Chapter 328 - 111: Clearing the Death Deal (Part 2)

Chapter 328: Chapter 111: Clearing the Death Deal (Part 2)

Werner sensed Von Brown stir slightly beside him.

He lifted his coffee cup, took a sip, and then said slowly, "Mr. Samir, I’m just a businessman. Politics aren’t my specialty."

"This isn’t about politics," Samir said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "This is business. We’re willing to pay a twenty percent commission—six hundred thousand US Dollars. In any currency, to any account."

"Sounds tempting," Werner said, putting down his coffee cup. "But I need more details. Where is this money being transferred? What’s it for?"

Samir glanced at Von Brown.

Von Brown cleared his throat. "Comrade Werner, you don’t need to worry about these... technical details. You’re just responsible for getting the money out of Switzerland and transferring it to the account Mr. Samir specifies. As for its purpose—" He lowered his voice. "It’s part of the international struggle against imperialism."

The international struggle against imperialism.

Werner almost laughed out loud.

It was the most versatile phrase in the East German official playbook, a catch-all for any shady deal. Selling arms to African warlords was "supporting national liberation movements," and laundering money for radical groups was "standing in solidarity with oppressed peoples."

But Werner was no fool.

The organization behind Samir was, in all likelihood, some radical militant group.

That frozen three million US Dollars was probably seed money to buy weapons or fund terrorist attacks.

’If I help them get the money out...’

"I need to think about it," Werner said, standing up. "An operation of this level is very risky. I have to assess its feasibility."

Samir’s gaze turned cold. "Mr. Betelich, we’re on a tight schedule."

"I understand." Werner nodded at him. "Give me three days. I’ll have an answer for you then."

Von Brown stood up as well and patted Werner’s shoulder. "Mr. Samir has come a long way. You need to be quick."

"I will."

As Werner stepped out of the café, he saw that it had begun to snow. Tiny flakes landed on his overcoat, instantly melting into droplets.

He stood on the street corner, lit the cigarette he had been holding, and took a deep drag.

’A three-million-dollar death deal.’

’If I take this job, that six-hundred-thousand-dollar commission will make my Swiss bank account look even better.’

’But at the same time, I’d become a direct accomplice to terrorism.’

’And—’ Werner narrowed his eyes. ’—this would become a stain I could never wash away.’

It was 1978.

’According to the historical timeline, the Berlin Wall had another ten years or so, at most.’

’When the Two Germanys reunite and the reckoning begins, everyone who did dirty work for the East German regime will be dragged out into the light.’

’I could argue that I was just a businessman, just following orders, just trying to survive.’

’But if they find out I laundered money for a terrorist group? That’s not the story of a "victim of the system." That’s the script for a "war criminal."’

Werner flicked his ash.

’Can’t take it.’

’But I can’t refuse directly either.’

’I need a cleverer way—a way to make Von Brown and Samir think I did my best, while ensuring the money never reaches its destination.’

’A double-cross.’

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

That evening, Werner returned to his apartment in the Prenzlauer Berg District.

It was an old, five-story building with a mottled façade, the stairwell permanently permeated with the smell of boiled cabbage. But Werner liked it here—it was ordinary enough not to attract attention.

His real home was a secret apartment in the Charlottenburg District, a place only Anna knew about.

Werner took off his overcoat, walked to his study, and took a secure phone out of a safe.

It was the latest piece of equipment from the West German intelligence service, looking like an ordinary black landline but automatically activating its encryption system when a specific number was dialed.

He dialed a number in Munich.

The phone rang three times before it was answered.

"Good evening." Warner’s familiar voice came from the other end.

"It’s Werner," he said in a low voice. "I need you to do me a favor."

"Speak."

"I’ll fax you a document tomorrow, account details from Credit Suisse. I need you to find out the real owner of this account and the ultimate purpose of the funds."

Warner was silent for two seconds. "Sounds sensitive."

"It is." Werner lit another cigarette. "That’s why I need you to use your BND connections. The sooner, the better."

"How detailed?"

"The more detailed, the better. Especially—" Werner took a drag from his cigarette. "—whether this money is being used to fund terrorist activities. If it is, I need concrete evidence."

Warner sighed. "All right. Fax it over tomorrow. I’ll take care of it."

After hanging up, Werner walked to the window. The snow outside was falling harder, blanketing the entire city in white.

’My plan is dangerous, but I have no choice.’

