Chapter 278 - 61: The Dawn of the Eastern Policy (Part 2)

Chapter 278: Chapter 61: The Dawn of the Eastern Policy (Part 2)

Three days later, Werner was sitting on a train to West Berlin.

The soldier at the checkpoint had the same rigid expression as he opened Werner’s papers and examined them again and again.

Werner leaned back in his seat, watching the Berlin Wall flash by outside the window.

There was some new graffiti on the wall, all of it cursing the Soviet Union.

"Mr. Betelich, you may pass."

The streets of West Berlin were much livelier than those in East Berlin.

Neon signs blared, and shop windows were filled with all sorts of colorful goods.

Werner hailed a taxi and gave an address.

Margaret Schneider’s office was on Kurfurstendamm Street, in an old five-story building.

The secretary was a young woman in a miniskirt and heavy makeup.

She led Werner upstairs, her high heels CLACKING on the wooden floor.

"Ms. Schneider, your guest has arrived."

The office door opened. Margaret was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, her back to the door.

She wore a tailored black suit, her hair was done up in a bun, and she held a long, slim ladies’ cigarette between her fingers.

"Werner." She turned around, her red lips curling into a smile. "You finally decided to come see me."

"Margaret. Good to see you’re well." Werner walked in, and the two shook hands.

Margaret’s hand was cool, but her grip was firm.

"Have a seat. What will you drink? I have some excellent Scotch whisky."

"Whisky is fine."

Margaret poured two glasses, handed one to Werner, and sat down on the sofa across from him.

She crossed her legs, and smoke swirled in front of her face.

"Brandt won," Margaret began. "The West Berlin Chamber of Commerce was in meetings all day yesterday. Everyone is discussing what his Ostpolitik will bring."

"Did they reach any conclusions?" Werner took a sip of his whisky.

"The conclusion is—" Margaret flicked the ash from her cigarette, "everyone wants to dump their goods in the East. Machine tools, chemical raw materials, electronic equipment—whatever makes money. The problem is, the channels to the East are difficult to navigate."

"And that’s why you thought of me."

Margaret smiled. It was the kind of smile unique to a powerful woman, tinged with a bit of cunning.

"Werner, don’t pretend. Isn’t this exactly why you came to see me today?"

Werner smiled too.

He set down his glass and leaned forward.

"Margaret, I now control the largest special trade channel in East Germany. I have the procurement authority of Koko, the protection of the Stasi, and direct connections to various factories. If you want to sell goods to the East, you have to go through me."

"What do you want?" Margaret asked bluntly.

"A cut." Werner held up three fingers. "You take seven, I take three. I’ll be responsible for clearing all the channels, and you’ll be responsible for sourcing goods and negotiating prices in West Germany."

"Thirty percent?" Margaret raised an eyebrow. "Werner, you’ve got quite an appetite."

"And that’s not even counting the protection I’m offering," Werner said, leaning back on the sofa. "What do West German companies fear most when doing business with the East? They’re afraid they’ll ship the goods and never get paid, or that the East German Government will screw them over. But if you go through my channels, I guarantee every transaction will be clean. Goods paid for in full."

Margaret took a drag from her cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke.

She stared at Werner for a long time, then stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray.

"Deal." She extended her hand. "But I have one condition."

"Name it."

"I want to meet your superior. Werner, I’ve been in business for many years. I know who I can trust and who I can’t. I believe you when you say you can handle things on the East German side. But I need to see for myself just how strong your backing is."

Werner was silent for a few seconds. "Alright. Next month, I’ll arrange for you to meet Gunter."

"Gunter? The head of Koko?" Margaret was a little surprised.

"The very same."

Margaret smiled again, this time more brightly. "Werner, for an East German, you’re a better businessman than a lot of West Germans."

They clinked their glasses and drank them down in one go.

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

It was already 8:00 PM by the time he returned to East Berlin.

Werner didn’t go straight home, instead turning into a small alley in the eastern part of the city.

The alley was dimly lit, with only a few streetlights casting a faint glow.

He stopped in front of an old building and looked up at the third-floor window. The curtains were drawn, but a sliver of light escaped from behind them.

He went upstairs and knocked on the door. Three long, two short.

The door opened a crack, revealing Keller’s face. Only when he saw it was Werner did he open the door completely.

"Boss."

"How’s the black market lately?" Werner asked as he stepped inside. The heat in the room was cranked up high.

"Booming," Keller said, closing the door and pouring Werner a cup of tea. "Ever since the news about Brandt taking office spread, everyone thinks the good times are coming. Prices are up twenty percent, and we still can’t keep things in stock."

Werner took the teacup and sat on the sofa. "Has anyone been asking about me?"

"A few," Keller replied, sitting across from him. "Just some small-time players looking to latch on to someone powerful. I told them to wait, just like you said."

"Good." Werner took a sip of tea. "Business is going to be extremely busy for the next few months. I need you to keep an eye on the black market side of things for me, especially transportation."

"Boss, you mean—"

"West Germany is going to be dumping a large volume of goods into the East," Werner said, putting down his cup. "We won’t just be doing official business; we can’t let the black market line go dry. Do you have enough men?"

"Not enough, but I can find a few more reliable ones," Keller said decisively.

"Be careful when you’re looking." Werner stood up. "The Stasi have been cracking down lately. Don’t let anyone dirty slip in."

"Understood."

Werner walked to the door and glanced back at Keller. "Do a good job. If you seize this opportunity, you’ll be set for the rest of your life."

Keller grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth. "Boss, when have I ever had to worry, following you?"

The door closed, and silence returned to the hallway.

As Werner walked downstairs, Keller’s words kept replaying in his mind—"everyone thinks the good times are coming."

It was a signal.

It wasn’t just him; the entire underworld of East Berlin had scented a business opportunity.

But Werner knew in his heart that the good times wouldn’t come so easily.

Right now, Ublis was surely on the phone with Moscow, discussing how to deal with Brandt’s "sugar-coated bullets."

The East German leadership had always been wary of West Germany’s "policy of détente"—they wanted full international recognition and the status of a sovereign nation, not a few Marks handed out as charity by West Germany.

What conditions would Ublis propose?

Werner could almost predict it: first, recognize East Germany as an independent state, and only then could they discuss normalizing diplomatic relations.

This had been East Germany’s obsession for twenty years.

As long as West Germany continued to adhere to the Hallstein Doctrine, and as long as the Western world still regarded East Germany as the Soviet Occupation Zone, Ublis would never rest easy.

But for Werner, this political game was a golden opportunity.

When the two sides were locked in a tug-of-war, the middleman profited the most.

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

In early November, the West German magazine *Der Spiegel* published a long article titled "Brandt’s Gamble: Can Ostpolitik Succeed?"

Werner had Reynard get him a copy, which he read carefully in his office.

The article mentioned that Brandt’s government planned to provide over three billion Marks in various forms of aid to East Germany over the next three years.

This included expanding the "ransoming" of political prisoners, increasing inner-German trade quotas, and possibly even providing direct loans.

Three billion.

Werner put down the magazine and leaned back in his chair.

He thought back to when he had first ’transmigrated’ into this era with only a few hundred Marks to his name, surviving by peddling cigarettes on the black market.

Eight years had passed. He now controlled a business worth hundreds of millions of Marks annually, had dozens of people working under him, and possessed his own networks in both East and West Germany.

But it wasn’t enough.

He picked up the phone and dialed Von Brown’s number.