Chapter 315 - 98: Poland’s

Chapter 315: Chapter 98: Poland’s

Werner was stunned.

The bishop pushed the envelope back to him. "Werner, I am a servant of God, not a political broker. If I were to take your money, it would be tantamount to placing the Church’s stamp of approval on everything you do. I cannot do that."

"But—"

"However," the bishop said, raising a hand to interrupt him, "I can do something else for you."

Werner looked at him.

"Please, use this money on those who truly need it," the bishop said. "Don’t do it in my name. Do it in your own. Help the refugees who have escaped settle into their new lives. Help the families of political prisoners reunite. Do truly good deeds. When the day comes that the Wall falls, you won’t need anyone to speak for you. Your actions will speak for themselves."

Werner stared at the envelope in his hand, not answering right away.

"I also made many mistakes when I was young," the bishop said suddenly. "During World War II, I served in the army. I watched my comrades burn down villages and kill civilians. I didn’t stop them. After the war ended, I entered a seminary and became a priest. For many years, I asked myself: Am I worthy of serving God?"

He looked at the crucifix, his gaze growing distant.

"I believe God doesn’t need perfect people. He needs repentant people. What you’ve done in the past isn’t important. What you choose to do now is what matters."

Werner remained noncommittal, simply putting the envelope back in his briefcase.

"I will consider your words, Bishop."

"I know you will." The bishop stood up and patted Werner’s shoulder. "Weber said you were a smart man. Smart people always find the right path."

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

Two days later, Werner received a phone call in his office at Koko.

"Werner, it’s me." The voice on the other end was Warner, his main contact in West Germany.

"What is it?"

"That cardinal you met last week, he did something after returning to West Germany."

Werner sat up straight. "What was it?"

"At a diocesan conference in Cologne, he publicly mentioned that ’someone in East Germany is secretly helping refugees. Although he charges a fee, he is genuinely saving people.’ He didn’t name names, but I assume he was talking about you, right?"

"The bishop also said," Warner continued, "that the Church should support this kind of ’pragmatic humanitarianism,’ because in the reality of the Cold War, perfect moralism can’t save anyone. Only compromise and deals can."

After hanging up the phone, Werner stood up and walked to the window.

Across the way, Saint Nicholas’ Church still stood, looking solemn and lonely under the gloomy gray sky.

The bishop had refused his money but had given him an endorsement within the West German Church system instead.

Now, he would use the opportunity the bishop had given him to continue weaving his safety net.

When the Berlin Wall fell, when the Two Germanys reunified, those who had profited under the East German regime—Stasi officers, Party secretaries, executives of state-owned enterprises—would all be held accountable. At that time, what would be needed in court wouldn’t be excuses, but witnesses. He needed the Church in West Germany, the media, and the refugees he had helped to stand up and say, "This man is different. He saved people."

This would be his life-saving talisman.

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

「June 24, 1976. 3:00 AM.」

Werner was jolted awake by the ringing of the telephone. He rolled over, sat up, and grabbed the receiver from the bedside table.

"Hello?"

"Werner, it’s me." The voice on the line belonged to Jarosław Krysztof, his contact in Warsaw. "Something’s happened."

Werner was instantly wide awake. There was a suppressed but unmistakable tension in Krysztof’s voice.

"What is it?"

"The Polish Government announced food price hikes yesterday. Meat is up 69%, butter up 50%," Krysztof said. "Now Gdansk, Warsaw, and Lodz are all in chaos. The workers are on strike, and there are demonstrations everywhere."

Werner immediately leaped out of bed and switched on his bedside lamp.

"What’s the scale?"

"I’ve never seen anything like it. The Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk has shut down. Tens of thousands of workers have poured into the streets. It’s the same in other cities. The government sent in the army, but the workers aren’t afraid. Werner, this time is really different."

Werner lit a cigarette, his mind racing.

’The Polish June Protests.’

’He remembered this—just a few short lines in a history book, but now it was happening for real.’

’And he knew this was only the beginning.’

’The government would be forced to back down, and the prices would return to normal, but that would be the beginning of the real disaster.’

’The prices would be suppressed, but the goods would disappear from the shelves.’

’For the next decade or so, Poland would be plagued by constant shortages. The era of ration tickets would arrive.’

’This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’

"Jaroslav, listen," Werner said. "I need you to do a few things for me immediately. First, go to every food wholesaler you know. Buy as much as you can. Meat, butter, canned goods, sugar—buy whatever’s in high demand. Don’t ship it; store it directly in a warehouse."

"But everyone is panic-buying right now—"

"That’s why you have to move fast," Werner interrupted. "Use cash. Don’t haggle. Get as much as you can. Remember, the prices look high now, and you’ll feel like you’re overpaying. But trust me, these goods will soon be worth their weight in gold."

There were a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line.

"Understood." Krysztof took a deep breath. "What about foreign currency? The zloty you’re holding—"

"Right, the second thing," Werner said. "Find the black market currency dealers. I want to exchange all the Polish zloty I have for West German Marks or US Dollars."

"The exchange rate is a mess right now—"

"I know," Werner said. "That’s exactly why we have to be fast. The official rate definitely won’t hold. I can’t wait for it to completely collapse. We need to dump the zloty while we still can."

"Okay, I’ll get right on it."

"Be quick," Werner said. "I’ll give you a 10% commission afterward."

"Understood," Krysztof said. "What about you? Are you coming over?"

"I’ll be in Warsaw tomorrow," Werner said. "Book me a room at the Vistula River Hotel."

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

That afternoon, Werner appeared in Gunter’s office at Koko Headquarters.

"Have you heard what’s happening in Poland?" Gunter asked. He was sitting behind his desk, holding a telegram.

"I have," Werner said. "That’s why I’m here to request an urgent business trip to Warsaw to handle our operations there."

Gunter looked up at him, his eyes sharp. "You’re planning to fish in troubled waters?"

Werner didn’t deny it, just shrugged. "Gunter, with the current situation in Poland, our normal trade channels will definitely be affected. Besides..." He paused. "I have a few important partners over in Gdansk, people from the shipyards and the port. I need to go check on them, see if our business will run into any problems."

Gunter stared at him for a few seconds. "You mean the Lenin Shipyard?"

"Yes," Werner said. "They’re on strike over there, the factory’s at a standstill. I need to go see what the situation is."

It wasn’t a complete lie.

Werner did indeed have a few clients in Gdansk. While their orders weren’t large, it was enough to justify the trip.

Gunter signed a form and handed it to Werner. "Go. But remember, don’t get too carried away. Poland is a powder keg right now. Don’t get yourself blown up."

"Don’t worry," Werner said, taking the signed form. "I’m just going to do some procurement and maintain client relations. I won’t get involved in politics."

"You?" Gunter snorted. "You never get involved in politics, but politics always seems to find you."

Werner smiled, turned, and left the office.

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

The next evening, Werner’s car drove into downtown Warsaw.

Through the car window, he saw streets filled with signs and banners.

"Long live the workers!" "Down with price hikes!" "We want bread!"

A squad of fully-armed militia stood on a street corner, rifles at the ready, their expressions tense. A few young men walked past them, giving them the middle finger. The militiamen didn’t move, only tightened their grip on the stocks of their guns.

The driver, a local hired by Krysztof, said in a low voice, "People died in Gdansk yesterday. The militia opened fire."

Werner said nothing, just kept his eyes on the scene outside the window.

A strange atmosphere permeated the city—a mixture of anger, fear, and excitement. People gathered on street corners, whispering to one another. Long lines formed outside shops where the shelves were already half-empty.