I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 220: Chapter 3: First Test of Skills

"We should be more careful in a public place like this."

"What’s there to be afraid of?" Anna raised an eyebrow, a challenge in her eyes. "We’re just discussing work."

Her wrist was in Werner’s palm, her pulse racing.

They stared at each other, a subtle tension hanging in the air between them.

In the end, Anna was the first to look away. She pulled her hand back, picked up her glass, and took a sip.

"Seriously, Werner," she said, setting down her glass, her tone growing serious. "Koko is a quagmire—easy to get into, but hard to get out of. You have to keep a clear head at all times. Don’t let power and money blind you."

"I will."

"I’ll be watching you," Anna said, the corners of her mouth turning up in a slight smile. "To make sure you don’t go under at Koko."

Werner looked at her. In the dim light, her eyes shimmered with an unreadable glint.

"You know," Werner said slowly, "sometimes I feel like I can only be my true self when I’m with you."

Anna was taken aback for a moment, then she laughed.

"That won’t do." She stood up and put on her trench coat. "In this world, the ’true self’ is the most dangerous thing. Remember, Werner, always wear a mask."

She walked to the door, then turned back.

"Gunter is coming back next week. I’ll give you a heads-up beforehand. When you meet him, don’t show any weakness."

Then she pushed the door open and left, her figure disappearing into the night.

Werner sat back in his seat and ordered another drink.

He looked out the window at the dim street as the events of the day flashed through his mind—

That gray building, those crowded offices, Otto’s tired eyes, Anna’s ambiguous smile.

’Everything is going according to plan. I’ve gotten into Koko and secured a position. The next step is to prove my worth and establish myself within the system.’

Werner finished his drink, paid the bill, and walked out of the bar.

The January cold blasted him in the face, but something fiery burned within him.

It was ambition, desire, a thirst for power.

And also a pursuit of freedom.

’He knew this path was long and dangerous. But he had no other choice.’

’Since I’ve come to this era, I have to leave my mark on it.’

’Since I’ve chosen this path, I have to see it through to the end.’

Werner shoved his hands into his coat pockets and strode toward the subway station.

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

The next morning at eight o’clock, just as Werner sat down at his desk, Otto peeked in from the doorway.

"Werner, come to my office."

Werner followed Otto into the back room. It was a small, private office, its window covered by heavy curtains. On a table sat a filing cabinet the size of a safe.

Otto closed the door and pulled a red-covered folder from the cabinet.

"First assignment." He pushed the folder over. "The Leipzig Chemical Plant needs a shipment of catalysts. The specifications are on this list. We can’t produce them domestically, and their production line is at a standstill waiting for them."

Werner opened the folder.

The first page was a formal application from the chemical plant, stamped with a large red seal, the tone urgent: "If we cannot obtain this batch of materials within two weeks, our factory’s production line will be forced to shut down, affecting the entire year’s planned targets..."

The second page was a detailed list, densely packed with chemical names: palladium catalyst, platinum catalyst, ruthenium catalyst... Followed by the names of West German chemical giants like "BASF," "Bayer," and "Hurst."

"These things..." Werner looked up.

"They’re under export control." Otto lit a cigarette. "They’re controlled items on the CoCom list. They can be used to produce chemical weapons. Through normal channels, West German customs won’t clear them."

"So—"

"So it’s up to you." Otto flicked his cigarette ash. "Two weeks. Can you do it?"

Werner looked at the list, his mind racing.

"I’ll try."

"Not ’try.’" Otto stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "It’s a ’must.’ The Leipzig Chemical Plant supplies the Soviet Union directly; it’s a matter of international credibility. If you fail, we’ll all be in deep shit."

He stood up and patted Werner on the shoulder.

"You survived on the Black Market for so long, which means you have your ways. Now’s the time to use them."

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

Werner returned to his desk, spread out the list, and studied it carefully.

Palladium catalyst, 99.5% purity, ten kilograms. Platinum catalyst, 98% purity, five kilograms. Ruthenium catalyst...

The total value was about thirty thousand West German Marks. Not too expensive, but the problem was how to get his hands on them.

Werner picked up the phone and dialed a number in West Berlin. It rang seven times before someone picked up.

