I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Werner's heart skipped a beat.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"The way you look at things is always different from everyone else," Anna said slowly. "You're too certain about the future, as if—" She paused. "As if you already know how it all ends."

Werner forced himself to remain composed. "It's probably because I read a lot and I like to study the patterns of history."

"Patterns of history?" Anna looked up, meeting his eyes. "In Hungary in 1956, everyone knew the Soviet Union would crack down. But the things you said—that Dubcek would come to power, that there would be trouble in the Czech Republic, specific down to the time and people—that can't be explained away by historical patterns alone."

Werner was silent for a few seconds.

"Anna, do you believe in intuition?" he finally said.

"Intuition?"

"Yes," Werner said. "Sometimes, when you see a few clues, your mind just naturally deduces the conclusion. It's like playing chess—a master can see the board ten moves ahead."

Anna stared at him for a long time, her expression complex.

"Maybe," she finally said, though her tone held a trace of uncertainty. "It's just that you, this 'master' of yours, can see a little too far ahead."

Werner didn't answer, simply pulling her into a tight embrace.

Outside the window, the Berlin night sky was pitch-black.

In the distance, the occasional wail of a police siren pierced the silence of the night, sounding exceptionally harsh.

"Werner," Anna spoke again. "We're in the same boat. Wherever you go, I go."

"I know." Werner kissed her forehead.

The two of them held each other, watching the flames in the fireplace slowly die out.

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

Stasi Headquarters, conference room.

Director Schmidt sat at the head of the conference table. In his fifties, he wore glasses and his hair was combed meticulously.

About a dozen people were seated in the room, all high-ranking members of the Stasi.

Von Brown sat at Director Schmidt's right-hand side, while Werner was seated toward the back.

"Comrades," Director Schmidt began. "I've called you all here today to discuss an important issue—the ideological trends among our intellectuals."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room.

"Recently, we've noticed a dangerous trend. Some university professors, writers, and artists have begun to openly discuss Western concepts like 'socialism with a human face' and 'democratic reform.' They are being influenced by the reformists in Czechoslovak."

A low murmur of discussion rippled through the conference room.

"Comrade Von Brown, tell us about the situation in the Czech Republic," Schmidt said, looking at Von Brown.

Von Brown stood up and took out a file. "According to our intelligence, the reformist faction within the Czech Party is expanding. Their leaders include Ota Hicke, Alexander Dubcek—"

"Dubcek?"

"Yes," Von Brown said. "According to our informant's analysis, it is highly likely that Dubcek will enter the Central Politburo within the next two years, and may even replace Novotny."

The room erupted in an uproar.

"Who is the source of this analysis?" Director Schmidt asked.

Von Brown glanced at Werner. "Comrade Betelich. He has been traveling frequently to Prague and has established a reliable intelligence network."

All eyes turned to Werner.

Werner stood up, outwardly calm despite his inner tension. "Director Schmidt, I've gotten to know some mid-level cadres within the Czech Party in Prague. Through my contact with them, I've learned that the factional struggle within the party is extremely intense. Although the conservatives are still in power, they have already lost the support of the people. The reformists have a great deal of appeal among the younger cadres."

"What makes you so certain Dubcek will come to power?" an official challenged.

Werner had his answer ready. "First, Dubcek spent time in Moscow and speaks Russian, so the Soviets feel he is 'controllable.' Second, he's a Slovak, which allows him to balance the conflicts between the Czechs and Slovaks. Third, he has charisma and can unite the reformists. These three factors combined make him the most likely person to succeed Novotny."

The conference room was silent for several seconds.

Director Schmidt stared at Werner for a long moment before nodding slowly. "That makes sense. Comrade Betelich, continue to monitor the situation in the Czech Republic and report to Von Brown weekly."

"Yes, Director."

The meeting continued for another two hours, focused entirely on how to strengthen surveillance of intellectuals—expanding informer networks, censoring publications, and restricting academic exchanges with the West.

