I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 269: Chapter 52: Rendezvous

"Of course you haven’t heard of him." Von Brown’s tone grew complex. "Erich is... a special case. In 1965, while on a mission in Budapest, he was captured by the Hungarian secret police and nearly executed. We paid a high price to get him back."

Werner took a drag from his cigarette. "So he’s got some psychological scars?"

"You could say that," Von Brown scoffed. "But that’s also why he’s the best at surviving in enemy territory. Erich looks Czech, speaks the language, and spent three years in Prague. If anyone can help you with this mission, it’s him."

"Understood." Werner paused for a moment. "What if he breaks?"

"He won’t break," Von Brown’s voice turned icy. "I’ve already told him, this is his chance at redemption. If this mission fails, he can forget about ever returning to East Germany."

The line went dead.

Werner put down the receiver and took a deep drag from his cigarette.

’Erich Neumann. An agent who was once captured and nearly executed.’

’A man like that will either be extremely careful, or he’ll make a mistake out of fear.’

’I hope it’s the former.’

Werner glanced at his watch—four-fifteen.

Less than two hours until the rendezvous.

He stubbed out his cigarette, went into the bathroom to wash his face, and then changed into a dark coat.

He checked the pistol at the small of his back, confirmed the magazine was loaded, then tucked the gun back into his waistband.

He was ready.

He pushed open the door and stepped out into pre-dawn Prague.

The streets were still filled with tanks and armored vehicles.

Soviet Army soldiers had set up checkpoints at the intersections, checking every passerby’s papers.

The roar of helicopters circled overhead.

Werner stuffed his hands into his pockets, lowered his head, and walked quickly down the street.

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

At 5:50 AM, Werner arrived at Saint Vitus Cathedral.

The cathedral sat on a small hill in the Old Town, surrounded by an ancient cemetery.

Morning fog shrouded the tombstones, and the air was thick with the smell of damp earth.

Werner stood at the cathedral entrance, lit a cigarette, and waited.

At 5:55, a figure emerged from the fog.

It was a man, around thirty-five, of medium build, wearing a faded gray jacket.

His hair was a bit disheveled, and his face was covered in stubble. His eyes were weary but alert. As he walked, he kept his right hand in his jacket pocket—Werner knew it was holding a gun.

The man walked up to Werner, stopped, and sized him up.

"You’re Werner?"

His voice was very low, carrying a sense of suppressed tension.

"That’s right." Werner watched him. "You’re Erich?"

"I am." Erich nodded, then glanced around. "Is it secure here?"

"Safe for now." Werner flicked the ash from his cigarette. "Von Brown said you’re familiar with Prague."

"I was, three years ago," Erich said with a bitter smile. "Now the streets are full of Soviet tanks. It’s my first time seeing this, too."

Werner noticed that as Erich spoke, his eyes kept unconsciously scanning their surroundings, and his hand never left his pocket.

’This was an extremely cautious man—or rather, a man ruled by fear.’

"You were caught in Budapest?" Werner asked directly.

Erich froze for a second, then nodded. "Von Brown told you?"

"He said you were nearly executed."

"Not ’nearly’," Erich’s voice dropped even lower. "They had me tied to a post in the execution yard, rifles aimed at my head. If the Stasi hadn’t traded three Hungarian spies for me at the last second, I’d be a corpse right now."

Werner was silent for a few seconds. "So you’re scared?"

Erich looked up, a flash of anger in his eyes. "What do you think? Have you ever stood in front of a gun and listened to an officer count down, ’Three, two, one’? Have you ever closed your eyes and waited for the bullet to tear through your head?"

"No," Werner said honestly.

"Then shut your mouth." Erich took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "I’m sorry. I just... I know this mission is dangerous. But I have no other choice. Von Brown said if I screw this up, I can’t go back."

Werner looked at him and suddenly felt a flicker of understanding for the man.

’Erich wasn’t a coward.’