’If I want to walk away clean from the future reckoning, I have to start clearing my name now. This death deal is the biggest stain I’ve encountered yet.’

’It has to be erased.’

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

Two days later, in the afternoon, Werner got a call from Warner.

"I found it. You were right. That Liberian company is a shell, and the real owner behind it is a radical organization."

Werner’s fingers tightened.

"What about the three million US Dollars?"

"According to BND intelligence, the money was originally seed money to buy a shipment of Eastern European weapons. After the deal fell through, the money just sat in the Swiss account. But recently, they’ve come up with a new plan—" Warner paused. "They’re preparing to plot a series of bombings in Western Europe."

Werner closed his eyes.

’Just as I thought.’

"What about the evidence?"

"I’ll fax the files to you," Warner said in a low voice. "Werner, if you get mixed up in this..."

"I’m not getting mixed up in it," Werner said, opening his eyes. "Quite the opposite. I’m going to end it. For good."

"How are you going to end it?"

"With a double-cross," Werner said, lighting a cigarette. "I’ll act like I’m trying my best to complete the mission—preparing all the cash flows, account information, and money-laundering routes. But at the last moment—just before the money enters their designated account—I’ll anonymously leak all the evidence to the BND."

Warner sucked in a sharp breath. "Are you insane?"

"No, I’m perfectly clear-headed," Werner said, exhaling smoke. "The BND will intercept the money within the international banking system and confiscate it. Samir and his organization will think a Western intelligence agency was onto them from the start, which is why the mission failed. As for me—" He flicked his ash. "—I did my best, but I was outmatched. Nothing to be done."

"How will you explain it to Von Brown?"

"Same story," Werner sneered. "Western counter-terrorism agencies are too good; they were monitoring our operation. Von Brown won’t be able to hold me responsible, either. It was a high-risk mission from the start."

Warner was silent for a long time.

Then he said, "Werner, do you realize what this means? You’re not just screwing over your East German clients, you’re also letting the BND walk away with three million US Dollars for free."

"Yep." Werner smiled. "And that means the BND will owe me a huge favor. If I ever need their protection in the future..."

"You’re a goddamn genius," Warner said with a wry smile. "Or a madman."

"A bit of both," Werner said, stubbing out his cigarette. "Fax the files to me when they’re ready. I need to start laying the groundwork."

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

Over the next week, Werner worked like a true professional money launderer, designing the entire fund transfer scheme.

He first contacted a private bank in Zurich—an old partner of the Koko Group that specialized in "sensitive" business. The bank manager was a Swiss man in his fifties named Hans Berner. With a full head of silver hair and always dressed in a three-piece suit, he looked like a conservative banker, but in reality, there wasn’t any dirty money he wouldn’t launder.

Werner said over the phone, "Hans, I have some business for you. Three million US Dollars, to be transferred from Credit Suisse to you, and then on to the final account."

"Credit Suisse?" A hint of hesitation entered Hans’s voice. "Their account compliance is very strict."

"I know. That’s why I need your expertise," Werner said. "I’ll provide all the necessary documents—company registration, business contracts, proof of funds. You just have to help me get it through the system."

"The fee?"

"Five percent."

"Done."

After hanging up, Werner began forging the various documents.

He had Reynard register a trading company in West Germany under the name "European Import and Export Co., Ltd.," with a business scope of "industrial equipment trade."

Then he forged a trade contract between this company and the shell company in Liberia.

All the documents were airtight.

Company registration information, tax certificates, records of business transactions—everything was there.

He then contacted Credit Suisse and submitted a request to unfreeze the account.

The reason provided for the request was: "The previous freezing of this account was a misunderstanding. These funds are for a normal trade settlement. We are now providing complete business documentation and request that the account be unfrozen and the funds transferred."

After receiving the application, the compliance department at Credit Suisse began its review.

The process would take time. Werner estimated it would be at least two weeks.

And during those two weeks, he needed to do two things:

First, keep Von Brown and Samir convinced that he was making every effort to move things forward.

Second, prepare all the evidence to be leaked to the BND.

One evening in late October, Werner was organizing documents in his secret apartment.

Spread out on the desk was a complete flowchart of the money-laundering scheme—from the frozen account at Credit Suisse, to the transit account at the private bank in Zurich, and finally to the shell company’s account in Liberia.

He was checking the final detail when the lock on the door clicked.