I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 279: Chapter 62: A Meeting Between East and West Germany

"Colonel von Brown, it’s me."

"Werner?" Von Brown’s deep voice came from the other end of the line. "What is it?"

"I want to talk to you about the political prisoner exchange," Werner said, getting straight to the point. "West Germany wants to expand the scale, and we need to be prepared on our end."

"You’re well-informed," Von Brown said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "We’re currently discussing this matter. What are your thoughts?"

"I want to create a dedicated team," Werner said. "From screening lists and negotiating prices to arranging transport—a full-service operation. It would improve efficiency and ensure better confidentiality."

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"You’re quite ambitious," Von Brown said. "But your proposal makes sense. Come to my office tomorrow, and we’ll discuss it in detail."

"Alright."

After hanging up, Werner stared out the window at the night sky.

The red light at the top of the television tower on Alexanderplatz blinked like a giant eye, watching over the entire city.

He thought of Anna.

’I wonder how she’s doing in West Germany. Is her mission going smoothly? Is she in any danger?’

Werner lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

The smoke rose slowly in the dim light before dissipating.

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

The next afternoon, Werner went to the Stasi Headquarters.

Von Brown’s office was on the fifth floor. The hallway was quiet, with only the echo of his footsteps.

The door was ajar. Werner knocked twice and pushed it open.

Von Brown sat behind his desk, a pile of documents in front of him. He looked up and took off his glasses.

"Sit."

Werner sat down and noticed the exhaustion on Von Brown’s face.

The Stasi colonel, in his forties, had seen his power grow in recent years, but so had the pressure.

"West Germany is moving fast." Von Brown pushed a document toward him. "This is the latest list they sent yesterday. The number of political prisoners they want to buy out has doubled since last month."

Werner glanced at the list.

They were all typical cases—illegal border crossing, counter-revolutionary propaganda, espionage.

"Can we release them?"

"We can." Von Brown lit a cigarette. "The higher-ups’ position is that as long as West Germany is willing to pay, most of them are negotiable. After all, we’re desperate for foreign currency right now."

Werner listened to Von Brown, but his mind was on another layer of meaning.

’Ublis may be short on cash, but he cares more about political bargaining chips.’

’West Germany wants to trade economic aid for influence, so East Germany will trade "hostages" for international recognition.’

On the surface, this transaction was about money and people. In reality, it was a game between two different political agendas.

Werner had a feeling that the next few years would see difficult negotiations between the Two Germanys.

Ublis would hold fast to the bottom line of "recognition before establishing relations," while Brandt would try to slowly infiltrate using his strategy of "change through contact."

This tug-of-war would last a long time, but for Werner, the longer it went on, the more meat he could carve off for himself.

"So, my proposal—"

"I’ve already reported it to the higher-ups," Von Brown interrupted. "They’ve agreed to form a special coordination group, with you in charge of the specific operations. But there’s one condition."

"What condition?"

Von Brown stared into his eyes. "You will report the details of every single transaction to me. That includes the contacts in West Germany, the negotiation process, and the flow of funds. Understand?"

"Understood." Werner nodded.

"Werner, I know you’re clever and have your methods," Von Brown said in a low voice. "But don’t forget you’re an East German. You earn foreign currency for the state, and the state gives you power and protection. That balance cannot be broken."

"Von Brown, I’ve never forgotten who I am," Werner said, looking at him. "I just want to do things better, so everyone can earn a little more."

Von Brown stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled. "Alright. I believe you."

The two of them talked for another half hour, finalizing many of the details.

By the time Werner left the Stasi Headquarters, it was already dark.

Berlin was already cold in November; the wind cut like a knife against his face.

But Werner felt hot all over.

’Ostpolitik, Brandt’s big gamble, Ublis’s defense... this is my chance.’

In the coming years, he would be at the trading table on the front lines of the Cold War, with East Germany’s political anxiety for recognition on one side, and West Germany’s economic temptations for détente on the other.

He would navigate between the two, turning every opportunity into wealth and power.

Werner hailed a taxi and gave an address.

The car moved through the streets of Berlin in the dark, streetlights flashing past one by one.

He stared out the window, his mind already calculating his next move.

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

In Berlin, March 1970, the winter chill had not yet completely faded.

Werner stood in a conference room at Koko Headquarters, holding an encrypted telegram.

Gunter sat in the chairman’s seat, his expression far more solemn than usual.

"March nineteenth." Gunter stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Brandt is coming to Erfurt to meet with Prime Minister Stoff. This will be the highest-level meeting between East and West Germany in the twenty years since the division."

The conference room was dead silent.

Werner’s heart began to race.

’The Erfurt Summit—I read that name in the history books of my past life.’

On March 19, 1970, West German Chancellor Brandt would set foot on East German soil for talks with Stoff, the Chairman of East Germany’s Council of Ministers.

It was a landmark moment in Cold War history, the first step of Ostpolitik.

But Werner also remembered that this summit would ultimately fail to produce any substantive agreements.

