Chapter 340 - 123: Missile Crisis

Chapter 340: Chapter 123: Missile Crisis

According to the official plan, the three Polish political prisoners were to pass through the border checkpoint, be handed over to the East German Government on the East German side, and then transferred by the East German Government to West Germany.

Werner and Krzysztof drove to the border.

They carried official documents and the car had diplomatic plates, granting them smooth passage through all the checkpoints.

When they arrived at the border, Novak was already there waiting. Adam and two other men were sitting in the military truck beside him.

"Comrade Betelich." Novak saluted.

"Colonel Novak," Werner returned the salute. "Did you bring the men?"

"They’re all here." Novak opened the truck door. "All three of them."

Werner stepped forward to check on them, confirming that all three were in good condition.

"Very good," he said to Novak. "The remaining payment will be in your account this afternoon. The supplies will be delivered to your designated location tomorrow."

"No problem." Novak extended his hand. "Comrade Betelich, I hope we have the opportunity to work together again."

"We certainly will," Werner replied, shaking his hand.

The three men were transferred to Werner’s car. The truck turned around and drove back into Poland.

Werner’s car passed through the border checkpoint and entered East Germany.

After another twenty kilometers, Werner stopped the car at a prearranged location. Soon, another car approached. It had West Berlin plates.

The car door opened and a middle-aged man got out. It was Werner’s contact.

"Mr. Betelich," the man said as he walked over.

"I’ve brought the men," Werner said. "Three of them, all key members of the Solidarity Union."

The man carefully inspected the three men, then nodded in satisfaction. He took out a briefcase and handed it to Werner. "This is the ransom from the West German Government. Three hundred sixty thousand West German Marks. It’s all in here, a bearer check from a Swiss Bank."

Werner opened the briefcase and quickly verified the check’s authenticity.

"Very good." He turned to Adam. "From this moment on, you are free."

Adam gripped Werner’s hand tightly. "Werner, I will never forget everything you’ve done for us."

"There’s no need to remember me," Werner said. "Just get to West Germany and live a good life. And continue to fight for freedom."

"I will," Adam said. "I’ll tell everyone that you’re the one who saved us."

The three men got into the West German car. The engine started, and it drove off toward West Berlin.

Werner stood by the side of the road, watching the car disappear into the distance.

Krzysztof walked over. "Is it over?"

"It’s over," Werner said. "Krzysztof, your share will be transferred to your account tomorrow. Eighteen thousand West German Marks, not a penny less."

"Thank you," Krzysztof said. "Werner, doing business with you is always... full of surprises."

"This is just the beginning." Werner smiled. "There are still hundreds of political prisoners in Poland. If the West German Government is willing to keep paying, we have plenty more business to do."

The two men got in the car and headed toward Berlin.

The horizon was already turning a fish-belly white. A new day was about to begin.

Werner leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. ’This trip to Warsaw, despite a few bumps in the road, has been quite fruitful.’

’On an official level, I’ve secured one hundred eighty thousand West German Marks in foreign currency for East Germany and established a new network of contacts within the Polish military.’

’On a personal level, I’ve also made a tidy profit and opened up a channel for trading political prisoners, so I can continue to profit in the future.’

’More importantly, I’ve accumulated even more political capital with the Solidarity Union.’

’And in the eyes of Western intelligence agencies, by successfully infiltrating the Polish military, I’ve raised my value to a whole new level.’

The car drove past frozen fields, heading toward Berlin.

In the distance, the winter sun rose slowly, casting a faint golden sheen across the gray sky.

The winter in Warsaw was over.

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

「March 1983, East Berlin.」

Werner stood in his top-floor office at Koko Headquarters, gazing out at the gloomy sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Things are about to change," he said softly.

’And not just the weather.’

The front page of the *New German Newspaper* was spread out on his desk, the headline glaring and shocking: "NATO DEPLOYS PERSHING II MISSILES IN WEST GERMANY, SOVIET UNION STRONGLY PROTESTS." The accompanying photo showed a military parade in Moscow’s Red Square, with rows of missile launchers slowly rolling past Lenin’s Mausoleum.

Werner picked up the phone and dialed the internal line for the Military-Industrial Liaison Office.

"This is Werner. Get me Colonel Gerhard."

A few clicks sounded from the receiver as the call was transferred, followed by Gerhard’s hoarse voice. "Comrade Werner, I was just about to call you."

"I figured as much." Werner sat down in his leather chair and crossed his legs. "Is this about the missiles?"

"Yes." Gerhard lowered his voice. "Moscow’s getting antsy. They’re demanding all Warsaw Pact nations reinforce their forward deployments. We have to comply, but there’s a problem—a foreign currency shortage. The Ministry of Defense wants to import a batch of precision electronic components and special alloys from the West to upgrade our existing equipment."

