Chapter 332 - 115: The Soviet Union’s Olive Branch (Part 3)

Chapter 332: Chapter 115: The Soviet Union’s Olive Branch (Part 3)

But his expression remained impassive. "Then I must trouble you, Comrade Andropov."

Mikhail came in and led Werner out.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Werner glanced back at the office door.

The door was closed, but he felt Andropov’s gaze still fixed on him.

Von Brown was waiting anxiously in the first-floor lounge.

Seeing Werner emerge, he immediately rushed up to him. "How did it go? What did you talk about?"

"We’ll talk when we get back," Werner said in a low voice.

In the car, Von Brown asked impatiently, "What did Comrade Andropov want from you?"

Werner gave him a brief summary. After hearing it, Von Brown was completely stunned.

"Serve as an economic advisor to the Soviet Union? My God, Werner, this... this..." He didn’t know what to say.

"I haven’t agreed yet," Werner said, looking out the window. "I said I needed to think about it."

"Think about it?" Von Brown’s eyes widened. "Are you crazy? This is the Soviet Union, not some petty bureaucrats in East Germany! Andropov invited you personally. How can you possibly refuse?"

"That’s why I said I’d consider it, not that I was refusing," Werner said flatly.

Von Brown fell silent. After a moment, he suddenly said, "Werner, do you have some concerns?"

Werner looked out the window without answering.

The car pulled into the Polyana Hotel.

It was one of Moscow’s most luxurious hotels, exclusively for visiting foreign dignitaries and high-ranking Soviet officials. Werner’s suite was on the top floor, a full two hundred square meters, with decor so lavish it bordered on gaudy.

But Werner didn’t like it one bit.

He walked to the window and looked out at Moscow under the night sky.

The red star of the Kremlin twinkled in the distance, and the Moscow River cut through the city like a black satin ribbon. The city was beautiful and cold, just like its master.

The doorbell rang. Werner opened the door to a young waiter pushing a dining cart.

"Comrade Werner, this is the dinner Comrade Andropov has prepared for you," the waiter said in fluent German.

The cart was laden with food: caviar, roast goose, black bread, vodka, and a large bouquet of fresh flowers.

"Please extend my thanks to Comrade Andropov," Werner said.

After the waiter left, Werner looked at the table full of food and suddenly lost his appetite. He poured a glass of vodka and downed it in one go, the fiery liquid burning his throat.

If he were an ordinary person, without the memories of a Transmigrator, he would surely be ecstatic right now. Serving as an economic advisor to the Soviet Union—how many people dreamed of such an opportunity? Power, status, and honor would all follow.

But he knew the future.

He knew that Brezhnev would die in 1982, that Andropov would briefly take power and then die as well. In 1985, Gorbachev would come to power and begin reforms, which would spiral out of control, leading to the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Werner poured another glass of vodka and drank it slowly.

’I need a perfect excuse to refuse Andropov, one that won’t offend the Soviet Union but will still allow me to maintain my position in East Germany.’

’A heart condition is a good excuse, but it’s not enough. I need something more convincing.’

The next morning, Mikhail came to pick him up for a tour.

They visited several factories, a research institute, and the economics department at Moscow University.

At each stop, the person in charge would enthusiastically introduce the Soviet Union’s achievements, then subtly mention what Western technology, equipment, or parts they needed.

Werner kept a smile on his face the entire time, but inside, he grew increasingly certain: the Soviet Union was sick beyond saving.

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

The evening reception was held at a manor. The guests were all high-ranking officials from the Soviet economic departments, along with a few representatives from other Eastern European countries.

Everyone was drinking vodka and discussing the economic situation.

Werner stood in a corner, watching them.

He suddenly recalled a line from a history book: Before the Soviet Union collapsed, no one believed it would collapse. After it collapsed, everyone thought it was inevitable.

"Comrade Betelich, what are you thinking about?"

Andropov had approached him at some point, a glass in his hand.

"I’m thinking about this country’s future," Werner said truthfully.

"Oh?" Andropov was intrigued. "And what do you think the future will be like?"

Werner looked at him—this future General Secretary of the Soviet Union, this man who would try to reform the country and fail.

"I think... change is coming," Werner said slowly. "But perhaps not the kind of change we want."

Andropov fell silent. After a long moment, he said softly, "Perhaps you’re right."

Then he clapped Werner on the shoulder. "That’s why I need people like you. We need new blood, new ways of thinking. Comrade Betelich, think it over carefully."

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

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

On the morning of the third day, Werner requested an early meeting with Andropov. Mikhail was surprised but arranged it nonetheless.

Andropov was sitting behind his desk, his expression calm. "Comrade Werner, have you reached a decision so quickly?"

"Yes." Werner sat down and took a deep breath. "Comrade Andropov, I am very grateful for your trust and your invitation. But after considering it for the past two days, I must admit that my physical condition does not permit me to take on such an important responsibility."

Andropov’s eyes turned cold.

"I went to the hospital this morning for a check-up." Werner pulled a medical report from his pocket. "The doctor says I have a severe cardiac arrhythmia and require immediate treatment and rest. If I continue with high-intensity work, my life could be in danger."

He had bought this medical report from a Soviet doctor for ten thousand Rubles. It was a fake, but it looked authentic.

Andropov took the report and examined it carefully.

His expression didn’t change, but Werner could feel his anger.

"Comrade Betelich, do you know what it means to refuse this invitation?"

"I do," Werner said, meeting his gaze. "But I also know that if I were to force myself to accept and then fail to do the job well, it would be a disaster for the Soviet Union, and for myself."

He paused before continuing, "However, while I cannot come work in Moscow personally, I can offer help in other ways. I can compile the experience of Koko into a detailed report—including our procurement channels, financial operations, and smuggling networks—and write it all down. I can also recommend several outstanding individuals who are fully capable of taking over my work."

Andropov was silent for a long time.

Finally, he sighed and handed the report back to Werner. "One’s health is revolutionary capital. Since you are ill, you should rest and recover. As for the report and the personnel recommendations, I accept."

He stood up and walked to the window. "Comrade Betelich, I don’t blame you. Everyone makes their own choices. But I hope you will remember that the Soviet Union is and always will be a friend to East Germany. Our cooperation will not change because of this matter."

"I understand." Werner stood up as well. "Comrade Andropov, I will do everything in my power to help the Soviet Union."

"Good." Andropov turned back, extending his hand. "I wish you a speedy recovery."

Werner took his hand and shook it firmly.

Walking out of the Lubyanka Building, Werner felt a wave of relief wash over him.

The Moscow sky was a brilliant blue. The air, though cold, was fresh.

Von Brown was waiting for him at the entrance. Seeing him emerge, he immediately rushed over. "How did it go?"

"I refused," Werner said simply.

Von Brown sucked in a sharp breath. "Are you insane?"

"Maybe," Werner said with a smile.

They got in the car and headed for the airport.

On the way out of Moscow, Werner watched the buildings fly by outside the window and said silently to himself:

’Goodbye, Moscow.’

’Goodbye, Soviet Union.’

’I won’t be going down with you.’