Werner took meticulous notes.

'The BND will be very interested in this information.'

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

「One week later, BND headquarters in West Berlin.」

Helmut sat in his office, a summary of the intelligence provided by Werner spread out before him.

"The Stasi is planning to step up its surveillance of intellectuals..." he read aloud. "Forming special teams, censoring publications, restricting academic exchanges..."

Werner sat opposite. "Werner heard all of this firsthand. He attended an internal Stasi meeting."

"Werner's been promoted again," Helmut said, putting down the file. "Being able to attend a Stasi meeting means their high command trusts him completely."

"Werner also provided an analysis of the situation in the Czech Republic. He predicts Dubcek will come to power within two years."

"Dubcek?" Helmut frowned. "We don't know much about him."

"I've already ordered the station to step up collection on him," Werner said. "If Werner is right—and his predictions these past few months haven't been wrong yet—then we need to start researching Dubcek ahead of time."

Helmut lit a cigar and slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Werner, what's the progress on Werner's request for a West German passport?"

"The Ministry of Foreign Affairs is still discussing it," Werner said. "They're worried that if Werner is exposed, it could cause a diplomatic incident."

"Tell them Werner is worth the risk. An informant who can attend Stasi meetings and predict the political climate in Eastern Europe—you won't find another one like him in the entire Western intelligence community."

"I'll pass that along."

Helmut stood and walked to the window. From there, he could see all of West Berlin, and in the distance, that gray wall.

"Werner, what kind of man do you think Werner is?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why is he doing this?" Helmut said. "For money? For freedom? Or—" He paused. "Does he truly believe in our side?"

Werner thought for a moment. "I think he just wants to survive."

Helmut turned and looked at Werner. "Survive?"

"Yes," Werner said. "Werner is very smart. He knows East Germany won't last forever. So he's creating a fallback for himself—building up assets, connections, and an identity in West Germany. He's not doing it for ideals, but for survival."

Helmut was silent for a long time, then he laughed.

"People like that are the most reliable," he said. "Because his motives are crystal clear—to survive, and to live well. As long as we can satisfy that need, he'll keep working for us."

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

「East Berlin, Koko office.」

Werner sat at his desk, a freshly delivered telegram before him.

The telegram was from Prague, sent by Mira.

"Goods are ready. Five hundred thousand Crowns, ten kilograms of gold. Awaiting your collection."

Werner tore the telegram to shreds, tossed it into an ashtray, and set it on fire.

The paper crackled as it burned, the flames dancing across his face.

'Five hundred thousand Crowns. At the current exchange rate, that's worth about eighty thousand West German Marks. But by 1967, these Crowns will appreciate to one hundred twenty thousand Marks. And then, before August 1968, I'll exchange all the Crowns for gold or West German Marks.'

Werner leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Outside the window, the sky over East Berlin was beginning to clear.

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

In West Berlin, July 1965, the sun was scorching, hot enough to melt the asphalt.

Werner stood on the west side of Checkpoint Charlie, looking back at the gray concrete wall behind him.

Every time he crossed that wall, he felt like he was stepping out of a black-and-white film and into a world of color—West Berlin's shop windows were dazzlingly bright, the women on the street wore fashionable dresses, and the air smelled of coffee and perfume.

He hailed a taxi.

"Kurfurstendamm Street, please."

The driver, a middle-aged man with a thick beard, sized him up in the rearview mirror. "From the East?"

Werner just smiled and didn't answer.

The car drove past the station and turned onto the bustling Kurfurstendamm Street.

Werner watched the high-end shops outside the car window, mentally running through the details of his upcoming meeting.

Reynard had told him on the phone yesterday: "Margaret is not easy to deal with. She's been navigating the West Berlin business world for over a decade; there's no kind of person she hasn't met. If you're planning on using your official bureaucratic spiel, you might as well not even go."

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