I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 224: Chapter 7: Entering the Military Industry

"I’m not trying to control you."

"You’d better not be." Anna got out of bed and started to dress. "You should go. I have a mission tomorrow."

Werner got up and dressed as well.

Before he left, Anna stopped him at the door, stood on her toes, and gave him a quick, gentle kiss.

"See you next week," she said.

Werner stepped out of the apartment and into the biting cold wind.

He pulled his coat tighter and walked into the East Berlin night.

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

Monday morning, as soon as Werner arrived at Koko, he saw a black Volga sedan parked at the entrance of the office building. A Stasi car.

The atmosphere in the building was tense.

Colleagues were talking in hushed voices, occasionally glancing upstairs.

Werner walked into the Special Procurement Department. The secretary came up to him, her face pale.

"Hannas was taken away," the secretary said. "The Stasi came. Said he’s suspected of corruption and treason."

"When?"

"Half an hour ago. Colonel von Brown came himself with four men. They took Hannas straight from his office."

Werner walked to the window and looked down.

Flanked by two uniformed Stasi officers, Hannas was led out of the building and shoved into the Volga sedan.

His face was ashen, and he looked completely deflated, like a punctured ball.

The car drove away. The whispering in the building grew louder.

Otto came out of his office and knocked on a desk. "Alright, stop staring. Get back to work."

He walked over to Werner and said in a low voice, "Come with me."

The two of them entered Otto’s office. Otto closed the door, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag.

"Did you know about this?" he asked.

"No," Werner said. "What happened?"

"The Stasi says Hannas is suspected of corruption and collaborating with the enemy." Otto rubbed his temples. "They showed evidence—photographs, bank statements, and a record of his suspicious transactions from the last three months. The Minister has already approved the investigation."

Werner was silent for a few seconds. "Did Hannas really do it?"

"Most likely." Otto gave a wry smile. "These people transferred from the old departments think Koko is a new unit with lax oversight, so they try to take advantage and cash in. What he didn’t realize is that the newer the department, the more closely the Stasi watches it. When the Minister established Koko, he said this was a key Party project and that corruption would absolutely not be tolerated."

He stared at Werner, his expression complex. "You may have come from the Black Market, but at least you understand the rules. You know what money you can take and what you can’t touch. Hannas worked in government departments for over a decade, yet he wasn’t as clear-headed as you."

Otto stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. "Hannas’s position is now vacant. The Minister’s intention is for you to take over as Deputy Director."

Werner’s heart sped up, but his face remained impassive. "My qualifications are too junior."

"Qualifications aren’t what’s important; ability is." Otto clapped him on the shoulder. "You’ve earned this. Do a good job. Don’t let me down."

Werner nodded. Otto opened the door and gestured for him to leave.

Back in the main office, the way his colleagues looked at Werner had changed.

Werner sat back down at his desk and opened a procurement report.

Outside the window, East Berlin was shrouded in a gray smog, and an East German marching tune played from a broadcast.

He picked up his fountain pen and continued writing his report.

He had climbed another rung on the ladder in this gray empire.

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

Werner had just sat down at his desk when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

The man who pushed the door open was Gunter, the Minister of Koko. He was fifty-five, with salt-and-pepper hair combed immaculately, and wore a well-tailored dark gray suit.

"Comrade Werner, there is a mission that requires your attention." Gunter closed the door, sat down across from Werner, and took a sealed file folder from his briefcase. "Top secret."

Werner took the folder and broke the seal.

Inside was a procurement list. The handwriting was neat, but the contents made him frown:

High-purity trichloroethylene, industrial grade, 500 liters

Tungsten powder, purity 99.95% or higher, 200 kilograms

Molybdenum plates, aerospace grade, 50 kilograms

Beryllium copper alloy, special specifications, 100 kilograms

"Who is this for?" Werner asked.

"The Fourth Machinery Plant in Karl Marx City." Gunter lit a cigarette, the smoke curling in front of his face. "They’re producing... some special equipment. These raw materials are critical. Without them, the production line will have to stop."

