I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Chapter 301: Chapter 84: Meeting with an American Intelligence Agency

Werner ran a quick calculation in his head.

He knew that in a place like New York, it was only a matter of time before he was noticed by an intelligence agency.

There were definitely Stasi agents in the East German delegation, and the same went for West Germany—to say nothing of the Americans themselves.

But he also knew that if he was truly dealing with an American intelligence agency, this meeting could be an opportunity.

An opportunity to establish a new channel.

He walked back to the window and looked out at Manhattan shrouded in night.

As a Transmigrator, he knew the course of the future better than anyone. East Germany would fall, the Berlin Wall would crumble, and the socialist bloc would dissolve. Even though he had a fallback in West Germany, having another escape route couldn’t hurt.

And the Americans might just be that escape route.

He stubbed out his cigarette and made a decision.

He would meet Charlie.

’But I have to be careful.’

The next afternoon, Werner contacted Ah Du as arranged.

The two met at a French restaurant near the United Nations.

The restaurant was small and discreet, with few customers. Ah Du was already seated in a corner, a glass of red wine in front of him.

"Mr. Betelich, please sit," Ah Du said, standing to shake his hand.

After they sat down, a waiter brought menus. Werner ordered a steak and a glass of Scotch whisky.

"I’ve discussed it with my superiors," Werner began, cutting right to the chase. "We can provide the goods you want. The price is reasonable, and the quality is guaranteed."

"Excellent," Ah Du said with a smile. "Delivery time?"

"Two months," Werner said. "The goods will be disguised as agricultural machinery and engineering equipment, shipped to Accra via a transit port. You’ll need to have people and a warehouse ready to receive them."

"No problem," said Ah Du. "Terms of payment?"

"A thirty-seventy split," Werner said. "Thirty percent deposit upon signing the contract, and the remaining seventy percent after receiving the goods. Everything will go through a Swiss Bank. I’ll give you the account number."

"Done," Ah Du said, raising his glass.

The two men clinked their glasses.

"One more thing," Ah Du said, lowering his voice after putting down his glass. "After this shipment arrives, if it proves effective, we might need more. Heavy weapons, armored vehicles, even anti-aircraft missiles."

Werner raised an eyebrow. "Anti-aircraft missiles? Those don’t come cheap."

"Price isn’t the issue," Ah Du said. "The issue is whether you can get them."

"I can," Werner said. "But it will take time, and a few more... formalities."

"I understand," Ah Du said with a smile. "Mr. Betelich, I believe we’re going to have an excellent working relationship."

"I believe so as well."

When the steak arrived, they switched to lighter topics: the political situation in Africa, gossip at the United Nations, the weather in New York.

But Werner’s mind was on other things.

’Anti-aircraft missiles. Armored vehicles.’

’Ah Du said price isn’t an issue, which means there’s a wealthy backer.’

’One of the Arab Countries?’

’It doesn’t matter.’

’What matters is that if I handle this connection well, it could lead to a steady stream of orders.’

’And I’ll be able to skim a considerable commission from it.’

After the meal, the two men shook hands and parted ways at the restaurant entrance.

"I look forward to our next collaboration," said Ah Du.

"It’ll be soon," Werner replied.

At nine o’clock that night, Werner left the Plaza Hotel and hailed a taxi.

"Where to?" the driver, a Puerto Rican man chewing gum, asked.

Werner gave him the address Charlie had sent—a neighborhood in Brooklyn.

The taxi crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and entered an area with sparse lighting.

There was none of Manhattan’s glamour here, only dilapidated red-brick buildings and dim streetlights. A few young Black men were smoking on a street corner, casting wary glances as the taxi passed.

The cab stopped in front of an old apartment building.

Werner paid the fare, got out, and looked up at the building. A light was on in a third-floor window.

He took a deep breath and entered the hallway.

Several of the lights in the hallway were broken, the paint on the walls was peeling, and the air smelled of mildew.

Werner walked up the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the empty space.

Third floor, second door on the left.

Werner knocked on the door.

The door opened immediately, as if the person inside had been waiting.

The man who opened it was in his thirties, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a sharp gaze. He wore a casual jacket and jeans.

"Mr. Betelich?" the man asked in fluent but accented German.

"Charlie?"

"Come in." The man stepped aside to let him pass.

The apartment was small, a one-bedroom, with simple but tidy furniture.

An abstract painting hung on the living room wall, and on the table sat a half-empty bottle of bourbon and two glasses.

Charlie closed the door and walked to the table.

"Have a drink?" he asked, picking up the bottle.

"Alright."

Charlie poured two glasses and handed one to Werner.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the sofa.

The two men sat down.

Werner sized up the man named Charlie. He wasn’t old, but he carried himself with a steady composure, and his eyes held a trained alertness.

"Who are you?" Werner asked directly.

"CIA," Charlie said, just as directly. "Eastern Europe desk."

Werner took a sip of his drink, showing no surprise.

"What do you want with me?"

"To get to know you," Charlie said, leaning back on the sofa and crossing his legs. "Werner Betelich, second-in-command of the Koko Group. Over the past decade, you’ve handled transactions worth hundreds of millions of West German Marks, involving arms, industrial equipment, rare metals, and optical instruments. You have channels in West Berlin, Zurich, and Vienna, and you have connections high up in East Germany."

He paused.

"A man like that... of course we’d want to get to know him."

"What good would knowing me do you?" Werner asked.

"Information," said Charlie. "We want to know what East Germany is doing, what it wants to buy, and what it wants to sell. We want to know how the Koko Group operates, where its money flows, and who its partners are."

"So you want me to be a spy?"

"No," Charlie said, shaking his head. "We want to establish... a channel of communication. You wouldn’t have to sell out any secrets or do anything dangerous. You’d just need to occasionally tell us some public or semi-public information."

"For example?"

"For example, what major procurements is East Germany negotiating lately? Which countries is it preparing to sign agreements with? What are the Koko Group’s business priorities?" Charlie explained, "This information is very helpful for our policymaking, but it won’t cause any substantial harm to East Germany."

Werner stared at him. "And you think I’ll agree?"

"I think you’ll consider it," Charlie said. "Because you’re a smart man. You know that in this day and age, it’s always good to have another way out."

"What do you mean?"

Charlie put down his glass and leaned forward.

"Werner, we both know the Cold War won’t last forever. One day, the situation will change, and the world order will be reshuffled. When that happens, some people will be abandoned by history, while others will find a new place for themselves."

He looked at Werner.

"Which kind of person do you want to be?"

Werner didn’t answer right away. He picked up his glass and took a slow sip.

What Charlie said was exactly what was on his mind.

Werner knew better than anyone that East Germany only had sixteen years left.

By 1989, the Berlin Wall would fall, East Germany would be dissolved, and the entire power structure would collapse.

When that time came, he would need an escape route.

And now, an escape route had come knocking on his door.

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