I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 262: Chapter 45: The Reformists’ Gift

Werner’s heart quickened, but his face remained impassive.

"It’s for storing goods in transit," he said. "Equipment imported from West Germany is first shipped to Prague for ’processing,’ then shipped back to East Germany. This way, we can circumvent Western embargoes."

"Sounds clever," Gunter said. "But also very dangerous."

"What do you mean?"

"Werner, you know I admire you." Gunter leaned forward. "You’re capable, you’re smart, and you get things done. But sometimes I worry you’re playing for stakes that are too high."

Werner was silent for a moment.

"Director Gunter, everything I do is for Koko," he said. "In the first half of this year, my department has already generated fifteen million West German Marks in foreign currency revenue. That number speaks for itself."

Gunter stared at him for a long time, then smiled.

"You’re right," he said. "Performance really does speak for itself. But Werner, I still have to warn you—be careful. The situation over in the Czech Republic is unstable, and the conflict between the party’s conservatives and reformists is intensifying. If the reforms fail, your arrangements there could all go up in smoke."

"I understand," Werner said. "I’ll be careful."

"Good." Gunter waved his hand. "Go on. Get back to your work."

Werner stood up and turned toward the door.

"Werner," Gunter called out suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Some things are best not taken too far," Gunter said. "Do you know what I mean?"

Werner nodded.

"I do."

Outside the office, Werner stopped in his tracks.

’He knew Gunter was starting to suspect him.’

’Time was running out. He had to make all the money he could and transfer all the assets he could before everything came crashing down.’

Outside the window, the summer sun was blinding.

But Werner knew a storm was not far off.

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

Prague, March 1967. A biting chill lingered in the spring air.

Werner stood in a café on the edge of Wenceslas Square, peering through a fogged-up window at the gray, dreary street outside.

The peeling paint of Baroque buildings, the rusted trams, and the pedestrians in faded coats hurrying on their way.

The atmosphere in the city had changed.

’Werner could feel it.’

Translations of Western literature were starting to appear in bookstore windows. Young people in cafés were discussing "market economies" and "democratization." Newspaper editorials were no longer uniformly singing the praises of the Party’s wisdom.

The scent of reform was seeping into every corner of the city.

"Mr. Betelich, you’re here."

Jaroslav Novak pushed open the café door and walked in, bringing with him a gust of cold wind and the smell of tobacco.

The Czech foreign trade official had gaunt cheeks, and his eyes, behind his glasses, always shone with a fervent light. He took off his damp trench coat and stomped the snow from his feet.

"Traffic was bad," Jaroslav said, sitting down across from Werner. "You know, the traffic system in Prague is still stuck in the thirties." He lowered his voice and leaned forward. "But all that’s going to change. Comrade Dubcek said at the party meeting last week that we need ’socialism with a human face.’ Do you understand what that means?"

Werner nodded and poured Jaroslav a cup of coffee.

’Of course he understood. It meant a reform doomed to fail, a dream that would be crushed by tanks, and countless idealists who would lose everything in August 1968.’

’But now was not the time to say any of that.’

"That sounds inspiring," Werner said with a smile. "East Germany needs that kind of change, too."

Jaroslav’s eyes lit up. "You really think so?"

"Of course." Werner pulled a manila envelope from his briefcase and pushed it across to Jaroslav. "This is what you asked for. Hayek’s *The Road to Serfdom* and Friedman’s *Capitalism and Freedom*. Original English editions, procured from West Berlin."

Jaroslav eagerly opened the envelope, flipping through the pages with reverence.

"Wonderful, just wonderful. Peter has been wanting to read these. He works at the Economic Institute, and he’s drafting the new reform proposals—" He stopped abruptly, realizing he had said too much.

Werner pretended not to notice the slip of the tongue and said nonchalantly, "If your reformists need any support, just let me know. Equipment, information, even funds—I can find a way."

"Why?" Jaroslav stared at him. "You’re an East German. Why are you helping us?"

"Because I believe in change," Werner said, his tone so sincere he almost believed it himself. "Besides, Jaroslav, if the Czech Republic’s reforms succeed, East Germany will also benefit. We need new ideas. We need to prove that socialism can have a different face."

Jaroslav gripped Werner’s hand tightly. "You’re a good man, Werner. Truly."

Werner squeezed his hand in return, a gentle smile on his face.

’Inside, however, he was calculating something else—he needed to confirm who else in Dubcek’s circle was worth "investing" in.’

’Not to support the reforms, but to turn these people into bargaining chips for him in West Germany before the reforms failed.’

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

「Three days later.」

Werner met Peter Coleman at an old manor on the outskirts of Prague.

He was an economist in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and thick glasses, who had a habit of pushing up his frames when he spoke.

Jaroslav had said he was one of Dubcek’s most trusted advisors, currently presiding over the drafting of the Czech economic reform documents.

The manor’s drawing room was cold; the fire in the hearth was burning low.

Peter was wrapped in a sweater, a pile of documents and drafts spread out before him.

"Jaroslav said you can get your hands on Western economics texts?" Peter got straight to the point, forgoing any pleasantries.

"Not just texts." Werner took a list out of his bag. "Calculators, typewriters, copy machines, even the latest economic statistics from West Germany. Whatever you need, I can provide."

Peter took the list, his eyes scanning it before he looked up. "What do you want in return?"

"Your trust," Werner said. "And, if the reforms proceed smoothly in the future, I hope to participate in some trade projects. Legal ones, of course."

Peter was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But I have to tell you, we’re facing a lot of resistance. The conservatives in the party are powerful, and Moscow is watching us."

"I know," Werner said. "That’s precisely why you need allies."

Peter stared at Werner, as if assessing his true intentions. Finally, he extended his hand. "Then let’s work together."

Werner shook his hand, but his mind was on something else. ’I have to remember that name: Peter Coleman.’

’Before 1968, he had to find a way to let West Germany’s BND know this man’s value.’

’Economists were always a hot commodity in the West, especially... economists who understood the inner workings of Eastern Europe.’

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

The night he returned to East Berlin, Werner went straight to the small villa on the outskirts of the city.

Anna was already there waiting for him.

She was wearing a dark gray sweater, sitting cross-legged on the sofa. On the coffee table in front of her sat a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. The fire in the hearth was roaring, making the whole room feel warm and cozy.

"You’re back?" Anna glanced at him.

"I’m back." Werner took off his overcoat and sat down beside her.

Anna poured him a drink and then one for herself. They clinked glasses and downed them in one gulp.

"How was Prague?" Anna asked.

"The atmosphere is intense. The reformists’ momentum is building," Werner said. "Dubcek will probably take power next year."

"And then what? What are you planning to do?"

Werner was silent for a moment, then poured himself another drink. "I’ll keep supporting them. Give them money, supplies, everything they want."

"What for?"

"So I can sell them to West Germany before they fall."

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