Chapter 178 - 88: The Priest and the Black Market

Chapter 178: Chapter 88: The Priest and the Black Market

That evening, Werner met Franz in the secret office.

"Where’s the list?" Werner asked.

Franz pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase. Seven names and addresses were scrawled on it in pencil.

"The Stein family is already in West Berlin, so we don’t need to worry about them. The Hoffmans have also fled." Franz pointed to the first two lines. "These remaining few are still in East Germany."

Werner glanced at the list.

Anselm Krause, twenty-three years old, a theology student living in the Prenzlauer Berg District.

Gretel Miller, fifty-one, a retired teacher whose husband was sentenced last year for "incitement," living in Friedrichshain.

Carl Bloom and his wife Helen, a young couple living in Lichtenberg...

"Time is short." Werner folded the list. "Marcus will be arrested in three days. Before that, these people must be moved."

"Moved where?"

"Scatter them." Werner struck a match and lit a cigarette. "Send Anselm to Pastor Weber’s place. Say he’s the new seminary assistant. Mrs. Gretel is getting on in years, so arrange for her to be a volunteer at the Church nursing home. The Blooms..." Werner paused. "Send them to the warehouse and give them identities as loaders."

"What about the other two?"

"Erich Weigner, the engineer." Werner exhaled a puff of smoke. "He’s useful. Have him go to the mechanical repair workshop at the port. Say he’s an old friend of Carl’s, specializing in repairing imported equipment. The port is crowded and attracts all sorts, perfect for hiding someone."

"What about the other two?"

"Carl Bloom and his wife Helen," Werner continued. "Have them go to the port as well. Arrange for him to be a loader, and Helen can help in the port canteen. A couple together is less likely to arouse suspicion."

"And the last one, Lieselotte Schulz..."

Werner stared at the name for a long time. Twenty-nine years old, a nurse, formerly worked at Charit Hospital, dismissed for "political stance issues." Marcus had written in the notes: Husband was shot and killed while attempting to cross the Wall during its construction.

"What about her?" Franz asked.

"She needs a new identity." Werner stubbed out his cigarette. "Go find Hank, have him forge a set of papers. Then arrange for her to go to Dresden. The farther the better."

Franz nodded and put the list away.

"Boss, is all this worth it?" he couldn’t help but ask. "To expend so many resources for a single priest..."

"This isn’t for the priest." Werner poured a glass of wine. "It’s for myself."

Franz looked at him, confused.

"Lainer wants a case, not the truth." Werner raised his glass. "I give him a beautiful case, he’s happy, and I’m safe. As for those innocent people..." Werner took a sip of wine. "If I don’t look out for them today, I could be the one sold out tomorrow."

Franz nodded, only half-understanding.

"Go get it done." Werner waved his hand. "Remember, be quick and leave no trace. Tomorrow, I have to go to the Black Market to ’discover’ some leads."

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

The next day at noon, Werner appeared at the Black Market near Alexanderplatz.

The houses lining the small alley were packed with people. All sorts of contraband were traded in the shadows—West German Marks, American cigarettes, Swiss watches, and even a few yellowed transit passes.

Werner moved through the crowd and stopped at a stall selling documents.

The stall owner was a thin old man with thick glasses, examining an identification card with a magnifying glass.

"Any new stock lately?" Werner asked in a low voice.

The old man looked up, squinting at him. "Who are you?"

"Betelich."

The old man’s expression changed instantly. He stood up respectfully. "Ah, Mr. Betelich, you should have said so! Please, have a seat." He brought over a broken chair. "There is some new stock, and some new rumors..."

"What rumors?"

The old man glanced around before lowering his voice. "A couple of days ago, someone was here hawking the master plates for fake transit passes, said he got them from the Church. I didn’t dare take them, but I heard another dealer bought them."

Werner nodded. "What kind of plates?"

"The steel kind, used for printing the passes, engraved with the pattern of the official seal." The old man gestured with his hands. "The craftsmanship is said to be excellent, almost indistinguishable from the real thing. The seller said they were stolen from a warehouse near Holy Cross Church."

