Chapter 323 - 106: Trip to South Africa (Part 2)

Chapter 323: Chapter 106: Trip to South Africa (Part 2)

"I need to make a phone call," Werner said.

"Be my guest." Van der Meij pointed to the phone on the desk. "But I’ll remind you, Mr. Betelich, there are no more than three people in all of Johannesburg who can get their hands on these things, and I am the most reliable one."

Werner picked up the phone and dialed a number in Moscow.

The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. Then, Sokolov’s irate voice came through. "Betelich, it’s three in the fucking morning, Moscow time!"

"My apologies, Comrade Minister," Werner said in Russian. "But I’ve run into a problem. Van der Meij is asking for fifteen million US Dollars, which is five million over budget."

"What?" Sokolov roared. "That damn South African! Does he think my money grows on trees?"

"He says it’s the market price." Werner glanced at Van der Meij, who was leisurely sipping his drink. "And he’s demanding half of it in gold."

There was silence on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of Sokolov lighting a cigarette.

After a moment, he said, "Thirteen million, and not a cent more. Tell that bastard if he doesn’t agree, I’ll find someone else."

"Understood." Werner hung up and turned to Van der Meij. "Moscow has agreed to thirteen million, half in gold and half in US Dollars."

Van der Meij furrowed his brow and said nothing. The room was quiet, with only the tick-tock of the clock on the wall.

"Fourteen million," Van der Meij said finally. "That’s my lowest price, Mr. Betelich. I have a lot of people to feed, connections to grease, and risks to cover. I won’t do it for a penny less."

Werner looked at him, weighing his options.

Fourteen million. Four million over budget, but one million less than Van der Meij’s opening bid.

From a negotiation standpoint, it was a reasonable compromise.

Besides, Werner knew this deal was more than just a simple transaction—it concerned East Germany’s military-industrial production for the next few years, the Warsaw Pact’s military expansion, and his own position within Koko.

"Done." Werner extended his hand. "Fourteen million US Dollars, seven million in gold and seven million in US Dollars. But I have conditions."

"Name them," Van der Meij said, shaking his hand.

"First, the quality of the goods must meet military-grade standards. I’ll have my people inspect them. Second, you are responsible for the security of the shipment from Johannesburg to Hamburg Port. Any problems at any stage are your responsibility. Third, delivery will be in installments, with payment upon receipt of each shipment. No lump-sum payments."

Van der Meij smiled. "It seems this isn’t your first time doing this kind of business. Alright, I agree to your conditions."

"Then I have a condition of my own." Van der Meij let go of his hand and sat down again. "After this deal, if you need similar items, you must come to me first. I don’t want to go through all the trouble of establishing a channel just for you to turn around and find someone else."

"Agreed," Werner nodded. "As long as your prices are reasonable and your quality is reliable."

"Good." Van der Meij raised his glass. "Then, here’s to our cooperation."

The two men clinked their glasses and downed the drinks in one go.

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

That evening, Van der Meij hosted a dinner party at his villa, inviting some of Johannesburg’s "important figures"—mining company bosses, high-ranking military officers, and intelligence agency officials.

Everyone was dressed in fine suits, holding glasses of wine, chatting and laughing as if apartheid, international sanctions, and the Cold War conflict were distant affairs.

Werner stood on the terrace, holding a glass of champagne.

The Johannesburg skyline glittered with lights, but the distant townships were pitch black, creating a stark contrast.

"A beautiful city, isn’t it?" Van der Meij walked over to his side, also holding a drink. "Although it has some... flaws."

"Flaws?" Werner looked at him.

"The blacks," Van der Meij said dismissively. "They’re always causing trouble. Marches, strikes, riots. But it’s a necessary price to pay for maintaining order."

Werner didn’t respond.

"Mr. Betelich, I admire you," Van der Meij said suddenly. "You’re a smart man. You know when to speak and when to keep your mouth shut. That’s very important in business." He turned to look at Werner. "And I’m guessing this deal with me isn’t the only business you’re involved in, is it?"

"What do you mean?" Werner grew wary.

"Relax," Van der Meij laughed. "I’m not prying into your secrets. I’m just saying, a man like you surely doesn’t put all his eggs in one basket. East Germany, the Soviet Union, maybe even West Germany? Who knows."

Werner stared at him without speaking.

"Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone." Van der Meij patted his shoulder. "We’re the same kind of people, Mr. Betelich. We don’t believe in ideology, or any ’ism.’ We believe in money, in survival. In this crazy world, staying alive is what matters most."

"Perhaps you’re right," Werner said calmly.

"Of course I’m right." Van der Meij raised his glass. "Come, a toast to survival."

Werner hesitated for a moment before raising his glass and clinking it against his.

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

After three days in Johannesburg, Werner had finalized all the details of the negotiation. The contract was signed, shipping for the first batch of goods was arranged, and the payment method was confirmed.

Van der Meij was efficient, and his men were professionals. There was no messing around.

On the morning of the fourth day, Werner prepared to depart for East Germany. Van der Meij personally saw him off at the airport.

"Mr. Betelich, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you," Van der Meij said, shaking his hand. "I hope this is just the beginning."

"As do I," Werner said.

"By the way, there’s something I forgot to tell you." Van der Meij lowered his voice. "There are a lot of eyes in Johannesburg—the CIA, MI6, Mossad... Our meeting was definitely recorded by them. Be careful when you get back."

"Thanks for the warning," Werner nodded.

Of course, he knew he was being watched.

In fact, he was counting on it.

After the plane took off, Werner settled into his seat and took a small notebook out of his briefcase.

It was his personal journal, written in a shorthand that only he could understand.

He turned to a new page and began to record the details of his trip to South Africa:

Total Transaction Value: 14 million US Dollars

Cargo Manifest: Tungsten, 250 tons; Cobalt, 180 tons; Uranium ore, 50 tons; Titanium alloy, 120 tons...

Shipping Route: Johannesburg-Cape Town-Hamburg

Estimated Delivery Time: January-June 1978, in six batches.

Personnel Involved: Peter van der Meij, General X of the South African Military, Intelligence Officer Y...

After writing this, Werner paused, then added a few more lines at the bottom of the page:

Information that can be disclosed to the West:

Total transaction value (but not the specific cargo manifest)

General type of materials (rare metals, but not their specific purpose)

Involvement of South African mining conglomerates (but do not reveal Van der Meij’s name)

Information that must not be disclosed:

Specific cargo specifications and quantities

Shipping route and schedule

Van der Meij’s identity and contact information

The final use of the goods

Werner knew that Western intelligence agencies would definitely be paying attention to this deal.

His meeting with Van der Meij might have already been photographed, and the flight records were on file.

If he said nothing, it would actually arouse suspicion.

But he couldn’t say too much, either.

He had to find that delicate balance—enough to make the West feel he was "valuable," but not so much that it would truly jeopardize his safety in East Germany.

The plane flew over the Mediterranean Sea, with the azure sky and water outside the window.

Werner closed his notebook and shut his eyes.

***********

The plane landed in Vienna for a layover.

Werner had a three-hour layover, which was more than enough time to do what he needed to do.

He left the airport, hailed a taxi, and went to a post office in the city center.

The post office wasn’t crowded. A few elderly people were mailing packages, and a young woman was on the phone.

Werner walked to a public phone booth, inserted a coin, and dialed a Vienna number.

The phone rang three times before a man’s voice answered, "Who is this?"

"This is Mr. Schmidt," Werner said in English. "I’d like to make a reservation at a restaurant in Vienna."

There were a few seconds of silence on the other end, then, "Understood. The café by the church, in one hour."

"Alright."