Chapter 198 - 108: The True Purpose of Von Brown’s Goodwill

Chapter 198: Chapter 108: The True Purpose of Von Brown’s Goodwill

Werner recognized the place. It was once a gathering spot for Prussian nobility, now an exclusive social club for high-ranking East German officials.

There was no sign at the entrance, just an inconspicuous bronze plaque engraved with "House of the German People."

"We’re here." The driver killed the engine and glanced at Werner in the rearview mirror. "Comrade Von Brown is waiting for you on the third floor."

Werner pushed open the car door. A cold wind, smelling of coal smoke, rushed in.

He pulled his coat tighter and walked through the main entrance, treading carefully on the icy stone steps.

’This isn’t the kind of place just anyone can enter. Meeting here means whatever Von Brown wants to discuss goes beyond the scope of a typical Black Market informant.’

The foyer was covered with a worn carpet, and a portrait of Engels hung on the wall.

The attendant was an old man in his fifties, dressed in a faded black suit. When he saw Werner enter, he pointed wordlessly at the stairs with a blank expression.

"Third floor, second room on the left."

Werner went upstairs, the wooden staircase CREAKING under his feet.

The entire building was quiet, save for the low murmur of voices from a distance. ’Ordinary people don’t come to a place like this. It’s for Party cadres and Stasi agents to meet, talk business, and make deals.’

At the end of the third-floor hallway, the door to the second room on the left was ajar. Werner knocked.

"Come in."

Von Brown was sitting by the window with an exquisite porcelain tea set before him. The room wasn’t large, but it was tastefully furnished: dark oak furniture, a landscape oil painting on the wall, and a Soviet-made radio in the corner.

The dining table was already set with food: pan-fried trout, roasted venison, mashed potatoes, and a bottle of French red wine.

"Sit." Von Brown gestured to the chair opposite him, his tone flat. "The chef here is quite good."

Werner sat down, took off his coat, and draped it over the back of the chair.

Von Brown poured him a glass of red wine, then poured one for himself.

"Try it." Von Brown cut a piece of venison and put it in his mouth. "A Bordeaux. 1955."

Werner raised his glass and took a sip. The wine was smooth, with the aroma of oak barrels.

He put down the glass and looked at Von Brown.

"Comrade Von Brown, you didn’t ask me here today just for a meal, did you?"

Von Brown lifted his gaze to look at him, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Direct. I like that." He put down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Comrade Werner, we’ve been working together for some time now. The intelligence you provide is always high-quality and delivered quickly. I have a high opinion of your abilities."

"Thank you, Comrade Von Brown."

"However," Von Brown paused, leaning forward and lacing his fingers on the table, "our current method of cooperation is not deep enough."

Werner said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"To put it bluntly, what you’re doing now is being a Black Market informant. Keeping an eye on petty thugs, occasionally providing intel on a few dissidents." Von Brown’s tone became more direct. "This work is important, but the scope is too small. With your abilities, you’re capable of much bigger things."

"What would you have me do, Comrade Von Brown?"

"I need a front man to handle a wider range of operations." Von Brown looked directly into Werner’s eyes. "A reliable person who can handle certain... matters that officials can’t be seen dealing with."

Werner’s heart began to beat faster, but he kept his expression calm.

"What matters, specifically?"

Von Brown put down his wine glass, pulled a file from his briefcase, and pushed it across the table to Werner.

"Three things." He held up three fingers. "First, dealing with confiscated goods. Every month, the Stasi seizes a large amount of smuggled items—cigarettes, liquor, West German products, luxury goods. By regulation, these things are supposed to be destroyed or turned over to the state treasury, but in reality, a lot of it just rots in a warehouse. I need you to help me liquidate these goods and convert them into foreign currency or Marks."

Werner opened the file. Inside was a long list: five hundred cartons of cigarettes, twenty cases of whiskey, thirty West German radios, fifteen suits...

