I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 266: Chapter 49: The Transmigrator’s Mistake

For the next two months, Werner worked like a man possessed.

He traveled between East Berlin, Prague, and West Berlin every week. He spent his days negotiating deals and his nights handling paperwork, sleeping no more than five hours a day.

Margaret, for her part, moved quickly.

Using her connections in the West Berlin business world, she contacted all the necessary suppliers within a week—a machinery factory in Hamburg, a chemical company in Frankfurt, and a consumer goods wholesaler in Munich.

All purchases were routed through her import-export company—legal, clean, and untraceable.

The first shipment of goods procured from West Germany arrived in Prague at the end of February: thirty precision lathes, twenty tons of industrial solvents, five thousand pairs of jeans, and two thousand boxes of cosmetics.

Jaroslav helped him connect with buyers, all of whom were state-owned enterprises and shops in the Czech Republic.

The prices were even higher than Werner had expected. Market demand was so strong that buyers were scrambling to place orders, afraid they would miss out if they were too late.

The first shipment sold out within a week. Werner netted eighty thousand West German Marks.

He immediately called Margaret. "The second shipment—double the scale."

Margaret’s hearty laughter came from the other end of the line. "I knew you’d say that. The goods are already on their way."

In March, the second shipment arrived. This one was even larger—fifty lathes, one hundred tons of chemical raw materials, and ten thousand units of consumer goods.

The sales cycle shortened to three days.

April, the third shipment.

May, the fourth.

Werner’s goods flooded the Czech market, while the Czech Republic’s West German Marks flowed into his and Margaret’s joint account in Switzerland.

After every transaction, Werner would immediately transfer the profits overseas.

Because he knew that come August, this market would completely collapse.

Margaret was a force to be reckoned with herself.

She was simultaneously managing several supply chains in West Berlin with astonishing efficiency.

Every time Werner proposed a new procurement request, she could always secure the source within two days and have the goods delivered to the border within three.

One evening in early June, Werner received a call from Margaret.

"Werner, I think we should consider wrapping this up." Margaret’s voice sounded more serious than usual.

"Why?" Werner asked. "Isn’t business going great?"

"Too great," Margaret said. "So great it scares me. I’m hearing a lot of news here in West Berlin—the frequency of Warsaw Pact exercises has increased, Moscow’s criticism of Prague is getting harsher, and there are even rumors that East Germany and Poland are massing troops on the border." She paused. "Werner, I’ve been in business for many years, and the most important rule is to quit while you’re ahead."

Werner lit a cigarette and looked out his hotel room window at the streets of Prague at night. "A little longer."

"How long?"

"Until the end of July," Werner said calmly. "Before July 25th, we’ll clear out all our inventory, zero out all accounts, and then pull out completely. We stop then, whether everything’s sold or not."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "What do you know?"

"I just have a feeling," Werner said. "Trust me, Margaret. The Czech Republic will be safe until the end of July. But August—" He didn’t finish the sentence.

Margaret took a deep breath. "Fine. I trust you. But Werner, if your judgment is wrong—"

"It won’t be," Werner interrupted her. "July 25th, we pull out."

"Deal."

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

In mid-June, Werner met Peter Coleman in a restaurant in Prague.

The economist looked like he had lost weight, his eyes were bloodshot. His hands were trembling slightly as he sat down.

"Are you all right?" Werner asked.

"No." Peter picked up his coffee cup and took a large gulp. "The reforms are moving too fast, so fast we can’t control them." He put the cup down, his voice low. "Press censorship has been abolished, freedom of assembly has been restored, unions are starting to strike, students are marching in the streets—Werner, what we wanted was economic reform, but now the entire society is demanding political change."

Werner lit a cigarette and said nothing.

"The pressure from Moscow is getting worse and worse," Peter continued. "They’ve sent several groups to ’inspect,’ but they’re really here to warn us. Warsaw, East Berlin, Budapest—all the fraternal countries are putting pressure on us, saying we’ve betrayed socialism. Tell me, how much longer can we hold on?"