"Who is it?" Reynard’s voice was hoarse with sleep.

"It’s me."

"It’s only eight-thirty—" Reynard yawned. "What’s up?"

"Got a job." Werner lowered his voice. "I need a batch of catalysts. They’re controlled items. Need them fast."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds.

"What are the exact specs?"

Werner read out the list.

Reynard listened and took notes, occasionally muttering, "Palladium catalyst... this stuff is expensive... platinum’s even more expensive..."

"Can you get them?"

"I can." Reynard paused. "But it has to go through a special channel. I have a friend at BASF, works in procurement, who can get a batch of ’scrapped samples.’ But this shipment can’t be sent directly to East Germany. It has to be rerouted."

"Rerouted where?"

"Switzerland. I know the owner of a trading company in Zurich, Hans Brunaer, who specializes in this kind of business. He can receive the goods, repackage them, and forge the paperwork to make them look like ’lab samples.’ Then he’ll ship them to Hamburg Port."

"By sea?"

"Right. By sea from Hamburg, around Denmark, through the Baltic Sea into Rostock Port. That route is the safest; West German customs can’t touch it."

Werner thought of Carl—the captain who ran smuggling operations in Rostock.

"Okay. I’ll arrange for pickup on my end. How much?"

"BASF wants fifteen thousand, the scrap price. Bruner takes a three-thousand commission. Shipping to Hamburg is another thousand." Reynard calculated. "Nineteen thousand total. You can negotiate the sea freight costs yourself."

Werner glanced at the file. Koko’s budget was thirty thousand. More than enough.

"Deal."

"When do you need it?"

"As soon as possible. Two weeks at the latest."

Reynard whistled. "You really know how to pick your moments. Alright, I’ll contact my guy at BASF today. I’ll get back to you within three days."

After hanging up, Werner dialed another number.

This time it was a public phone at Rostock Port. It rang for a long time before someone answered.

"Who is it?"

"I’m looking for Captain Carl."

"Hold on."

Footsteps could be heard through the phone, along with the distant cries of seagulls. After two minutes, a gruff voice came on the line.

"Who’s looking for me?"

"Werner."

"Well, well, Werner!" Carl’s voice immediately became enthusiastic. "It’s been a while! What’s up, more business?"

"I have a shipment coming from Hamburg. Catalysts, controlled items. Can you run it on your route?"

Carl was silent for a moment. "Hamburg to Rostock, through the Baltic Sea... It’s possible, but that route’s not so quiet right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Patrols in the Baltic Sea have been strengthened recently; the West German and Danish coast guards are cracking down." Carl lowered his voice. "A ship was seized last month. The captain’s still locked up in Copenhagen."

Werner frowned. "So can you do it?"

"I can." Carl laughed. "But it’ll cost you extra. A run like this, at a time like this, the risk is high."

"How much?"

"Four thousand West German Marks."

"Deal. But I need your guarantee that the goods will arrive safely in port."

"Don’t worry. I’ve been sailing for twenty years. What kind of storms haven’t I seen?" Carl thumped his chest. "As long as the goods get to Hamburg, I guarantee they’ll be in Rostock within three days."

"Okay. Once I get confirmation that the goods are in Hamburg, you’ll go for the pickup."

"No problem. But I need half the money up front."

"Understood. I’ll have someone send it over."

After hanging up, Werner leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette.

The plan had taken shape. Reynard would get the goods from BASF and ship them to Switzerland. There, Bruner would repackage them, forge the documents, and send them on to Hamburg Port. Carl would pick up the shipment and take the sea route around Denmark, through the Baltic Sea, to its final destination in Rostock. The chain had four links, and he had a backup for each one.

But there was still the most critical link—customs at Rostock Port.

Werner stubbed out his cigarette and got up to find Otto.

"Can you handle customs?" Werner asked.

Otto shook his head. "I can only guarantee that there are no problems within Koko. Customs isn’t my department."

"Then whose is?"

"The Stasi." Otto glanced at Werner. "Don’t you have a good relationship with Colonel von Brown?"

Werner thought for a moment, then picked up the phone and dialed Colonel von Brown’s office.

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