I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Werner pulled the intelligence list he had spent all night compiling from an inside pocket and carefully unfolded it. "Here’s the detailed information. The Fisher Brothers, they specialize in smuggling military supplies from the Czech border. Mueller’s gang, they have a stable partnership with Black Market merchants from Poland. And there’s William Claus, who’s been a long-term buyer of US Army cigarettes and Western luxury goods."

Vonke took the paper, his brow furrowing ever more tightly.

The level of detail in the report far exceeded his expectations—it contained not only lists of names and supply channels, but also specific transaction locations, schedules, and even a crystal-clear record of each person’s habits.

"How did you get this information?" Vonke looked up at Werner.

"I’ve been knocking around East Berlin for so long, you’re bound to hear things." Werner put on the air of a concerned patriot, then paused, his tone carrying a barely perceptible hint. "You know how it is. Sometimes, when necessities are in short supply, a law-abiding citizen has to be... a little flexible. But I only ever dealt in daily goods, small things like cigarettes and coffee. I never thought I’d get dragged into something this big."

Vonke’s gaze lingered on Werner’s face for a moment, his mind flashing back to the clues he’d found in Werner’s apartment regarding suspicious items.

He understood, but he didn’t press the matter.

In East Berlin, who hadn’t bought something on the Black Market?

Plenty of people even ran small side hustles to earn a little extra cash. Compared to such trivial misdeeds, Werner’s willingness to come forward and provide intelligence was far more valuable.

"At first, I thought it was just ordinary small-time business," Werner continued. "But after Joseph was caught, I realized how serious this was. These people aren’t just smuggling for profit; they’re a threat to national security."

"What are you trying to say?"

Werner took a deep breath, his face a mask of someone making a difficult decision. "I am willing to assist the investigation and contribute my strength for the Party and the people."

Vonke stared at Werner for a long moment before opening a folder. Inside was Werner’s detailed file.

"Werner Betelich, 25, unaffiliated with the Party, works at the state-owned machinery factory." He read from the file. "Occasionally dabbles in small-time deals on the Black Market."

’Just as I thought,’ Werner mused. ’The Stasi knew I was in the Black Market business all along.’

’I wonder if I was exposed recently, or if this body’s previous owner was just careless while smuggling and already had a file with the Stasi.’

’Either way, since they already know what’s going on, coming clean myself should earn me more trust.’

"Yes, Comrade Vonke. Hardship forced my hand, and I have indeed done some things... that weren’t exactly by the book." Werner lowered his head, his voice thick with remorse. "But I have never done anything to harm the state. On the contrary, I have been keeping an eye on the real criminals."

"Why are you only reporting this now?"

"Because I needed evidence." Werner looked up, his eyes shining with sincerity. "Accusations without proof are meaningless. I spent months gathering this intelligence, hoping to provide the Party and the government with truly valuable information."

Vonke carefully perused the intelligence list again, his interest growing with every line he read.

The Fisher Brothers’ Czech connection, the Mueller gang’s Polish supply source, William’s US Army goods—each lead pointed to a larger international smuggling network.

"If this intelligence proves to be true," Vonke said slowly, "you will have rendered a great service to the state."

"It’s my duty, Comrade Vonke." Werner stood up, straightening his back. "I am willing to contribute everything I have to the construction of socialism."

Vonke closed the folder, his expression turning serious. "Comrade Betelich, I am formally inviting you to become our collaborator. Are you willing to provide intelligence support for the State Security department?"

Werner rejoiced internally, but on his face, he wore a look of stunned honor. "I... I am! But I’ve never had any professional training. Can I really handle a job like this?"

"Your field experience is the best training." Vonke stood up and extended his hand. "Welcome aboard, Comrade Betelich. From this day forward, you are a special collaborator for the Ministry for State Security."

The moment their hands clasped, Werner knew his plan had succeeded.

He had not only cleared himself of potential suspicion but had also gained official protection. Most importantly, he could now openly and legitimately investigate any of his competitors.

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

That afternoon, in the basement of an abandoned textile factory.

Keller and Hank were taking inventory of the chemical supply when they heard Werner’s footsteps. They immediately gathered around him.

"Boss, how did it go?" Keller asked nervously.

Werner took off his coat, a triumphant smile playing on his lips. "From now on, you can address me as Comrade Vonke’s special collaborator."

"What?" Hank’s eyes widened. "You really became a Stasi informant?"

"Not just an informant," Werner corrected. "A special collaborator. This means I have the authority to investigate any suspicious smuggling activities, and I have official protection."

Keller was so excited he rubbed his hands together. "That’s amazing! Who would dare mess with us now?"

"Don’t celebrate too soon." Werner poured a glass of water. "The real challenge starts now. We have to maintain our informant status while building our own underground business empire."

Hank looked thoughtful. "Then what about our chemical business?"

"We continue, of course," Werner said, sitting down on a wooden crate. "But we need to be more careful, more professional. Hank, you’ll be in charge of supply management. Keller, you go contact Fritz and have him absorb the Mole’s old client network."

"Will Fritz listen to us?" Keller asked, a little worried.

"He will." Werner was full of confidence. "After Joseph was caught, all his men have been looking for a new backer. And right now, in all of East Berlin, who has a more solid backer than I do?"

As they were speaking, footsteps sounded from upstairs. Not just one person, but several.

The three of them were instantly on alert. Hank even reached for the wrench at his waist.

"Brother Werner!" A booming voice echoed from the stairwell. "It’s me, Fritz!"

Fritz Bauer walked down the stairs, followed by three men.

Fritz was a portly man in his forties and had been the head of sales for the Mole’s gang, responsible for contacting buyers. Werner recognized the three men behind him, too—they were all small-time thugs who used to work for Joseph.

"Fritz?" Werner feigned surprise. "What brings you all here?"

"After the boss got caught, the men have been lost." Fritz wrung his hands, his expression somewhat constrained. "We heard you’re the new boss around here and wanted to come join you."

"Join me?" Werner laughed. "I don’t recall saying I was taking on new men."