"Not long," Werner said calmly. "Peter, if I were you, I’d start thinking about an exit strategy."

Peter gave a bitter smile. "An exit strategy? Where would I go? I’m a party member, a core member of the reformist faction. If Moscow really makes a move, there’s no escape for me."

Werner flicked the ash from his cigarette. "Maybe I can help you."

"What?"

"I have some connections in West Germany," Werner lowered his voice. "If it really comes to that, I can help you contact the West German Government. They’ll take you in."

Peter was stunned.

He stared at Werner for a long time, his expression complex. "Are you working for West Germany?"

"I’m a businessman," Werner said. "I’m just preparing for all possibilities."

Peter fell silent.

After a long while, he slowly nodded. "If that day ever comes, I’ll contact you."

Werner said no more.

He knew this name could now be added to the list for West Germany.

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

In July, the air in Prague grew hot and restless.

More and more Soviet Army "visiting delegations" were seen on the streets, and news of tank exercises kept coming in.

Harsh criticisms from Moscow began to appear in the newspapers, and the radio broadcasted joint statements from the Warsaw Pact Countries.

Werner knew time was running out.

He began to frantically clear his inventory.

All unsold goods were discounted, liquidated—it didn’t matter if it was at a loss, as long as they could be exchanged for West German Marks.

「July 28th, Prague.」

Werner sat in his hotel room, a pile of accounts and documents spread out before him.

Outside the window was the afternoon sun of a Prague summer. The streets were still bustling, and the sound of music and laughter drifted from the cafes.

The last shipment of goods was sold, and all payments had been transferred to the offshore account.

Werner quickly tallied the figures in his notebook—in seven months, including principal and interest, the total exceeded two million West German Marks.

Outside, Prague was still immersed in the carnival of reform.

Young people played guitars in the square, bookstore windows displayed previously banned books, and newspapers were filled with articles about freedom and democracy.

’What is Jaroslav doing now?’

’Probably working overtime at the Ministry of Foreign Trade, helping the reformists draft some new policy.’

’And Peter? He’s probably in some conference room with a bunch of economists, discussing how to deepen marketization.’

’And those young people in the cafes, pontificating, the ordinary people who genuinely believed that tomorrow would be better.’

In three weeks, Soviet tanks would roll over the Charles Bridge.

The reformists would be arrested, the intellectuals would either go to prison or flee abroad, and all hope would be crushed to dust under the tank treads.

The names of Jaroslav and Peter were on the list Werner had given to West Germany—if they were lucky, perhaps they could escape to the West.

’If they’re unlucky—’

Werner flicked his ash.

He had done everything he was supposed to do. He’d made the money he needed to make, laid the groundwork he needed to lay, and transferred the assets that needed to be transferred.

Now, he just had to stay a little longer to handle the final wrap-up work, and then he could leave this city that was about to be occupied by tanks.

He picked up the train ticket on the table—a direct train from Prague to East Berlin on August 20th.

In three weeks, he would be back in the safety of East Berlin.

By then, he would be sitting in his small villa in the suburbs with Anna, listening to the radio report of Warsaw Pact troops entering Prague, sipping whiskey while looking at the beautiful string of numbers in his Swiss Bank account.

’Perfect.’

Werner stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and prepared to go out to handle the final document handover.

But he didn’t know that, at this very moment in the Stasi Headquarters in East Berlin, Von Brown was staring at a document stamped with a red "Top Secret" seal.

The document’s title was: Operation Danube, scheduled for August 20th.

On the last page of the document, there was a line of handwritten annotation:

"Werner Betelich—Candidate for field observer. A reliable operative must be dispatched to report on the situation from the ground in Prague."

Werner never expected that this time, things would not go as he, a Transmigrator, had foreseen.

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