Werner understood.

The Fourth Machinery Plant was an East German defense contractor that produced precision mechanical parts and electronic equipment. Many of its products ultimately went to the Soviet military. The materials on this list were all dual-use, subject to strict export controls in the West.

"The deadline?"

"Three weeks." Gunter flicked his ash. "This is a test, Comrade Werner. If you can handle this shipment, it will prove you are qualified to be involved in Koko’s core business."

Werner stared at the list, his mind racing.

Trichloroethylene was a solvent, but it could also be used to clean precision instruments. Tungsten powder and molybdenum plates were high-temperature resistant materials, essential for the aerospace industry. Beryllium copper alloy had excellent conductivity and was used to manufacture high-precision electronic components. Every single item was on the Paris Coordinating Committee’s embargo list.

"If we’re caught..."

"Which is why you must be careful," Gunter interrupted him. "This is your opportunity, and also your test. Do it well, and your future is limitless. Screw it up..."

He didn’t finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear.

Werner closed the file. "I understand."

Gunter stood up and patted his shoulder. "I have high hopes for you."

After the door closed, Werner leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

The only sounds in the office were the ticking of the clock on the wall and the clatter of a distant typewriter.

Outside, it was February in East Berlin. The gloomy gray sky looked like a dirty rag.

He picked up the phone and dialed Reynard’s number in West Berlin.

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

Two days later, Werner met Reynard in West Berlin.

The street was the heart of West Berlin. Shop windows were bright, pedestrians were fashionably dressed, and the cafés were full of people.

Reynard was already waiting for him at their designated café.

The West German businessman, in his thirties, wore a stylish camel-colored trench coat, his hair slicked back with pomade. A cappuccino sat on his table. When he saw Werner approach, he waved.

"My friend!" Reynard said. "Long time no see."

Werner sat down and ordered a black coffee.

Once the waiter had walked away, he passed the list over.

Reynard glanced at it, and his expression changed. "Are you crazy? Everything on here is on the restricted list."

"I know."

"Especially the beryllium copper alloy. The Americans watch that stuff closely. Last year, some French businessman tried to resell this stuff to the Soviet Union, but he got flagged by NATO intelligence. He’s still in prison."

"That’s why I came to you." Werner lifted his coffee cup. "Didn’t you say you could get your hands on anything?"

Reynard was silent for a few seconds, then lit a cigarette. "It’s not impossible, but it’ll require going through a lot of channels. And the price will be very high."

"How high?"

"Three times the market price."

"Done."

Reynard’s eyes lit up. "Are you sure?"

"I’m sure. Money is not an issue, but security is paramount." Werner lowered his voice. "The goods can’t ship directly from West Germany. They have to be transshipped through a third country. The paperwork needs to be complete and able to withstand scrutiny."

"I understand." Reynard stubbed out his cigarette. "I know someone who handles this sort of thing."

"Are they reliable?"

"Been doing it for ten years and has never had an incident," Reynard said. "His clients include South American dictators, African warlords, and some... well, government agencies that are best left unnamed."

Werner nodded. "Then we’ll go through him. How long will it take?"

"Three weeks is enough," Reynard said. "But you’ll have to pay a deposit first. Brunner never works on credit."

Werner took an envelope from his pocket. It contained five thousand West German Marks. "Is this enough?"

Reynard opened the envelope, counted the money, and smiled with satisfaction. "It’s enough. The rest is cash on delivery."

The two of them discussed a few more details.

Before leaving, Reynard suddenly said, "Werner, you know you’re playing with fire, don’t you?"

"I know."

"Military supplies aren’t tobacco and coffee. This is real contraband. The Americans, the British, the French—they’re all watching. If you get caught..."

"That’s why I came to you." Werner stood up. "Aren’t you the one who specializes in playing with fire?"

Reynard burst out laughing. "Good point. Well then, here’s to our good luck."

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