I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 206: Chapter 116: Persuasion and Compromise

The guard opened the door to C-31, and Werner walked in.

The priest was still sitting on the bed in the same position, the Bible still in his hands.

"You’re back again," he said without looking up. "You people don’t give up, do you?"

"No," Werner said, sitting down at the table and lighting a cigarette. "Because this is for everyone’s good."

"For everyone’s good?" The priest sneered. "Good for whom? For people like you, who only do things for money?"

"For you, for the two engineers, for everyone waiting to be released." Werner exhaled a puff of smoke. "This is the first deal, Father. If it succeeds, more people will be freed in the future. If it fails, this whole program might be scrapped."

"That has nothing to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you." Werner looked at him. "The escape network you organized helped over twenty people. If this program can continue, the ones still in prison will all have a chance to get out."

The priest finally looked up at Werner.

"You’re asking me to compromise."

"I’m advising you to do the right thing."

"And what is the right thing?" The priest’s voice suddenly grew agitated. "To sign a confession of guilt and then be ’released’ like a criminal?"

"No." Werner stubbed out his cigarette. "It’s to leave this place alive and continue doing what you’re meant to do. Staying here, you can’t change anything. But if you get out, you can help more people."

The priest stared at him for a long time.

"You’re no simple ’coordinator’," he said. "You’re too silver-tongued."

"I’m just telling the truth."

The priest fell silent again.

He lowered his head and looked at the Bible in his hands. The cross on the cover was worn-out and faint, but his fingers still instinctively traced its location.

"If I sign," he said slowly, "what will those kids—the ones I helped—think of me? Won’t they think I’ve betrayed my own faith?"

"They’ll think that you’re still alive," Werner said. "You have to be alive to keep fighting. Dead, or locked up in here for life, you can’t do anything."

The priest closed his eyes.

His lips moved a few times, as if in prayer.

After a long while, he opened his eyes.

"I need time to think."

"How much time do you need?"

"One day," the priest said. "Give me one day. I’ll have an answer for you at this time tomorrow."

Werner stood up.

"Alright. I’ll be back tomorrow at three in the morning."

He turned and walked toward the door. As he reached it, the priest called out to him.

"Young man."

Werner looked back.

"Are you doing all this for the money?" the priest asked.

Werner didn’t answer. He just pushed the door open and left.

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

Dawn was breaking.

Werner and Vogel put Hans and Peter in the car and drove away from Brandenburg Prison.

Outside the car window, the sky began to turn pale.

Hans and Peter sat in the back seat, huddled closely together. Peter buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Hans patted his back, tears welling in his own eyes.

"Where to next?" Werner asked Vogel.

"Hornstein Prison, to pick up the journalist." Vogel flipped through a file. "Then to Bad Schenkenberg to get the underground publisher."

"And the priest—"

"We’ll deal with him tomorrow." Vogel took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Hopefully, he’ll come around."

Werner didn’t reply.

He gazed at the brightening sky outside the window and lit a cigarette.

’The priest will sign.’

’He has to.’

’If for no other reason, then for the six people still out there.’

The car drove on, disappearing into the morning mist.

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

At two o’clock the next morning, Werner sat in a 24-hour workers’ canteen, a cup of long-cold ersatz coffee before him.

The canteen was small, with only five or six tables. A faded slogan was posted on the wall: "Labor Creates Happiness."

At this hour, only two or three night-shift workers were eating—all from the nearby chemical plant, covered in grease, smoking as they ate their black bread.

No one noticed the man in the dark coat sitting in the corner.

Werner checked his watch.

2:15.

Forty-five minutes until he had to be at Brandenburg Prison to see the priest.

Yesterday, he and Vogel had gone to Hornstein Prison and Bad Senneberg Prison to collect two more people—the journalist Martin Weber and the underground publisher Friedrich Beck.

The two of them were in slightly better shape than Hans and Peter—at least they didn’t break down crying. But the fear and distrust in their eyes were the same. After spending so long in prison, they no longer dared to believe any promises.

All four were now being held in a secret safe house, guarded by Werner’s men. Nominally for their "protection," but in reality to prevent them from running off or contacting the outside world.

Only the priest was left.

If the priest still refused to sign today, the entire deal would fall through.

Werner stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, tossed a few coins on the table, and pushed the door open to leave.

The air outside was bitingly cold, and the streets were deserted. In the distance, factory smokestacks belched white smoke that formed plumes of mist against the night sky.

He walked along the empty street toward a Volvo parked by the curb. The driver was already waiting inside and started the engine upon seeing him approach.

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

Three in the morning, Brandenburg Prison.

This time, Werner came alone.

For this kind of persuasion, a crowd was counterproductive.

The guard led him to Zone C and stopped at the door of C-31.

"Want me to go in with you?" the guard asked.

"No need," Werner said. "Just open the door."

The guard took out his keys and opened the door.

A single candle was lit inside the cell.

The priest was sitting on the bed in the same position, the Bible still in his hands. But this time, he looked up at Werner.

"You’re punctual," he said.

"I gave you my word." Werner stepped inside as the door closed behind him. "So, have you considered it?"

The priest didn’t answer immediately. He placed the Bible on his lap and gazed at the candlelight.

"I’ve been thinking all day," he said, his voice calm. "I remembered many things. The people I helped, their faces, their names."

He paused.

"There was a girl named Anna, nineteen, a music student. She wanted to go to West Berlin to study music but had no pass. I contacted someone for her and had her sent over through the sewers."

Werner said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"And a worker named Thomas, thirty-five, with two children. His wife was in West Berlin, and the family was separated after the wall went up. I helped him get smuggled across."

The priest looked up at Werner.

"I remember all of them. Every name, every face."

"You did many good deeds," Werner said.

"But now the Stasi remembers too." The priest gave a bitter smile. "They’ve recorded all the names, haven’t they?"

Werner nodded.

"It’s all clearly written in your file. Twenty-three people. Seventeen are already in West Germany, and six are still in East Germany."

The priest closed his eyes.

"Those six people... who are they?"

"I can’t tell you that," Werner said. "But I can tell you that if this deal fails, they will be the first ones arrested."

"You’re threatening me."

"I’m stating a fact." Werner sat down at the table and lit a cigarette. "Father, you’ve been in prison for two years. You should understand how this country operates. The Stasi doesn’t let a single ’potential threat’ go. They haven’t arrested those six people yet because they want to use them as bait for bigger fish. But if you refuse to sign, if you sabotage this program—"

He took a drag from his cigarette.

"They’ll see you as uncooperative, a ’hardliner.’ When that happens, those six people will become targets for retaliation. Not only will they be arrested, they’ll receive harsh sentences and be locked up in a place far worse than this."

The priest’s hand tightened on the Bible.

"Do you have any idea what you’re saying? You’re using innocent people to blackmail me."

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