I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 215: Chapter 125: The Stasi Purge Concludes

The kiss was light, gentle, and carried the weight of a final farewell.

Eva closed her eyes, her hands clutching his collar as if trying to pull him into her very being.

After what felt like an eternity, they parted.

"Live a good life in West Germany," Werner said, holding her hand. "Forget everything about East Germany. Forget the Berlin Wall. And forget me."

"I can’t," Eva said, shaking her head. "I’ll never forget you."

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

On the morning of December 28th, Werner didn’t go to the Friedrichstrasse checkpoint.

He didn’t want to watch Eva leave.

He sat in his secret office, a glass of whiskey on the desk.

Outside the window, snowflakes drifted sparsely from the bleak, gray winter sky of East Berlin.

At 9:15, the phone rang.

"It’s me," Mathias Bauer’s voice came through the receiver. "They’re across. It went smoothly."

"Good."

"Eva asked me to tell you something..." Matthias paused. "She said thank you for giving her and Hans a future."

Werner said nothing, simply hanging up the phone.

He downed the whiskey in one go, the harsh liquor burning his throat. Then he rose, walked to the window, and gazed out at the bleak street below.

Pedestrians, bundled in heavy coats, hurried past with their heads bowed.

In the distance, the Berlin Television Tower stood starkly in the haze, like a steel needle piercing the sky.

This city was cold and oppressive, steeped in lies and surveillance.

But this was his battlefield.

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

East Berlin was colder this year than in years past.

Werner stood at the foot of a gray apartment building, looking up at a fourth-floor window. The curtains were drawn tight, not a sliver of light escaping.

This was Vonke’s place.

Werner carried a bottle of Hungarian Tokaji and a box of Brazilian coffee—both considered luxuries in East Germany.

He climbed the stairs, the wooden steps creaking underfoot. The air in the hallway was thick with the smell of boiled sauerkraut, and a large patch of plaster had peeled from the wall.

He knocked three times. No response. Werner waited a moment, then knocked three more times.

"Who is it?" Vonke’s voice came from behind the door, calm yet wary.

"It’s me, Werner."

The lock turned, and the door opened a crack. Vonke peered out at him, then opened the door fully.

"Come in."

The apartment was small, with only two rooms.

The living room held an old sofa and a dining table. On the wall hung several yellowed photographs—a young Vonke in an SS uniform, standing with a few equally young comrades-in-arms. A bookshelf by the window was crammed with various files and books.

Vonke looked much older.

He wore a faded gray sweater, his hair almost completely white. The wrinkles on his face were carved deep, like lines etched by a knife.

But his eyes were as sharp as ever, staring at Werner like a hawk. He still carried himself with the unique dignity and composure of an old Stasi veteran.

"Sit," Vonke said, gesturing to the sofa. He took the chair opposite.

Werner placed the wine and coffee on the table. "I heard you were transferred to the archives."

"The archives," Vonke said lightly, a self-deprecating smile touching his lips. "A quiet place. Suitable for an old man like me."

There was no anger in his voice, only the calm of a man who has seen it all.

Werner could sense it. Even after being purged, this man who had spent over twenty years in the Stasi still maintained his professional poise and dignity. He wouldn’t lash out or show much emotion. It wasn’t his style.

Vonke picked up the bottle of Tokaji and examined it. "Good stuff. Not easy to come by around here."

"Got it through my channels."

"Of course you have channels. Werner Betelich, East Berlin’s biggest Black Market kingpin. Your business is doing very well these days."

Werner said nothing.

Vonke opened the bottle and poured two glasses.

The golden liquid shimmered in the dim light. He handed a glass to Werner and picked up the other himself.

"I was with the Stasi for twenty-three years," Vonke said, gently swirling his glass. "It wasn’t called the Stasi back then. It was the Soviet Occupation Zone Intelligence Agency. I’ve seen a lot of people and a lot of things."

He took a sip, his expression placid. "There are things you don’t understand when you’re young, but now that I’m old, I see them clearly."

Werner held his glass, listening quietly.

