Chapter 338 - 121: Martial Law in Poland (Part 3)

Chapter 338: Chapter 121: Martial Law in Poland (Part 3)

As Werner drove past a square, he saw hundreds of workers being herded onto trucks by soldiers. Most of them had their heads bowed, their faces numb, like a flock of sheep being driven to a slaughterhouse.

This was Poland under martial law.

Gone was the passion and hope of the previous year, leaving only fear and oppression.

It was already evening when Werner arrived in Warsaw.

He checked into a hotel designated for "aid personnel from friendly nations" and then left a message for Krzysztof through a secret contact point.

The next afternoon, Krzysztof appeared in the hotel’s cafe. He had lost weight; his eyes were sunken, and his face was covered in stubble.

"You really came," Krzysztof said, sitting down and lowering his voice.

"Of course," said Werner. "How are the seven men doing?"

"They’re in different places." Krzysztof took out a piece of paper. "I found out where three of them are: two are in a military prison in Warsaw, and one is in a detention camp in Gdansk. There’s no word on the other four yet. They might have been transferred."

Werner took the slip of paper and carefully studied the information on it.

"The military prison is hard to get into," said Krzysztof. "Under martial law, the guards have been doubled, and they’re all soldiers."

"Don’t worry," Werner said. "I’m here in an official capacity this time. The East German Government is negotiating a humanitarian exchange with the Polish Government."

"Official?" Krzysztof looked at him in surprise.

"Yes." Werner lowered his voice. "But official business is one thing, and private business is another. Krzysztof, I need you to help me contact someone in the military, preferably the person in charge of the prison. We’ll be negotiating two deals: one is the official compensation for the Polish Government; the other is a private one, for the people who make it happen."

Krzysztof understood. "You mean... a double price?"

"Exactly," said Werner. "Officially, I’ll tell Berlin that Poland is demanding a high price—fifty thousand West German Marks per person. But in reality, you just need to negotiate it down to thirty thousand for me. The extra twenty thousand, we’ll split."

"Will that really work?" Krzysztof asked, a little worried.

"Of course it will," Werner said. "Berlin only cares about results, not the process. As long as the men are delivered to West Germany, they won’t ask too many questions. Besides, I also brought orders for aid supplies this time, which we can negotiate at the same time."

"I’ll try," he finally said.

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

For the next two days, Werner waited in Warsaw.

During this time, in his capacity as an "aid supply coordinator," he visited several departments of the Polish Ministry of Foreign Trade and the military to discuss the details of the supply provision. His Koko identity was very useful here; the Polish officials were extremely polite to this "brother from East Germany."

Werner also found time to go to the city center.

The city was like a ghost town.

The streets were empty, shops were closed, and the buses had stopped running.

Soldiers and police were everywhere, patrolling with loaded weapons.

Checkpoints were set up at some intersections, and passersby had to show their documents and answer questions.

As Werner passed a church, he saw a crowd of people packed around the entrance.

It was the only place where assembly was permitted under martial law.

Inside the church, a priest was giving a sermon: "...In these dark times, we must hold fast to our faith. God will not abandon us, and justice will ultimately prevail..."

Werner didn’t go in, just stood at the entrance and listened for a moment.

He remembered the hope and passion in the eyes of Walesa and his followers in Gdansk a year ago. Now, all those people were locked up.

But Werner knew this was only temporary.

The tide of history could not be stopped by a martial law decree. Poland’s state of martial law would only accelerate the collapse of the Soviet bloc.

He turned and left the church, walking down the empty streets.

The snow started to fall again, large flakes descending on the gray city as if performing its funeral rites.

On the evening of the third day, Krzysztof brought good news.

"I’ve contacted a colonel in the military, Karol Nowak. He’s in charge of the Warsaw military prison. He’s willing to meet you."

"What’s his asking price?" Werner asked.

"For the three men, a total of one hundred thousand West German Marks," Krzysztof said. "But if you can provide some extra benefits, like military supplies, he might go down to ninety thousand."

Werner did a quick calculation in his head.

