I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

"All walls fall," Werner said, looking out at the street. "It's just a matter of time."

Margaret was silent for a moment, then smiled.

"You know, Werner, I'm starting to like you," she said. "Most people from East Germany live in a fantasy, thinking this system of theirs will run forever. But you're different. You see things clearly."

"If you stay over there long enough, you can't survive without seeing things clearly."

"Well said." Margaret finished the last sip of her coffee. "So, how do we stay in touch? I'm guessing you can't just come to West Berlin whenever you want."

"I'll come once or twice a month, officially for business inspections," Werner said. "Emergencies can be relayed through Reynard. If it involves sensitive information, we'll use code words."

"Code words?"

"For example, if I say 'the shipment is delayed,' it means there's a problem on my end and we need to suspend all transactions. If you say 'the client is unsatisfied,' it means there's a risk on the West German side."

Margaret laughed. "It seems you've really prepared for everything."

"I have to."

She stood up and picked up the handbag from the table. Werner stood up as well.

"Well then, Mr. Werner," she said. "I'll sort out that batch of catalysts as soon as possible. When we meet next time, we can talk about bigger deals."

"Such as?"

"For instance, I hear East Germany is undergoing economic reforms lately, and many factories need Western equipment." She winked. "That's a huge market."

"You're very well-informed."

"It's my job." Margaret extended her hand. "A pleasure to work with you, Werner."

"The pleasure is mine, Margaret."

The two shook hands again.

This time, Werner felt her grip was firmer, as if confirming some kind of commitment.

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

Stepping out of the café, Werner stood on the street for a moment.

Kurfurstendamm Street was bustling with traffic, and the latest electronics and fashions were displayed in shop windows. A street performer was playing a cheerful tune on an accordion.

He lit a cigarette, recalling what Margaret had said earlier—"You see things clearly."

Yes, he saw things clearly. Clearly enough to know that this world would be turned upside down sooner or later. Clearly enough to know that he had to start making his moves while everyone else was still dreaming.

Reynard was a good partner, but he was just a businessman.

But Margaret was different—she had ambition and skill. More importantly, like Werner, she knew the rules of this era.

She would be his sharpest blade in West Germany.

Werner stubbed out his cigarette and hailed a taxi.

"Checkpoint Charlie."

The car started and merged into traffic.

Through the window, he saw the gray wall drawing closer.

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

East Berlin in August 1965 was as muggy as a steam basket.

Werner sat in his office on the third floor of Koko Headquarters.

A procurement request form was spread out in front of him. He was reading it for the third time, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

The document had been submitted by Martin Fischer, the director of the Industrial Procurement Department.

The applicant was the Leipzig Chemical Plant, requesting to import a batch of "high-purity phosphorus trichloride and phosphorus pentoxide." It was a considerable quantity, valued at over two hundred thousand West German Marks.

On the surface, there seemed to be no problem.

It was normal for a chemical plant to need chemical raw materials. Werner had handled plenty of sensitive goods before—shipping arms to the Middle East, smuggling embargoed precision instruments to Cuba.

Those deals had all been personally arranged by Gunter, with official authorization from Koko and the backing of the Stasi. If something went wrong, there was a safety net.

But this time was different.

This request hadn't come down through Gunter's channels; it had been sent directly to the Industrial Procurement Department.

There was no directive from Koko's top brass, no background check from the Stasi, and even the applicant's credentials were vague.

What was even stranger was the signatory on the form—Friedrich Walter, deputy director of the Leipzig Chemical Plant. Werner had never heard of the man.

He picked up the phone and dialed Fisher's extension.

"Director Fisher, who sent this request?"

"The deputy director from Leipzig, a man named Friedrich Walter." Fisher's voice sounded a bit weary. "He said the materials are urgent and hopes to get it done within two weeks."

"He contacted you directly?"

"Yes, he called me. Said applying through normal channels was too slow and he wanted to use the fast track." Fisher paused. "What's wrong? Is there a problem?"

Werner didn't answer right away.

He pulled a small booklet from his desk drawer—the 1965 edition of the Paris Coordinating Committee's embargo list.

He flipped to the chemicals section, his finger tracing down the list.

Phosphorus trichloride—a controlled substance, can be used to manufacture nerve gas.

Phosphorus pentoxide—a controlled substance, can be used to manufacture raw materials for rocket propellant.

Werner's heart sank.

These two substances could indeed be used in civilian chemical industries, but their more common application was military.

He had transported similar sensitive materials before, but those operations had been personally arranged by Gunter and came with a complete safety net—false end-user certificates, reliable transit channels, and post-facto endorsement from the Stasi.

But this time? The request had bypassed all normal procedures and come straight to the Industrial Procurement Department.

If he took this order and used his own channels to procure it from West Germany, he would bear all the responsibility if anything went wrong.

Without an authorization document from Gunter, without a directive from Koko's top brass, he would be "privately" smuggling military-grade materials.

Then, anyone who wanted to get rid of him could just report him to the Stasi or the public prosecutor's office, and he would be finished.

"Director Fisher," Werner said slowly, "did this request go through Director Gunter's approval process?"

The other end of the line went silent for a few seconds.

"No," Fisher said. "Walter said it's an internal factory project and there was no need to bother the higher-ups."

Werner scoffed.

"Two hundred thousand West German Marks' worth of sensitive materials, and no need to bother the higher-ups?"

It dawned on Fisher then, too. "You're saying... there's a problem?"

"I'll look into it further." Werner hung up the phone.

He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

'Someone is setting a trap. And they know Koko's operational procedures inside and out—how to bypass Gunter and leave me completely exposed. The question is, who?'

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

At three in the afternoon, Werner left the Koko Building and drove to a small restaurant in the Prenzlauer Berg District.

It was a place where he and Anna occasionally met. The owner was an old deaf-mute who wouldn't gossip.

Anna was already waiting for him.

"What happened?" she asked in a low voice. "Your code phrase on the phone sounded urgent."

Werner pushed the request form over to her.

Anna glanced at it, and her expression changed slightly.

"Who told you to take this order?"

"The deputy director of the Leipzig Chemical Plant," Werner said. "But I've never heard of him."

"You think it's a trap?"

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