Ublis would hold fast to the bottom line of "recognition before establishing relations," while Brandt was only willing to discuss a "special relationship."

The two sides would talk past each other, and the meeting would end in a stalemate.

But for Werner, the summit itself was a gold mine.

"The Central Committee’s intention is—" Gunter scanned the room, "to show the West Germans our strength. To show them we are not the Soviet Occupation Zone, but a modern socialist state."

"So?" Otto asked.

"So, the reception must be impeccable." Gunter stood up and walked to the window. "Food, drinks, tobacco, and alcohol—all of it will be the best West German goods. Let Brandt know that East Germany doesn’t lack for any of their little things."

Werner knew this was a vanity project, a political show.

East Germany wanted to stand tall before the West Germans, to prove it was worthy of a dialogue between equals.

"This task—" Gunter turned around, his gaze falling on Werner. "Is yours."

"Me?"

"Who else but you?" Gunter returned to his seat. "In all of Koko, you have the most extensive channels to West Germany and the highest efficiency. You have ten days. I’ve already prepared the procurement list."

He pushed a document toward him.

Werner took it and scanned it quickly.

The list was long: French champagne, Scotch whisky, Swiss chocolate, Dutch cheese, West German sausages and beer. All high-end imported goods.

"And the budget?" Werner asked.

"There is no limit. This is a summit we cannot afford to lose."

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

Werner returned to his office and immediately picked up the phone.

"Reynard, it’s me."

"Werner?" Reynard’s voice came from the other end. "Calling me this late? What’s going on?"

"I have a big order." Werner looked at the list. "I need you to get me these items within ten days."

He read the list aloud.

Reynard was silent on the other end for a few seconds.

"Werner, this is no small order. What do you need so many luxury goods for?"

"Entertaining important guests," Werner said without further explanation. "Can you do it?"

"I can, but—" Reynard paused. "The price won’t be cheap. And these goods have to come through special channels. The timeline is tight, and the risk is high."

"Money is no object." Werner leaned back in his chair. "I just need quality and speed."

"Alright." There was a smile in Reynard’s voice. "You’re getting more and more extravagant. Give me three days. I’ll confirm the order and then ship it in batches."

After hanging up, Werner dialed Margaret’s number.

"Margaret, I need your help with something."

"Speak," Margaret’s voice was crisp.

"Help me contact some of the best food suppliers in West Berlin, especially for champagne and wine. I need top-shelf goods, as fast as possible."

"What are you doing? Hosting a state banquet?" Margaret teased.

"Something like that," Werner laughed. "If this deal goes through, your cut will be doubled."

"Then I’d better get to work," Margaret said. "I’ll have news for you tomorrow."

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

For the next week, Werner barely slept.

Goods arrived from West Germany, France, Switzerland, and even the Netherlands, and he had to inspect every shipment personally.

Were the champagne vintages correct? Was the whisky counterfeit? Was the chocolate packaging intact? Werner dared not be the slightest bit careless.

On the evening of March 15th, the last shipment arrived at a warehouse in East Berlin.

Standing in the warehouse filled with boxes, Werner finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Franz stood beside him and whistled. "Boss, if we sold this stuff on the Black Market, it would be enough to feed us for ten years."

"Don’t even think about it." Werner clapped him on the shoulder. "This is all going to Erfurt. Don’t touch a thing."

"Erfurt?" Franz was taken aback. "That small city?"

"That small city is about to become famous." Werner lit a cigarette. "The Chancellor of West Germany is going there."

Franz’s eyes widened. "Brandt? Coming to East Germany?"

"That’s right." Werner took a deep drag from his cigarette. "So there can’t be any mistakes with this shipment. Assign a few more men to watch it twenty-four hours a day, until it’s transported to Erfurt."

"Understood."

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

On March 18th, Werner took a train to Erfurt.

It was a small city in Thuringia, with a population of less than two hundred thousand, and was usually quiet.

But now, the entire city was on edge. Plainclothes police and Stasi agents were everywhere, and the streets were lined with red flags.

Werner checked into Erfurt’s best hotel—the Erfurt Hof Hotel. The West German delegation would also be staying there.

His task was to coordinate logistics and ensure all supplies arrived on time.

In the evening, Gunter came to inspect.

He walked into the hotel’s banquet hall, looked at the neatly arranged bottles and food, and nodded with satisfaction.

"Good work." Gunter clapped Werner on the shoulder. "When Brandt arrives tomorrow, we must let them know that East Germany is not some poor relative."

"Don’t worry," Werner said.

After Gunter left, Werner inspected the banquet hall one more time.

The tablecloths were smooth, the silverware was gleaming, and the wine glasses were free of a single water spot.

He even had someone wipe the champagne labels clean to ensure every detail was perfect.

At ten o’clock at night, Werner returned to his room but couldn’t sleep.

He walked to the window and looked out at the pitch-black streets.

Tomorrow, history would be made in this small city.

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