’He was just a man tormented by fear, yet still trying to do his duty.’

"Then let’s not screw it up." Werner stubbed out his cigarette. "Come on. At six o’clock sharp, the informant will be waiting for us by the angel statue deep inside the cemetery."

Erich nodded and followed Werner into the cemetery.

The two of them crossed the fog-shrouded cemetery. The grass underfoot was damp, making a soft RUSTLING sound with each step.

The cemetery was silent, but for the distant, occasional rumble of tank engines and the drone of helicopters.

"Have you ever met him?" Werner asked in a low voice. "The informant."

"No." Erich shook his head. "This is his first time making direct contact with the Stasi. He used to pass intelligence through a middleman."

"Why the direct contact now?"

"Because the list he has is too important." Erich lowered his voice. "If it falls into the hands of the Soviet Army, or the Czech conservatives, it will trigger a major purge."

Werner’s heart sank.

’In other words, it was a death list.’

"What does Von Brown plan to do with the list?" he asked.

"I don’t know." Erich glanced at him. "Our job is just to get it back to him. The rest isn’t our concern."

They kept moving.

Soon, they saw the angel statue—a stone angel with outstretched wings, standing atop an ancient tombstone, overlooking the entire cemetery. The statue was badly weathered, its face blurred and indistinct, as if it were weeping.

At the foot of the statue, a man in a gray overcoat leaned against the tombstone, wringing his hands.

He looked to be in his forties, his face pale, his eyes terrified, his lips trembling slightly.

Erich stopped and signaled for Werner to stay put.

Then he took a deep breath and walked forward.

"The winters in Moscow are cold," he said softly.

The man jolted and looked up. "But... but the spring in Prague is shorter."

His voice was trembling, as if he was about to cry.

Erich nodded and held out his hand. "The package?"

The man pulled a manila envelope from the inside pocket of his overcoat and handed it to him.

Erich opened it and glanced inside. It held a stack of documents and photographs, densely covered with names, addresses, and notes.

"Good." Erich stuffed the envelope into his jacket. "You can go."

"Wait." The man suddenly grabbed his arm, his voice urgent. "You promised you would help me leave the Czech Republic."

"We will," Erich said, shaking the man’s hand off his arm. "But not now. Once the situation stabilizes, we’ll arrange for you to go to East Germany."

"No!" the man’s voice rose, his eyes filled with despair. "You don’t understand, they’ll kill me! The reformists know I’m a traitor—they’ll kill me! Last night, when I saw the Soviet tanks roll in, I knew it was over. I’m finished!"

"Shut up," Erich said coldly. "Keep your voice down. Do you want the Soviet Army to hear you?"

But the man could no longer control himself.

He clutched his head with both hands, crouched on the ground, and began to sob quietly.

"I don’t want to die... I just want to live... I’ve given you so much intelligence, you can’t just leave me here..."

Werner stood a few yards away, watching the scene unfold, a complicated feeling rising within him.

’He’d seen too many traitors who had sold out their own countrymen.’

’In East Germany, in West Germany, on the Black Market, in the Stasi archives. People who, for money, for power, or just to save their own skin, sold out their friends, colleagues, and even their families.’

’But now, looking at this broken man, Werner suddenly felt a pang of sorrow.’

’This man... he was just trying to survive.’

Erich crouched down and patted the man’s shoulder. "Listen, I promise, we won’t abandon you. But you have to calm down now. You have to go back to your post and act like nothing has happened. Once we’ve arranged everything, we’ll come for you. Understand?"

The man looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Really?"

"Really," Erich nodded. "But you have to stay alive until then."

The man took a deep breath, stood up, and wiped his tears with his sleeve.

"O-Okay... I’ll hang on..."

He turned, staggered into the fog, and quickly disappeared.

Erich stood up and walked back to Werner’s side.

"Let’s go," he said in a low voice.

The two of them quickly left the cemetery.

Werner glanced at Erich and saw that his face had grown even paler, and fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

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