Chapter 313 - 96: Interview with Der Spiegel

Chapter 313: Chapter 96: Interview with Der Spiegel

After all the meetings concluded, the delegation went to a restaurant at Helsinki Port to celebrate.

Werner left early, using the excuse that he wasn’t feeling well.

He sat down at a cafe near the port and ordered a black coffee.

Ten minutes later, a man in a trench coat sat down across from him.

"Mr. Werner."

"You’re the reporter from *The Mirror*?" Werner sized him up—early thirties, hair a bit messy, with a sharp gaze.

"Peter Schmidt." The reporter extended his hand. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."

"I never said I agreed." Werner didn’t shake his hand. "Werner arranged it. And before our conversation begins, I need to make the rules clear."

"What rules?"

"First, no recording. Second, no photographs. Third, you cannot ask my name, my position, or any detail that could confirm my identity." Werner stared at him. "If you agree to these conditions, we can talk. If you don’t, this ends now."

Peter hesitated for a moment, then put the recorder he had prepared back into his bag and took out a notebook. "Alright. Then how should I address you?"

"Mr. K." Werner lit a cigarette. "That will do."

"Very well, Mr. K." Peter opened his notebook. "I want to understand the inside story of the political prisoner trades. From what I know, East Germany earns tens of millions of Marks annually through this channel, but the outside world is clueless about the actual process—"

"What is it you want to know?" Werner cut him off. "How East Germany sets the prices? How they select the people? Or perhaps, which officials are involved in these transactions?"

Peter looked up. "All of the above."

"Then you’re going to be disappointed." Werner flicked the ash from his cigarette. "I’m not here to give you an exposé or leak state secrets. I sought you out to tell a story."

"What story?"

"The story of an East German official." Werner took a deep drag from his cigarette. "The story of a man who works within the system but tries to do what he can within the limited space he’s given."

Peter stared at him. "Are you talking about yourself?"

"I’m talking about a certain type of person." Werner gazed out the window at the sea. "Peter, do you have any idea how many political prisoners there are in East Germany? Tens of thousands. They’re imprisoned for all sorts of reasons—listening to West German radio, criticizing the government, attempting to cross the Wall. And while they’re in prison, their families on the outside suffer the consequences."

"I know all that," Peter said. "What are you trying to say?"

"I’m saying that some people are trying to change this." Werner turned his head back. "Not through revolution, not through confrontation, but through trade. Using West Germany’s money to buy these people’s freedom."

"So trading political prisoners is a humanitarian act?" Peter’s tone was laced with sarcasm.

"Of course not." Werner shook his head. "It’s business. A cold, hard transaction. But to the people being released, and to their families, the nature of the deal doesn’t matter."

Peter jotted down notes rapidly. "What is your role in these transactions?"

"I handle a portion of the operations," Werner admitted. "I can’t go into specifics."

"So you see yourself as a hero? An East German Schindler?"

Werner laughed. "Schindler? No, I’m no Schindler. Schindler risked his life to save people. I’m just doing my job. Besides—" He paused. "I profit from it, too. I’ve gained commissions, connections, and status within the system."

"In that case, why meet with me?" Peter set down his pen. "Why take the risk of telling me all this?"

Werner fell silent for a moment, staring at the cigarette in his hand.

"Because I want the West to know that not all East German officials are cold-blooded." He looked up. "Because I want history to remember that within this absurd system, some people were trying their best. Even if their efforts were insignificant, even if their motives were impure, at least—at least someone was doing something."

"You’re trying to whitewash your image?"

"Interpret it however you like." Werner stubbed out his cigarette butt. "I am merely stating facts. Within my jurisdiction, I help as many people as possible. The young, the talented, the innocent—I give them priority. For cases involving family reunification, I do my best to be lenient."

"Why?"

"Because I believe this Wall won’t stand forever." Werner locked eyes with Peter. "Because I believe that when history turns this page, it will be remembered who did what."

Peter stared at him for a long time before looking down to continue his notes.

"Mr. K, you said you also profit from this. So, are you ultimately doing this for your conscience, or for yourself?"

"Both," Werner said frankly. "I’m no saint, Peter. I’m a man struggling in the mire, trying not to sink in too deep. I save people, but I also pave my own way. I do good deeds, but for selfish reasons. That’s the real me—an imperfect, selfish official who, at the very least, still has a shred of humanity."

Peter set his pen down. "If I write this story, will it cause you trouble?"

"Possibly." Werner lit a new cigarette. "But as long as the story contains no details that could confirm my identity, it won’t be major trouble. Plenty of East German officials are involved in the prisoner trades. No one can be certain who ’Mr. K’ is."

"So, for now, you don’t want anyone to know who you are?"

"Correct." Werner exhaled a plume of smoke. "It’s not time yet. But in the future, should the need arise, I’ll make it known."

Peter stared at him, a sudden realization dawning. "You’re preparing for the future. You’re paving your own way."

Werner didn’t deny it, only smiled. "Clever man."

Peter closed his notebook and tapped it on the table. "One last question, Mr. K. If one day the Wall really does fall, and the East German system collapses, do you think these things you’ve done will be enough to save you?"

Werner looked out the window at Helsinki Port, watching the moored ships.

"I don’t know," he said. "But at least I tried. At least I left myself an escape route."

He stood and put on his coat. "Peter, when you write your story, don’t portray me as a hero. I’m not. I’m just a man who’s struggling, trying to do what little he can in the space he’s been given. An imperfect, selfish man who hasn’t completely lost his humanity."

"I’ll write what really happened," Peter said, also getting to his feet.

Werner walked to the doorway and paused. "One more thing. Don’t try to figure out who I am. You won’t find me, and—" He turned his head. "It won’t do you any good."

He pushed open the door and disappeared into the Helsinki night.

Peter remained standing, watching the man’s back vanish around a corner, then looked down at the dense script filling his notebook.

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

「September 1975, East Berlin.」

Werner was in his office, flipping through the latest list of political prisoners. This was the first batch after the expansion of the trade program, containing a full three hundred names.

He picked up a red pen and began circling names.

Martin Hoffman, 28, physics Ph.D., sentenced to five years for criticizing the government.

Werner circled the name.

’A man like this will likely become influential in West German academic circles. When that happens, he’ll remember who gave him his second chance.’

Lize Mueller, 32, poet, arrested for publishing an underground journal.

He circled it.

’Someone like her... her work will be widely read. She’s worth rescuing.’

Klaus Weber, 24, student, sentenced to three years for organizing a book club.

He circled it.

’This type of young man will likely be active in politics in the future. Worth rescuing.’

One by one, Werner circled the names of the young, the promising—those who might become important figures in the future.

’He calculated silently in his mind. These people, these future witnesses, would be his talismans. They would be his salvation after the Wall fell, the key to clearing his name.’

A knock came at the door.

"Come in."

Anna pushed the door open and came in, holding a file.

She had just come in from outside, a chill still clinging to her.

"The West German magazine, *The Mirror Weekly*." She placed the magazine on his desk.

Werner picked it up.

The cover featured a photo from the Helsinki conference. The headline read: *East Germany’s Schindler? — Confessions of an Anonymous Official*.