Ninety thousand West German Marks meant thirty thousand per person. If he quoted fifty thousand to Berlin, that would be one hundred fifty thousand for the three men. A difference of sixty thousand. After deducting Krzysztof’s eighteen thousand, he would still net forty-two thousand.

But he could do better.

"Tell him I can pay one hundred twenty thousand West German Marks. Thirty thousand of that is for him," Werner said. "Additionally, I can provide military supplies worth ten thousand West German Marks—communication equipment, riot gear, and some Western luxury goods like cigarettes and whiskey."

Krzysztof was stunned for a moment. "Werner, are you crazy? Why raise the price?"

"Because the price I’m going to report to Berlin is one hundred eighty thousand," Werner said calmly. "Sixty thousand West German Marks per person for three people. This way, the margin is bigger, and since Nowak is getting a better deal, he’ll be more cooperative."

Krzysztof sucked in a sharp breath.

A quote of one hundred eighty thousand, an actual payment of one hundred twenty thousand—a difference of sixty thousand.

"Then I..."

"You still get your thirty percent," Werner said. "Thirty percent of sixty thousand is eighteen thousand. Krzysztof, don’t be too greedy. Taking too much can lead to trouble."

Krzysztof nodded. "Alright, I’ll arrange it. When should you meet?"

"The sooner the better," Werner said.

The next evening, Werner drove to the arranged meeting place.

It was an abandoned textile factory on the outskirts of Warsaw, surrounded by desolate land. The factory gates were speckled with rust, the windows were broken, and withered vines crept up the walls.

Werner parked the car at the entrance and walked into the factory. It was pitch-black inside, with only a faint glimmer of light in the distance.

He walked toward the light and came to a spacious workshop. In the center was a table with a kerosene lamp on it, its flame flickering.

"Mr. Betelich?" a voice called out from the darkness.

Werner turned to see a man in a military uniform step out of the shadows. He was about fifty years old, with a cold look in his eyes.

"Colonel Novak?" Werner asked.

"That’s me." The colonel walked to the table and sat down. "Have a seat. We don’t have much time."

Werner sat down across from him.

"Krzysztof said you want to make a deal?" Novak got straight to the point.

"Yes," said Werner. "On behalf of the East German Government, I want to discuss a humanitarian exchange with the Polish Government. We need three men who are currently in your prison."

"An official exchange?" Novak lit a cigarette. "Then we should go through the proper channels, via diplomatic routes."

"The proper channels are too slow," Werner said. "Colonel, we’re both reasonable men. Official business is official business, and private business is private business. Officially, we will go through diplomatic channels and pay compensation to the Polish Government. But privately, we can also ensure that the people handling the matter receive some... extra compensation."

Novak exhaled a puff of smoke. "Be more specific."

"Thirty thousand West German Marks," Werner said. "Wired directly to an overseas account of your choosing. In addition, I can provide military supplies and luxury goods worth ten thousand West German Marks."

Novak’s eyes lit up. "What kind of supplies?"

"Communication equipment, riot gear, and a batch of Western cigarettes and whiskey," said Werner. "I imagine those things would be quite useful for your troops, wouldn’t they?"

Novak considered it for a moment. "Alright. But I want a seventy percent advance."

"Done," said Werner. "However, I need to first confirm that the three men are still alive and in good condition."

"That can be arranged," Novak said. "The day after tomorrow, in the afternoon, I will arrange for you to inspect the prison in your capacity as a representative of the East German Government."

"Excellent." Werner stood up and extended his hand.

Novak took it and shook it firmly. "Mr. Betelich, a pleasure doing business with you."

"A pleasure."

Just as Werner was about to leave, Novak suddenly said, "Oh, one more thing. A word of warning."

"What is it?"

"There have been a lot of foreign intelligence agents active in Warsaw recently." Novak lowered his voice. "CIA, BND, and some other factions we haven’t identified. They’re monitoring the movements of high-ranking military officials. You’d best be careful not to get noticed."

Werner’s heart skipped a beat. "Thanks for the warning."

As he left the factory, Werner was exceptionally alert.

His vigilance proved to be justified.

On the drive back to the city, Werner noticed a car in his rearview mirror, maintaining a constant distance of about one hundred meters.

He was being followed.