Werner lit a Cuban Cohiba cigar—a brand Anger had brought back from Havana. Werner had managed to get his hands on a few boxes through his connections.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Send the list over. I’ll take a look."

"It’s already on its way." Gerhard paused. "The higher-ups are calling this a political mission. It must be completed. We only have three months."

"Three months?" Werner frowned. "Why such a tight deadline?"

"I know." Gerhard gave a bitter laugh. "And most of it is material controlled by the Baltic Union. We can’t get it through normal channels."

Werner flicked the ash from his cigar. "Understood. I’ll handle it."

After hanging up, he was lost in thought.

In 1983, the arms race in Europe between NATO and the Warsaw Pact was at its peak. The West deployed Pershing II intermediate-range missiles, and the Soviet Union responded with its SS-20s. The entire continent was shrouded in the shadow of nuclear war.

He pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Alexander, come in for a moment."

The door opened a moment later. Alexander walked in, holding a stack of folders.

"Boss, you wanted to see me?"

"Sit." Werner pointed to the chair across from him. "The Military-Industrial Liaison Office just called. The missile crisis is heating up, and the Ministry of Defense needs a shipment of Western electronic components and special materials."

Alexander let out a low whistle. "Embargoed goods again?"

"All of it." Werner pushed the ashtray toward him. "The list will be here shortly. In the meantime, start sounding out our middlemen in Switzerland and Austria. Find out who has access to this kind of merchandise."

"Things have gotten tight in Switzerland lately," Alexander said, shaking his head. "The United States is pressuring Swiss banks to increase scrutiny on funds from Eastern Europe. We nearly had a payment frozen last month."

"Then we’ll go through Liechtenstein." Werner jotted a few names on a piece of paper. "Contact Strauss in Vaduz. He runs a few shell companies that specialize in this business. Also, get in touch with Reynard. Tell him to find tech companies in West Germany—the kind willing to violate Baltic Union regulations."

"And the price?"

"We pay in hard currency. US Dollars or Swiss francs." Werner stood up and walked over to a map on the wall. "Give them whatever they ask for. Electronic components might be expensive, but they’re small, easy to transport, and the profit margins are huge."

Alexander jotted it down in his notebook. "Anything else?"

Werner stared at the Middle East section of the map, his finger coming to a stop over Iran.

"One more thing." He turned around. "Send an encrypted telegram to Karim. Tell him I want to discuss a major deal."

Alexander looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Karim? The arms dealer in Tehran?"

"That’s him."

"But he’s in a very dangerous position right now," Alexander said in a low voice. "The Revolutionary Guard almost nabbed him over that last shipment of Soviet-made tanks. Doing business with him is too risky."

"I need his help selling, not buying," Werner said, sitting back down, his gaze sharp. "With the missile crisis underway, the nations in the Middle East are on edge. Demand for weapons is about to explode. We have a massive stockpile of weapons, and this is the perfect opportunity to unload it."

"Sell to whom?"

"Iran, Iraq, it doesn’t matter." Werner tapped the desk. "They’ve been at war for three years; they’re short on everything. Our stockpiles of AK-47s, RPGs, and anti-tank missiles—we can sell it all. And we’ll be paid in US Dollars."

Alexander sucked in a sharp breath.

"But what about Moscow—"

"Moscow doesn’t concern itself with such details," Werner cut him off. "Koko’s mission is to earn foreign currency. As for who we sell to, they won’t ask questions so long as we don’t go against the Soviet Union’s broader strategy. Besides, neither Iran nor Iraq is part of the Western bloc, so it’s not like we’re arming the enemy."

Alexander was silent for a few moments, then nodded. "I’ll go send the telegram."

"Remember to use an encrypted channel," Werner reminded him. "And don’t mention Koko. Say it’s from me, personally."

"Understood."

After Alexander left, Werner sat alone in his office and lit a second cigar.

’The Middle East is a powder keg right now. The war between Iran and Iraq has entered its most brutal phase, and danger is everywhere.’

’But that’s precisely where the opportunity lies. What others don’t dare to do, I will. What others can’t do, I can.’

’More importantly, I need money. A lot of it.’

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

Three days later, the reply came. Alexander walked into the office holding the decrypted telegram, his expression grave.

"Karim has agreed to cooperate."

"Good news." Werner looked up. "What’s his message?"

"He says both Iran and Iraq need weapons, especially small arms and anti-tank equipment." Alexander placed the telegram on the desk. "But he has one condition—he wants you to come to Tehran in person."