I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 245: Chapter 28: History’s Spoiler

Von Brown offered a humorless smile. "And how can I help?"

"If you could write a report," Werner said, choosing his words carefully, "from the Stasi’s professional standpoint, stating that Hagen has no further interrogation value. That he’s already told us everything he’s going to tell us, and keeping him locked up is just a waste of resources. With your opinion on record, it will be easier for the higher-ups to make a decision."

Von Brown’s eyes narrowed, his tone laced with amusement. "Are you asking me to speak up on behalf of the West Germans?"

"Not for the West Germans, Colonel. For our country. You know full well how many essential supplies we can buy with one million West German Marks. Besides..."

He paused, lowering his voice. "If this deal goes through, you won’t be left empty-handed, either."

Von Brown stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled.

"There’s another problem," Von Brown said slowly. "Even if I write the report, what about the hardliners over at the Ministry of State Security? They’ll definitely oppose it. You know what they’re like."

"That’s why your report needs to be watertight," Werner said. "Emphasize that Hagen has been thoroughly interrogated and that the information he possesses is outdated. The State Planning Commission was reorganized two years ago; much of the data has been updated. The things in his head aren’t so sensitive anymore. With your professional endorsement, it will be difficult for the hardliners to object."

Von Brown watched him thoughtfully.

Werner continued, "Besides, Colonel, the value of one million West German Marks to our country is tangible, whereas Hagen’s intelligence value is ambiguous. In the eyes of the leadership, concrete economic benefits will always be more persuasive than a potential security risk."

Von Brown was silent for a long time, thinking.

The office was quiet, save for the TICK-TOCK of the wall clock.

"Alright," he finally said. "I’ll write the report. But one thing, Werner—"

He looked Werner in the eye. "If this thing goes south, I can’t be the only one taking the fall."

"Rest assured, Colonel," Werner said earnestly. "If there’s a problem, it’s on me."

Von Brown looked at Werner with that same wry smile. "Sometimes I think you’re better suited for this line of work than those of us actually in intelligence."

"You flatter me, Colonel."

"It’s not flattery." Von Brown still wore an amiable smile, but his eyes were sharp. "You know when to take risks and when to pull back. You know how to maneuver between different people and make each one feel like they’ve come out ahead. Not everyone has that kind of talent."

"But you need to be careful, Werner. The higher you climb, the harder you fall. I’m not saying that to scare you; I’m saying it as a warning."

Werner gave a slight bow. "I’ll remember your words, Colonel."

***********

Over the next several weeks, Werner was a whirlwind of activity, spinning like a top.

Klein wrote up the report, detailing East Germany’s foreign exchange crisis and the economic benefits one million West German Marks could bring.

Von Brown also submitted his interrogation assessment, emphasizing that Hagen’s intelligence value had been significantly diminished.

Werner acted as the go-between, pulling strings through various channels to influence key figures.

He took Department Head Weber from the Ministry of Foreign Trade out to dinner, hinting that if the Hagen deal succeeded, a portion of the one million could be allocated to purchasing urgently needed industrial raw materials.

He used his connections to find the secretary of a certain Politburo member, gifted him a high-end West German-made coffee machine, and casually mentioned the importance of the Hagen case in alleviating the pressure on foreign exchange reserves.

Every step was taken with extreme caution, every detail meticulously planned.

A few weeks later, the news finally came.

Gunter said over the phone, "It’s been approved. The Politburo has agreed to release Hagen."

"When?"

"The official notice will be issued next week. Well done, Werner."

After hanging up, Werner sat in his office, staring out at the dreary gray sky, motionless for a long time.

He had succeeded.

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

A few weeks later, Erich Hagen was released from Horner Schonehausen Prison.

Werner didn’t go to the prison. The entire handover process was handled by Lawyer Vogel and people from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

But the money passed through channels he had coordinated—the West German Ministry of Foreign Affairs first transferred the one million West German Marks to an intermediary account, which was then moved in installments to an account designated by the East German Ministry of Foreign Trade.

Shortly after, Werner received a call from Vogel.

"Hagen has arrived safely in West Berlin," Vogel said. "The West German Ministry of Foreign Affairs is very pleased."

"Good," Werner said.

"Also—" Vogel paused. "The West German Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Schroeder, is very interested in you."

"What do you mean?"

"You did a fine job this time. Mr. Schroeder has a very high opinion of you. He called you an important bridge for communication between East and West."

After hanging up, Werner lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

’The West German Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs.’

’Someone of that rank is already a member of West Germany’s core circle of power.’

He knew he was no longer just a businessman operating in the gray areas, but had truly entered the great game of the Cold War.

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

On October 14, 1964, the sky over East Berlin was a dreary gray, like a washed-out old rag.

Werner stood by the fifth-floor window of Koko Headquarters, a fresh cigarette pinched between his fingers.

"Comrade Werner, these are the documents that arrived from Moscow this morning."

His secretary came in and placed a stack of files on his desk.

"Is it those trade quotas again?" Werner asked without looking up.

"Yes, and a few approval forms for technology imports." The secretary paused. "It’s a little strange. The signatory from Moscow has changed."

Werner’s hand froze in mid-air.

He spun around, strode to the desk, and snatched up the document.

The red seal of the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Trade was still prominent, but the signature below it was not the familiar script he was used to.

The date was October 13, Moscow time.

Werner’s pupils contracted slightly.

As a soul transmigrated from the year 2025, he knew this signal all too well.

The history books were perfectly clear: On October 13, 1964, while vacationing by the Black Sea, Khrushchev was "invited" back to Moscow, and the next day, he was ousted by Brezhnev and Kosygin.

It was now the morning of October 14, East Berlin time.

’This means it’s already happened. The news just hasn’t been made public yet.’

"Comrade Werner?" The secretary looked at his suddenly rigid back. "Are you alright?"

"I’m fine." Werner put the documents down. "I’ll look at these later. Don’t let anyone disturb me this morning."

"But you have a meeting today—"

"Cancel it," Werner’s tone was unquestionable. "Just say I’m not feeling well."

The secretary faltered for a moment, but ultimately nodded and left.

The moment the door closed, Werner grabbed his overcoat and prepared to leave.

He needed to accomplish three things within the next twenty-four hours.

First, leak the news to West Germany.

Second, make preemptive arrangements within East Germany.

Third, seize this golden opportunity to elevate his own value to a whole new level.

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

At three in the afternoon, Werner appeared at a café on Nolendorf Street.

This was one of East Berlin’s few "high-class establishments," open only to those with foreign exchange certificates.

The café was always occupied by a few Western journalists, diplomats, and some nattily dressed East German officials.

Werner came here often because its phone booth held a secret—it could make direct calls to West Berlin.

He stepped into the phone booth in the corner, inserted a few coins, and dialed a West Berlin number.

"Hello?" a voice came from the other end. "Who is this?"

"It’s me," Werner said, lowering his voice. "Is it a good time to talk?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end. "Hang on."

Footsteps could be heard over the phone, followed by the sound of a door closing.

"We can talk now." His contact’s tone grew cautious. "What’s happened? We received the economic data you sent last time, but to be honest, Werner, it was all pretty trivial stuff."

Werner knew the other man was testing him.

For a while now, he had been occasionally feeding intelligence to the BND through his contact—things like East German industrial output figures, gossip about certain officials, Black Market exchange rate fluctuations—information that wouldn’t truly harm East Germany, but would make West German intelligence feel like it was "somewhat useful."

But today was different.

"Listen closely, I’m only saying this once." Werner glanced around the café to make sure no one was paying attention to his booth. "Something big is happening in Moscow. Something huge."

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