Chapter 341 - 124: Trip to Tehran

Chapter 341: Chapter 124: Trip to Tehran

Werner frowned. "Why?"

"He said the deal is too big and the buyers are too high-level. Some details must be discussed in person." Alexander paused. "He also hinted that someone inside the Iranian government wants to establish a direct, long-term arms supply relationship with East Germany, bypassing the Western middlemen. That’s not something that can be clarified over telegraph."

Werner was silent for a few seconds, his gaze turning sharp.

’What would it mean to establish a direct connection with the Iranian government?’

’It would mean stable orders, higher profits, and more importantly, it would mean establishing a long-term money-making channel for himself in the Middle East.’

"When did he say?"

"As soon as possible." Alexander looked at him. "But Werner, Tehran is very dangerous right now. The Revolutionary Guard is arresting people everywhere, and Khomeini’s purges are still ongoing. You’re a high-ranking East German official. If something were to happen to you..."

"Karim needs this deal. He won’t risk my safety. Besides, we have no fundamental conflicts with Iran. East Germany has even provided them with a fair amount of technical assistance."

"But—"

"No buts." Werner stood up. "For a deal of this magnitude, it’s hard to build trust without meeting face-to-face."

Alexander sighed. "Then I’ll arrange the itinerary?"

"Yes." Werner thought for a moment. "Arrange a transfer in Prague. East Germany has an agreement with Czechoslovak Airlines; they have a direct flight to Tehran. For the visa, go to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Tell them Koko wants to discuss oil imports and technical cooperation with Iran. They’ll accept that reason."

"Understood." Alexander jotted it down in his notebook. "Anything else?"

"Notify Von Brown." Werner lowered his voice. "Tell him I’m going to Tehran to discuss an arms deal. Have him arrange for the Stasi’s local contact to make emergency preparations. If something really does happen, at least there will be someone who can get me out."

Alexander looked at him, then finally sighed. "I understand."

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

A week later, at East Berlin Schonefeld Airport.

Werner, carrying a brown leather suitcase, passed through the security checkpoint.

He was wearing a dark gray suit with a dark blue tie today, his hair combed meticulously.

The suitcase contained a few business documents, some sample catalogs, and an official letter of authorization from Koko.

"Comrade Betelich, have a pleasant trip." The security officer respectfully handed back his passport.

"Thank you."

Before boarding, Werner made a call from a public phone booth in the waiting hall.

"It’s me," he said curtly. "I’ll be in Tehran tomorrow."

The other end of the line was silent for two seconds, then Anna’s voice came through. "Are you crazy? They’re arresting foreigners everywhere in Tehran right now."

"I know." Werner leaned against the glass wall of the phone booth. "But I have to make this trip. There’s a big deal from Karim’s side. The buyers are with the Iranian government, and we have to meet in person."

"Why do you have to be the one to go?"

"Because they want to meet with Koko’s top brass to confirm we have sufficient supply capacity and the right political backing." Werner glanced at his watch. "This isn’t something that can be explained clearly over telegraph. Trust can only be built face-to-face."

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and then Anna sighed. "Felix is crying. I have to go."

"Wait." Werner gripped the receiver tightly. "If you don’t hear from me in three days, notify Von Brown. Tell him to use all his connections to find me."

"Do you really think something will happen?"

"No." Werner paused. "But what if?"

The other end was silent for a long time before Anna said, "Be careful."

"I will."

After hanging up, Werner took a deep breath, picked up his suitcase, and walked toward the boarding gate.

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

Prague Ruzyne Airport.

The plane landed in the evening. Werner waited in the terminal for his connecting flight.

The Czechoslovak Airlines flight wasn’t scheduled to depart until ten at night, so he had three hours to kill.

The waiting hall wasn’t crowded. It was mostly filled with Iranian businessmen and technicians from Eastern Europe.

Werner bought a copy of the *Rudé Právo* and sat by a window, pretending to read while actually observing the people around him.

"You heading to Tehran, too?"

A voice sounded beside him.

Werner looked up to see a Czech man in his thirties standing before him, wearing a faded blue jacket and carrying a worn-out travel bag.

"Yes." Werner nodded. "You as well?"

"Yep." The man sat down next to him and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "I’m a technician for oil equipment, sent to repair some machinery. To be honest, I’d rather stay in Prague and drink Pilsner beer than go to that godforsaken place."

"Why is that?" Werner closed his newspaper.

"Haven’t you heard?" The man lowered his voice. "Tehran is crawling with the Revolutionary Guard. Last month, a colleague of mine got thrown in jail for three days just for drinking a little alcohol in his hotel room. Khomeini and his band of lunatics are capable of anything."

Werner didn’t respond, merely nodding.

The man took a drag from his cigarette and added, "But then again, Tehran has its upsides right now."

"What upsides?"

"Easy to make money." The man winked. "Iran is at war with Iraq, so they’re short on everything. As long as you have goods, they’ll pay. And in US Dollars, not those useless paper Crowns."

Werner turned his head and studied the man. A glint of shrewdness flashed in his eyes; he was clearly more than just an ordinary technician.

"You do business, too?" Werner asked.

"Occasionally." The man smiled. "Help friends bring some things over, earn a little on the side. You know how it is, the wages in Prague aren’t enough to support a family."

Werner nodded but didn’t say anything more.

The boarding announcement came on, and passengers began to line up.

Werner picked up his suitcase and followed the crowd toward the boarding gate.

The Czech man followed behind him, smoking nonstop and occasionally muttering curses under his breath.

By the time the plane took off, the Prague night had already swallowed the horizon.

Werner leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

’The next few days will be crucial. If I can successfully negotiate a partnership with the people from the Iranian government, it will be one of the most important breakthroughs of my career.’

’But the risks are just as real.’

’Tehran is a powder keg right now. The Revolutionary Guard is purging dissidents everywhere, and foreigners can be arrested as spies at any moment.’

Werner felt the inside pocket of his jacket. It contained an emergency contact number from Von Brown—a secret Stasi contact point in Tehran.

’If something really goes wrong, this is my last resort.’

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

Tehran, Mehrabad Airport.

The plane landed at dawn. Outside the window, the mountains of the Iranian Plateau cut across the sky like jagged teeth, their snowy peaks gilded by the morning light.

Werner stepped out of the cabin with his suitcase and was met by a blast of hot air, mixed with the smell of kerosene and dust.

The airport terminal was dilapidated. The walls were covered with portraits of Khomeini and slogans written in Persian: "Down with American Imperialism! Down with Saddam!"

Customs inspection was strict.

A soldier of the Revolutionary Guard in a green uniform carefully examined his passport and visa, then checked the letter of authorization from Koko.

"What is your business in Tehran?" the soldier asked in stiff English.

"Business visit," Werner replied calmly. "I represent the East German Commercial Coordination Committee, here to discuss matters of oil imports and technical cooperation."

The soldier stared at him for a few seconds, then stamped his passport. "Welcome to the Islamic Republic of Iran."

After leaving the airport, Werner followed Karim’s instructions and found the man who was there to pick him up—an Iranian man in his thirties, dressed in a dark suit with a neatly trimmed beard.

"Mr. Werner?" the man asked in English.

"Yes."

"My name is Fahad. I am Mr. Karim’s assistant." The man extended his hand. "The car is outside. Please, follow me."