"Do you know who stole them?"

The old man shook his head. "In this line of work, you don’t ask too many questions. But..." He hesitated. "I remember the guy mentioned seeing someone in a black robe moving things in the warehouse, looked like a priest."

Werner pulled out a few Marks and placed them on the table. "I’ll buy this information. If you can get your hands on those plates, or find the person who bought them, come find me."

The old man’s face split into a grin as he scooped up the money. "Rest assured, Mr. Betelich. If I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know."

Werner left the Black Market, a plan already forming in his mind.

This "coincidental" lead had appeared at the perfect time. Though he had ordered Franz to arrange for someone to deliberately spread the rumor, hearing it from a Black Market dealer made it credible intelligence.

For the next three days, he would wait until the five people were safely settled before delivering this lead to Lainer.

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

The next morning, Anselm Krause was still asleep when he was jolted awake by a frantic knocking on his door.

"Who is it?" he called out, dazed.

"Delivery."

Anselm opened the door to find a strange man standing outside.

The man thrust an envelope into his hand and left without another word.

Inside the envelope was a single slip of paper, on which was written in block letters: Ten o’clock this morning, back door of Saint Paul’s Church. Bring all your documents and clothes. Tell no one. —A Friend

Anselm’s heart began to race. He recognized Father Markus’s code—the priest always signed off with "A Friend" before arranging an escape.

’But why now? Isn’t the plan for next month?’

With no time to overthink it, Anselm hurriedly packed a bag.

At 9:50, he arrived at the back door of Saint Paul’s Church. A middle-aged man in worker’s overalls was waiting there.

"Follow me." The man started walking without waiting for a reply. After a moment’s hesitation, Anselm followed.

They wound through several alleys, finally stopping in front of a gray apartment building. The man led Anselm up to the third floor and knocked on a door.

Pastor Weber stood behind the door.

"Anselm, my child." Weber took his hand. "Welcome to your new home."

"I don’t understand..."

"You’re my assistant now." Pastor Weber clapped him on the shoulder. "From this day on, your name is Thomas Weber. You’re my nephew, a recent graduate of Leipzig Theological College. Remember this identity. You will live under this name from now on."

"But Father Markus..."

"The Father asked me to take care of you," Weber cut in. "Don’t ask too many questions, child. Some things are safer left unknown."

Anselm nodded dumbly, his eyes turning a little red.

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

At the same time, Gretel Miller was in her kitchen boiling potatoes. There was a knock at the door. She opened it a crack and saw a young woman standing outside.

"Mrs. Miller, I’m a staff member from the Church nursing home," the woman said with a smile. "Pastor Weber recommended you to come help us out. Would you be willing?"

"The nursing home?" Gretel was stunned. "I never applied..."

"The pastor said you are a devout member of the congregation, and we happen to be short on volunteers," the woman continued to smile. "Room and board are covered, and there’s even a small stipend. What do you think?"

Gretel hesitated.

After her husband’s imprisonment, she had been living alone in this small apartment, getting by on a meager pension. Volunteering at the nursing home would at least mean she wouldn’t have to worry about meals.

"When would I start?" she asked.

"Right now, if you’d like," the woman said. "Just pack a few things. Our car is waiting downstairs."

Gretel looked at the woman’s sincere smile and finally nodded.

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

Three days later, in the morning, Werner went to the Stasi secret office in the Neukölln District.

This was where Lainer was permanently stationed. It was a gray, five-story building that looked like a regular government agency from the outside, but was filled with Stasi personnel on the inside.

The guard saw Werner, gave a salute, and waved him through. Werner went up to the third floor and knocked on the door to Lainer’s office.

Lainer was reading a file. He looked up, saw Werner, and showed a surprised expression. "Betelich? What is it?"

"Major, I’ve found a lead at the Black Market." Werner sat down in a chair. "It’s about fake transit passes."