"Is there a problem?" Vonke noticed the change in Werner’s expression.

"No, he just looks familiar." Werner quickly regained his composure. "I’ll keep a close eye out."

"Very good." Vonke stood up. "Comrade Werner, your work is very important to our national security. Stay vigilant."

After seeing Vonke out, Werner sat back down at his desk.

He stared at the photograph, his mind racing.

’In one week, this West German spy will come knocking. When that happens, what choice will I make?’

’Cooperating with the Stasi to capture him would earn me more trust from the authorities, but it would also mean giving up a massive business opportunity.’

’Working with the spy would be highly profitable, but if I’m exposed, I won’t just lose everything I’ve achieved—I could even end up in prison.’

"Interesting." Werner placed the photograph in his drawer, a calculating glint in his eye. ’I’ll have to think carefully about how to handle this.’

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

June 25, 1961

Days remaining until the construction of the Berlin Wall: 49

Werner stood outside the Soviet Army Club, the summer sun in Berlin slanting across the building’s gray walls.

The sound of Russian songs, punctuated by clinking glasses and loud laughter, drifted from inside the club.

Werner held a Marlboro in one hand and raised his wrist to check his watch. ’Ivanov should be out soon.’

"Got a light?"

A voice with a slight German accent spoke from behind him.

Werner turned and saw a man in his thirties.

He wore black-framed glasses and had a serious expression.

Joshua Schlotter.

The man from the photograph Vonke had shown him a few days ago.

’So he found me after all.’

Werner maintained the gentle smile of a practiced businessman and took out his lighter. "Of course."

As the flame danced between them, Werner took the opportunity to scrutinize the man before him.

Joshua wore a plain gray jacket and looked like a clerk.

But Werner’s gaze immediately caught a detail that was off—while the man’s leather shoes weren’t new, the wear on the soles didn’t match the walking habits of East Germans. The streets of East Germany were mostly cobblestone and broken asphalt, which would leave a specific wear pattern on the soles. Joshua’s shoes, however, were worn down in a way that suggested he frequently walked on smooth concrete pavement.

Then there was his jacket. Though plain in style, the quality of the fabric was clearly superior to anything made in East Germany.

The most crucial detail was his hands. As Werner offered the lighter, he glimpsed the calluses on Joshua’s palm. Those weren’t the hands of a clerk; they belonged to someone who frequently handled tools and weapons.

"Good smoke." Joshua glanced at the cigarette in Werner’s hand. "You don’t see many Marlboros in East Berlin."

’It’s a test.’

Werner analyzed the situation. ’He’s probing my connections and financial standing, but he’s being very careful and subtle about it.’

"There are always ways to get the things you want." Werner gave a faint, confident smile. "The key is knowing who to ask."

Joshua gave a slight nod, as if in approval of the answer.

He didn’t rush to state his purpose, instead making casual conversation about the weather. "It’s quite windy today. Looks like rain."

Werner played along, making small talk, but he was inwardly observing every detail about the other man. Joshua appeared very composed. His eyes occasionally scanned their surroundings, but his movements were so natural they wouldn’t arouse suspicion or make anyone nervous. It was the mark of a professionally trained operative.

After a few minutes, once Joshua seemed to have confirmed their surroundings were secure, he lowered his voice. "Joshua Schlotter. I’m a merchant in cultural exchange, from Hamburg. I hear you can procure certain... special items."

Werner extended his hand. "Werner Betelich."

The moment they shook hands, Werner’s judgment was confirmed. The position and pattern of the calluses on Joshua’s palm were definitely not those of a "cultural exchange merchant." However, the man’s grip was perfectly controlled—not too firm, not too weak—befitting the persona of a businessman.

"Special items?" Werner feigned alarm. "That’s not a very safe word to be using in East Berlin."

"I understand." Joshua pushed up his glasses. "That’s why I need to find someone reliable. I was given your name on the Black Market. They said you’re dependable and tight-lipped."

"That depends on the business," Werner replied coolly. "What kind of special items does a cultural exchange merchant need? Artwork? Or something else?"

"I have some clients who need outdoor gear." His tone was level, as if he were discussing an ordinary transaction. "Ropes, compasses, flashlights, first-aid kits, and portable food. The quality must be good, and the quantity is considerable."

’Outdoor gear?’

Werner understood instantly. ’It’s escape equipment.’

But Joshua’s phrasing was clever. The term "outdoor gear" could be taken literally, or it could be a euphemism for escape supplies.

If Werner were a Stasi informant, the phrase would leave no direct evidence. If Werner were truly a Black Market dealer, he would naturally understand the hidden meaning.

Werner pretended to consider it. "Outdoor gear, eh? That can be sensitive, depending. The key is the quantity. What do you mean by ’considerable’?"

Joshua looked at him. "Twenty to thirty sets. I need them by mid-September at the latest."

’Twenty to thirty sets! That means an escape operation involving at least twenty people.’

’And mid-September...’ Werner sighed to himself.

’This West German spy has no idea the Berlin Wall will go up on August thirteenth. His plan is doomed to fail.’

’But for me, this is a golden opportunity.’

’I can collect the deposit and make some money. More importantly, through Joshua, I can get access to groups of political prisoners and prepare for future ’personnel exchanges.’’

’And since Joshua’s operation is guaranteed to fail, the Stasi will never be able to trace it back to me.’

"That is a considerable quantity." Werner frowned deliberately. "An order of this scale will take time, and the risk isn’t small. As for the price..."

"Price is not an issue," Joshua cut him off, his voice still level. "My clients have a budget. But I need a guarantee of quality and on-time delivery."

Werner nodded. "I understand. But you should also understand that this kind of business requires mutual trust. Large orders usually require a thirty percent deposit to secure the goods."

Just then, the door of the Soviet Army Club opened.

Ivanov Sergeyevich walked out. He spotted Werner immediately and strode toward him.

Joshua noticed Ivanov. He glanced at his watch naturally, as if suddenly remembering an appointment, and said to Werner, "It seems you’re busy. Shall we continue this another time?"

"The day after tomorrow, three o’clock in the afternoon, at the café in Alexanderplatz." Werner handed him a business card. "Bring a detailed list of your requirements. And the deposit."

Joshua took the card, glanced at it, and slipped it into his pocket. He gave Werner a polite nod and walked away.

Ivanov watched Joshua’s retreating figure, muttered something in Russian, and then asked in German, "A friend of yours?"

"No, a client," Werner said. "Ivanov, it’s our turn to talk business. And this time, it’s big business."

The two of them walked into a small, nearby café that Werner frequented.

It was sparsely decorated, but it was quiet, and the owner, Marta, was a smart woman who never gossiped.

They chose a table in the corner. Ivanov ordered a double vodka, and Werner asked for a black coffee.

Once the waitress was out of earshot, Ivanov lowered his voice. "Didn’t we agree not to meet in public? Why did you use the code to set up a meeting a few days ago? What exactly is this ’big business’ you mentioned?"

Werner took a handwritten list from his briefcase and carefully slid it across the table to Ivanov. "I think it’s time we upgraded our little side hustle to a much bigger partnership."

Ivanov took the list and glanced at it. His eyes went wide. "These quantities... Werner, are you insane?"