Chapter 334 - 117: Investment in Gdansk (Part 2)

Chapter 334: Chapter 117: Investment in Gdansk (Part 2)

"I’m just stating the facts." Werner took a sip of his drink. "Look, it’s the same in East Germany. The workers’ uprising in 1953—why did it happen? Because of discontent. Later, they built the Berlin Wall. Why? Because people voted with their feet. Now we rely on the Stasi to maintain order, but how long can that last? Ten years? Twenty? Frank, do you really think we can hold on forever?"

Frank was silent. After a long time, he suddenly said, "Then what is it you want?"

"I want to prepare for the future." Werner looked at him. "Frank, I know your current mission is to monitor me, to record every word I say and everything I do. But I want to ask you, if one day, this system really does collapse, what’s your plan? Stick with it to the bitter end and then be purged? Or leave yourself an escape route ahead of time?"

"Are you trying to turn me?" Frank sneered.

"No, I’m giving you an opportunity," Werner said. "Frank, what I’ve come to Poland to do this time might be a bit... sensitive. If you report all the details to Von Brown, I could be in trouble. But if you’re willing to... turn a blind eye, I’ll remember this favor in the future. You know my capabilities, and you know my connections in both East and West Germany. If that day really comes, I can help you."

Frank stared at him for a long time.

Finally, he drained his glass in one gulp. "I need to see what you’re actually going to do."

"Fair enough." Werner smiled. "Then come with me."

The next morning, they went to meet Werner’s contact.

Jarosław Krysztof was waiting for them in an inconspicuous little restaurant.

The man, in his forties, looked utterly haggard, his hair a mess and his eyes sunken.

"Werner, you’ve got some nerve coming here," Krzysztof said in German. "Warsaw is a powder keg right now, ready to explode at any moment."

"That’s why I’m here." Werner sat down and ordered a vodka.

"I thought things were bad enough back in ’76, but I never expected it to get this vicious," Krzysztof said with a wry smile. "Over in Gdansk, the workers have straight-up occupied the shipyard, and the government doesn’t dare make a move."

"Those strike leaders... does the government want them to disappear?" Werner asked directly.

Krzysztof was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if the West German Government was willing to take these people off your hands, and in exchange provide your government with foreign currency, would you be willing to release them?"

Krzysztof’s eyes widened. "You... you want to buy them?"

"Not buy, trade," Werner corrected. "A trade for political prisoners. You must have heard of it. East Germany and West Germany have been doing this for years. Now Poland can too. Send those troublesome dissidents to West Germany. They want freedom, so give them freedom. You relieve the pressure and earn foreign currency. Why wouldn’t you do it?"

Krzysztof was silent for a long time. He picked up his vodka and drained it in one go.

"Werner, do you have any idea what you’re saying?"

"Jaroslav, I know you think this would look bad. But what your government needs right now is a solution, not to save face. Those leaders in Gdansk—you can’t arrest them, you can’t kill them, and you can’t reach an agreement through negotiation. Better to send them away. Out of sight, out of mind."

Krzysztof poured another drink but didn’t touch it, simply staring at the glass.

"I don’t have the authority to make this decision," he finally said. "I have to report this to my superiors."

"Then report it." Werner passed him a slip of paper. "This is my contact information in Warsaw. Jaroslav, this deal would be good for you, too. If it goes through, you’ll get significant credit for it."

Krzysztof took the paper and left in a hurry.

Frank looked at Werner. "You really think he’ll help?"

"He will," Werner said. "He’s a smart man. He knows what’s in his own best interest."

"What now?"

"Now," Werner said, standing up, "we go to Gdansk."

The color drained from Frank’s face. "Are you crazy? Gdansk is the epicenter of the riots!"

"That’s exactly why I have to go," Werner said. "Frank, if I’m going to make this deal, I have to establish relationships with both the buyer and the seller. The Polish Government is the seller, the West German Government is the buyer, and the people from the Solidarity Union are the goods. But I still need their cooperation."

"You’re going to make contact with an anti-government organization?" Frank’s eyes widened. "Werner, do you know what this means? If the Stasi finds out, not even Von Brown will be able to protect you!"

"So now you have to decide." Werner looked at him. "Are you going back to report this now, or are you coming with me to see the truth for yourself?"

Frank’s hands clenched into fists, the veins on them bulging. He was struggling, hesitating.

Werner waited, not rushing him.

Finally, Frank unclenched his fists. "Damn it. I’ll go with you. But Werner, if you’re really betraying the country, I’ll kill you with my own hands."

"I’m not betraying anyone," Werner said. "I’m just investing in the future. Frank, some things aren’t so black and white. Today’s anti-government dissidents could be tomorrow’s leaders. A smart man should know how to choose."

They rented a car and drove towards Gdansk.

On the way, Werner continued to make his case to Frank. "Do you know why all these surrounding countries are having problems, one after another? Because they never belonged to Moscow’s sphere of civilization. The Czechs, the Poles, the Hungarians—their culture, religion, and historical traditions are all closer to Western Europe. To them, the whole Soviet system is nothing but foreign oppression."

"What about East Germany?" Frank asked.

"East Germany is more complicated," Werner said. "We were originally one country with West Germany. We speak the same language, share the same culture. The Berlin Wall separated us, but it can’t divide people’s hearts. Look, why was the wall built? Because too many people were escaping. Why were they escaping? Because of discontent. Now we rely on Stasi surveillance. On the surface, things are stable, but the problems are still there, and they’re just getting deeper."

Frank fell silent.

"I know what you’re thinking right now," Werner said. "’Is what I’m saying reactionary rhetoric? Should I be writing this down to report to Von Brown?’ But Frank, I want to ask you, do you honestly believe this system can last forever? Do you really think tanks and secret police can solve every problem?"

Frank didn’t answer.

After a six-hour drive, they finally arrived in Gdansk.

The port city was like a boiling cauldron.

The streets were filled with crowds, holding up Solidarity Union banners and shouting slogans.

The gates of the Lenin Shipyard were shut tight, with striking workers massed outside. They had plastered the gates with posters and hung black-and-white photographs—pictures of the workers who had died in the 1970 strike.

"We can’t get in," Frank said. "There are people everywhere, and they’re all agitated."

"Then we won’t use the main gate," Werner said.

He took a slip of paper from his pocket with an address written on it.

He had obtained it through the Church before he left—many of the core members of the Solidarity Union had direct ties to the Catholic Church.

He now needed to approach the Solidarity Union from an unofficial, non-confrontational stance, and using the Church as an intermediary was the most suitable way.

They found the address, which led to a dilapidated apartment building. Werner rang the bell and waited a long time before the door opened a crack.

"Who are you?" a wary voice came from inside.

"My name is Werner Betelich. I’m from East Berlin," Werner said. "I want to see Lech Walesa. I want to help you."

The door closed again. A few minutes later, it reopened, wider this time. A young man stood in the doorway, looking them up and down.

Frank’s hand was already reaching for the gun at his waist.

"Come in," the young man said. "But if you’re here to arrest people, I guarantee you won’t make it out of Gdansk alive."

Werner walked in. Frank hesitated for a moment, but ultimately followed him inside.

The apartment was small and packed with people. Solidarity Union posters were taped to the walls, and the tables were piled high with leaflets and documents. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, sweat, and palpable tension.

"Werner Betelich." A voice came from within the crowd.

The crowd parted, and a man in his thirties walked out. He wasn’t tall, had a thick mustache, and was dressed in a worker’s uniform. His gaze was sharp and resolute.

Werner recognized him. It was the same man who had led the strike four years ago.