Chapter 258: Chapter 41: Star of the Future
"Werner, fifteen million is too much," he said. "We only managed eight million for the entire year last year."
"So this year we’ll double it," Werner said calmly. "Comrade Otto, I’m confident you can do it."
Otto’s expression changed, but he didn’t say anything more.
"I’ll break down the targets further." Werner continued writing on the blackboard. "Political prisoner trades: at least one and a half million a month. For special trades: internal German trade must reach eight million, arms exports four million, and other procurement three million."
He turned around and looked at the men.
"Each section chief is responsible for one area. You will report your progress to me weekly. For those who fail to meet their targets, I will request a replacement from Director Gunter."
The atmosphere in the conference room instantly grew tense.
The section chief of the Political Prisoner Trade Department, a man in his thirties named Klaus Witt, raised his hand.
"Deputy Director Werner, there’s a problem with the political prisoner trades," he said. "West Germany is willing to pay less and less. Last year, the average was forty thousand West German Marks per person. This year, it’s only thirty thousand. To reach ten million, we’ll have to hand over at least three hundred people."
"Then hand over three hundred people," Werner said. "I’ll go negotiate with the West German Government and try to get the price back up. You’re responsible for screening the individuals and ensuring each one has sufficient value."
"But—"
"No buts," Werner cut him off. "Comrade Vite, if you feel the pressure is too great, I can find a replacement."
Vite shut his mouth.
Werner looked at the men, his voice softening slightly.
"I know the targets are demanding," he said. "But we have no choice. Director Gunter is watching us, and his superiors are watching him. We either complete the mission or we’re out. It’s that simple."
He paused.
"But I’m not the kind of boss who just squeezes you dry," he said. "Section chiefs who meet their targets will have their year-end bonuses doubled. For those who exceed their targets, there’s an additional 20%. I’ll also take a portion of my own bonus and give it to the top performers."
The tension in the conference room eased a little.
"Meeting adjourned," Werner said. "Starting tomorrow, I want to see a detailed plan from each department."
**********
For the next two months, Werner was like a machine that never stopped.
He arrived at the office at six in the morning and left at ten at night. His desk was perpetually buried under a mountain of documents, and the phone never stopped ringing.
He personally went to West Berlin to negotiate the price for the political prisoner trades. He sparred verbally with officials from the West German Ministry of Foreign Affairs, eventually raising the price from thirty thousand to thirty-five thousand.
He coordinated the export business of more than a dozen East German factories, from Zeiss optical instruments to textiles from Leipzig, personally reviewing every single order.
He arranged complex triangular trades—importing crude oil from the Soviet Union, having it refined in West Germany, and then selling the finished product to third-world countries, squeezing profit from every step of the process.
By August, the Political Prisoner Trade Department had already brought in four million West German Marks, and the Special Trades Department had completed five million. Progress was faster than expected.
But Werner didn’t relax.
*************
One late night at the end of August, Werner was still in his office reviewing documents.
The door was suddenly pushed open.
Anna stood in the doorway, holding a thermal soup container. She was in casual clothes, her hair slightly disheveled.
"You’re not home yet?" She walked in and placed the thermal soup container on his desk. "It’s already eleven o’clock."
"I still have one more contract to review." Werner rubbed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"Because you haven’t been back to the apartment in three days." Anna unscrewed the container, revealing hot soup and bread. "I asked your driver. He said you’ve been sleeping on the office sofa every night recently."
Werner gave a wry smile.
"I can’t help it, there’s just too much to do."
"You’re going to work yourself to death." Anna pushed the soup in front of him. "Drink it."
Werner took a sip of the soup. It was scalding hot, but fragrant.
He suddenly realized he hadn’t eaten all day.
Anna sat across from him, watching him devour the food.
"Werner, you can’t go on like this," she said. "I know you’re under a lot of pressure, but you can’t push yourself this hard."
"I can’t stop," Werner said. "Too many people have their eyes on my position right now. The moment I let up, I’ll be replaced."
"So what?" Anna said. "Worst case, you just quit being the deputy director."
"It’s not that simple." Werner put down the soup bowl and looked at her. "In this system, you get to see the view on your way up. But if you start to fall, you’ll be smashed to pieces."
Anna was silent for a moment.
"At least tonight, come back to the apartment to sleep," she said. "Your body can’t take much more of this."
Werner glanced at the documents on his desk, then finally nodded.
***********
December 15th, the Koko year-end review meeting.
Gunter stood at the podium, holding a report.
"This year, Koko generated fifty-two million West German Marks in foreign currency revenue, exceeding our targets." His voice echoed in the conference hall. "Of that, the two departments led by Deputy Director Werner completed twenty-six million, accounting for 50% of the total income."
Applause broke out in the hall.
Werner sat in the front row, his face expressionless. He was too tired to even bother smiling.
"Deputy Director Werner is Koko’s rising star," Gunter continued. "He has proven with his actions that with enough determination, no mission is impossible."
More fervent applause.
After the meeting, Gunter called Werner to his office.
"This is your year-end bonus." He pushed an envelope toward him. "Five hundred thousand West German Marks."
Werner took the envelope without opening it.
"Thank you, Director Gunter."
"You’ve earned it." Gunter lit a cigar. "However, next year’s target will be even higher. The higher-ups have great expectations for you."
’Werner’s heart sank.’
"How much?"
"Thirty million." Gunter exhaled a puff of smoke. "Are you confident?"
Werner looked at him and suddenly smiled. It was a somewhat bitter smile.
"Yes."
’Of course he was confident. Because he knew that in this system, saying you lacked confidence was tantamount to suicide.’
************
January 1966. Werner and Anna’s secret villa on the outskirts of East Berlin.
Werner stood by the window, looking out at the snowy scenery.
The snow had fallen all night, covering the pine forest and lawn in a thick, unbroken blanket.
The sky was a particular wintery gray-white, as silent as a vast tomb.
This was the first real rest he’d had since he’d transmigrated.
One month. Anna had forced him to agree.
"If you keep this up, you’re going to die," she had said at the time. "You’ll either be taken away by the Stasi or work yourself to death."
Werner had wanted to refuse, but seeing the determination in Anna’s eyes, he had ultimately compromised.
He had handed over his work to a few section chiefs, left behind a pile of instructions, and then brought Anna to this secret villa.
Werner heard a sound from downstairs. ’Anna must be awake.’
He went downstairs and saw Anna busy in the kitchen.
She was wearing a loose-fitting sweater, her hair tied back casually, with no makeup on her face.
This was a side of her Werner rarely saw—not the cold Stasi agent, but an ordinary woman.
"You’re awake?" Anna looked back at him. "Go wash your face. Breakfast is almost ready."
Werner walked up to her and hugged her from behind.
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