"Do you know why they purged me?" Vonke looked at Werner, his tone still even. "Because the times have changed. Old men like me don’t fit the new rules of the game."

He paused. "Von Brown and his lot... they’re more aggressive, more... flexible. It’s nothing to complain about. That’s just the way of history."

Werner watched Vonke. Even in disgrace, the old man remained calm and rational.

"Werner, I’ve met all sorts of people in my life," Vonke said, setting down his glass. "The smart, the stupid, the idealistic, the pragmatic. But you’re the most unique."

"Why?"

"Because you’re clear-eyed," Vonke’s gaze sharpened. "You never lie to yourself. You never pretend to believe in some ethereal nonsense. You only believe in tangible interests. That’s good."

Werner was silent.

"I’ve known what you’re up to for a long time," Vonke continued. "Anyone else would have been arrested for the things you do. But I never made a move against you. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because you’re discreet and smart," Vonke said, pouring another glass. "And... I also used your intelligence to my advantage, securing certain... conveniences. Like sending my daughter to university in West Germany."

Werner froze. He never knew Vonke had a daughter in West Germany.

"Surprised?" Vonke gave a faint smile. "Did you think you were the only one planning a way out? Werner, I’ve been in this line of work for eighteen years. I know what the future holds for this country better than anyone."

He rose, walked to the window, and pulled back a corner of the curtain. Outside, a few pedestrians in heavy coats hurried along the gray street.

"Werner, a piece of advice," Vonke said, his back to him. "Von Brown isn’t like me."

"I know."

"No, you don’t fully understand," Vonke said, turning around. "I pursue my interests, but I have lines I won’t cross, principles. That boy, Von Brown, is different. He’s too ambitious, and he has no boundaries. He’s using you now because you’re useful. But the moment you’re in his way, or you’ve outlived your usefulness..."

Vonke left the thought unfinished, but Werner understood.

"So, make sure you have more than one way out," Vonke said, returning to his seat. "Don’t pin all your hopes on one person. I know you have connections in West Germany... those are your bargaining chips."

"You mean..."

"One day, this wall is going to fall," Vonke said calmly. "Maybe in ten years, maybe twenty, but it won’t stand forever. When that happens, some people will face a reckoning. But others... if they’ve prepared properly, they’ll be able to get out."

Werner nodded seriously. "I’ll remember that."

"Good." Vonke raised his glass. "One last drink?"

"Very well."

They clinked their glasses and downed the contents in one go.

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

It was evening when Werner left Vonke’s building. He walked down the street, the setting sun stretching his shadow long behind him. One by one, the streetlights flickered on, casting a dim, yellow glow on the icy pavement.

’An era was ending.’

Werner lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Old-school bureaucrats like Vonke were exiting the historical stage, replaced by new blood like Von Brown—more aggressive, more ruthless, and with no respect for the rules.

For Werner, this was both an opportunity and a danger.

’He would have to adapt to this change.’

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

The next day, Von Brown summoned Werner to meet at Stasi Headquarters.

Von Brown’s new office was on the fifth floor, twice the size of his previous one.

New East German and Party flags hung on the wall. The bookshelves were lined with files and documents. Behind the desk, a massive map of East Berlin was dotted with small, colored flags.

"Sit," Von Brown said, gesturing to the opposite chair. He wore a new colonel’s uniform, the golden oak leaves on his epaulets gleaming.

Werner sat down, noticing a thick file on Von Brown’s desk.

"Congratulations on your promotion to colonel," Werner said.

"Thank you," Von Brown nodded, then leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. "Werner, how long have we known each other?"

"Almost a year."

"A year," Von Brown said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "You’ve done well this past year. Handled everything beautifully. That’s why I’ve been cultivating you, giving you opportunities, protecting you."

Werner said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"Remember what we discussed last time?" Von Brown stared at him. "About you helping to manage certain... special economic operations."

"I remember."

"I gave you a long time to think," Von Brown said, flicking his ash. "Now, I need your answer."

Werner’s heart hammered. He knew this moment was inevitable.

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