"How do we handle the origin of these goods?" Werner asked. "If someone investigates—"

"No one will investigate," Von Brown cut him off. "These are all cases I’ve handled personally. I’ll make sure the records are clean. You just need to take care of selling them."

"Understood." Werner nodded. "And the second thing?"

Von Brown poured a little more wine, took a sip, then stared at Werner.

"Establish a foreign currency channel."

Werner’s fingers paused on the edge of the file.

"A foreign currency channel?"

"Yes." Von Brown nodded. "East Germany needs a lot of foreign currency—US Dollars, Marks, Pound Sterling. This money is used to buy off West German informants, fund underground organizations abroad, and purchase Western equipment. But applying for foreign currency through official channels is complicated and tends to leave a paper trail."

He paused.

"I need you to help me establish a secret pipeline for foreign currency. Black Market exchanges, underground trades—any method that can get us foreign currency is on the table."

Werner’s mind raced.

’A foreign currency channel.

That phrase reminds me of something.

Historically, East Germany did have a special department responsible for acquiring foreign currency for the state.

What was that organization called again? The Commercial Coordination Division? Or was it something else?

I can’t remember clearly, but I recall it was a semi-public, secret organization that answered directly to East Germany’s top leadership. It engaged in all sorts of gray-area dealings—arms trafficking, smuggling luxury goods, even selling political prisoners.

If I agree to Von Brown’s proposal, I’ll be truly stepping into that system.

It means greater profits and higher status, but it also means being bound to them even more tightly.

Once you’re in, it’s hard to get out.’

"Comrade Werner?" Von Brown’s voice pulled him back to reality. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Werner said, looking up. "Just considering the feasibility. A foreign currency channel isn’t easy to set up. It requires a lot of resources."

"I will provide the resources," Von Brown said. "Whatever men or connections you need, just ask. My position in the Stasi is quite secure. I can mobilize more resources than you can imagine."

Werner nodded and turned the file to the next page.

"And the third thing?"

"Surveillance." Von Brown’s gaze turned colder. "High-ranking officials, potential defectors, suspicious foreigners—all of them need to be watched. But Stasi agents are too conspicuous; they easily tip off our targets. Your network in the Black Market can help me handle these things."

He paused for a moment.

"Of course, these are high-level targets, so the risks are greater. But correspondingly, the rewards will be higher too."

Von Brown picked up his knife and fork again and cut a piece of venison.

"In exchange, I can offer you the highest level of protection." He put the meat in his mouth and chewed slowly. "No matter what business you’re in, no matter who you offend, as long as I’m covering for you, no one will dare to touch you. That includes Vonke."

Werner raised his wine glass and pretended to take a sip, his mind racing.

’Von Brown is trying to lash me to his war chariot.

Three tasks. Each one could make me a fortune, but each one could also be my undoing.

Handling confiscated goods is tantamount to engaging in corruption.

Establishing a foreign currency channel means becoming the Stasi’s financial front.

And surveilling high-level targets means learning far too many secrets that I shouldn’t know.

If I handle these things well, I could rise to the top in a single bound.

But if I mess up, or if Von Brown runs into trouble down the line, I’ll be thrown out as a scapegoat.’

Werner put down his glass and looked at Von Brown.

"Comrade Von Brown, these three tasks carry a lot of weight. I need some time to think it over."

"Think it over?" Von Brown stopped, knife and fork in hand, and raised his eyes. "Comrade Werner, I thought you were a decisive man."

"Being decisive and being cautious are not mutually exclusive," Werner replied, his tone calm. "A partnership of this magnitude isn’t a snap decision. I need to assess the risks and organize my resources."

Von Brown stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled. It was the same shallow, cold smile as before.

"Fine. I’ll give you three days." He picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth. "Three days from now, I expect your answer."

"No problem."

"But, Werner," Von Brown said, standing up and walking to the window, his back to him, "some things can’t be refused, even if you want to."