department had been held accountable. He couldn’t recall the specific details, but he had the impression the man’s end wasn’t a good one—he was either sentenced to prison or investigated for a long time. In any case, it wasn’t a respectable end.
It was now 1962.
The Department of Commercial Coordination hadn’t been officially established yet, but a prototype was likely already in the works.
What Von Brown wanted him to do was build the underground part of this system in advance.
If he agreed, he would become a cog in this massive machine.
A crucial cog, but one that could be replaced at any time.
’Besides, if history really continues on its course—’
’East Germany will fall one day.’
’The Berlin Wall will come down, and reunification will come.’
’When that time comes, what will be the fate of those on this ship?’
Werner stubbed out his cigarette and stood up.
He walked to the window and looked at the street outside.
An old woman slowly pushed a baby carriage past, a child bundled in a thick padded jacket sitting inside.
Two men who looked like workers stood on the street corner smoking, chatting about something and laughing from time to time.
A tram rattled past, its cars packed with people heading home from work.
Ordinary East Berlin life.
Gray, oppressive, but also peaceful.
And he was slowly drifting away from that peace.
Sinking deeper and deeper.
Werner turned, left the room, went downstairs, and walked out the main door.
A cold wind hit him in the face. He wrapped his coat tighter, walked down the street for a while, and after confirming no one was following him, slipped into a public phone booth.
He inserted a coin and dialed a number.
The phone rang three times before it was answered.
"Hello?"
It was Reinhard Mueller’s voice.
"It’s me," Werner said in a low voice. "I need your help with something."
"Go on."
"Help me contact our people in West Germany." Werner glanced outside the phone booth to make sure no one was around. "I need to know, if one day I have to leave East Berlin, what the fastest route would be."
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.
"What happened?" Reynard’s tone became serious. "Isn’t your business doing well?"
"A precautionary measure," Werner said. "I’m not planning on leaving right now, but I need to know my escape route."
"Understood," Reynard said. "I’ll make the contacts for you."
"Thanks."
"Don’t mention it." Reynard paused. "Werner, be careful."
"I know."
Werner hung up the phone and pushed open the door of the booth, stepping out.
The streetlights had come on, casting a dim yellow glow on the icy sidewalk.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked quickly through the cold wind toward the subway station.
’Accept Von Brown’s proposal.’
’But at the same time, strengthen ties with West Germany.’
’Grow the business, make enough money, and secure an escape route.’
’Then, at the right moment, before it all comes crashing down—’
’Jump ship.’
’It’s the only way.’
Werner walked into the subway station and disappeared into the crowd.
**************
A few days later, in the afternoon, Werner was in the warehouse taking stock of a new shipment—thirty crates of West German beer, smuggled in disguised as an export shipment from the Czech Republic.
Franz pushed open the rusty iron door, an uneasy expression on his face.
"Boss, someone asked me to give you a message."
Werner looked up, the inventory list still in his hand. "Who?"
"Comrade Vonke." Franz lowered his voice and pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket. "He told me to tell you: nine o’clock tonight, at the Soviet Army monument in Treptower Park. He has something to discuss with you."
Werner took the slip of paper and unfolded it. It contained only a few simple words: *Nine. Monument. Come.* The handwriting was Vonke’s; he recognized it.
"That’s it?"
"That’s it." Franz wrung his hands. "Boss, Comrade Vonke didn’t look so good. It seemed like something’s happened. Should you take a few more men?"
"No need." Werner pocketed the slip of paper. "You keep an eye on this shipment. I’ll go by myself tonight."
Franz hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded and turned to leave.
Werner stared at the inventory list in his hand, but his mind was on other things.
Vonke wanted to meet in Treptower Park. The location was highly unusual. It was the site of the Soviet War Memorial, not very crowded during the day and practically deserted at night. Choosing a place like this meant that whatever Vonke wanted to discuss couldn’t be known by others.
Besides, the fact that Vonke had Franz deliver a note instead of calling directly or sending a Stasi car to pick him up was telling in itself.
’Something has happened.’
**************
At 8:50 PM, Werner stood at the entrance to Treptower Park.
He pulled his coat tight and walked along the path toward the monument. His feet made crunching sounds on the snow. The wind swayed the tree branches, casting distorted shadows.
Vonke was already standing in the plaza in front of the monument.
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