"It’s nothing, I’m just curious," Werner explained.
Lorry hesitated for a mont, then said, "If you really wanted to verify it, you’d need the original issue slips, usage logs, and inventory count sheets. Comparing those three would show if there’s a problem."
"And you have access to these docunts?"
"Of course. My job is to translate them," Lorry said. "But they’re all classified. They can’t ever be taken out of the translation room."
Werner nodded, then changed the subject.
’He knew it wasn’t the right ti to make a direct request. He needed to build more trust with Lorry first.’
Over the next few days, Werner frequently "ran into" Lorry, treating him to als and drinks, gradually deepening their friendship.
He learned that Lorry’s family situation was difficult—his wife was ill and needed expensive dication, and his two children were still in school. A translator’s ager salary was nowhere near enough to cover it all.
After a few weeks of this, Werner felt the ti was right.
He arranged to et Lorry at a quiet little tavern and ordered a decent bottle of wine.
"Lorry, from our chats over the past few days, I’ve co to understand your family’s difficulties," Werner said, getting straight to the point. "I want to help you."
"Help ?" Lorry was a little confused.
"Yes." Werner took a hundred Marks from his pocket and placed them on the table. "Take this for now, to buy dicine for your wife."
Lorry’s eyes flashed with desire as he looked at the money, but he quickly shook his head. "Werner, I can’t just take your money for free."
"It’s not for free. It’s paynt," Werner said. "I need you to do a favor."
"What kind of favor?" Lorry imdiately beca wary.
Werner took a deep breath, deciding to reveal part of the truth. "Lorry, I know you’re an upright man, so I want to be honest with you. I’ve been investigating a case recently—a Soviet Army officer is secretly selling off military supplies. This not only harms the interests of the Soviet Army but also affects the lives of ordinary German citizens."
"What?" Lorry stared at him in shock. "Who are you? Stasi?"
"No, I’m not Stasi." Werner shook his head. "I’m just an ordinary citizen who cares about justice. Think about it. When supplies that should be used for building up the army are sold off privately, who ends up suffering? The people who truly need those resources."
"What... what do you want to do?" Lorry asked cautiously.
"I need to see the inventory reports for the 79th Regint from the last few months to confirm my suspicions," Werner said. "You don’t need to take the docunts out. I just need a glance, long enough to morize a few key numbers."
"That’s... that’s too dangerous." Lorry shook his head. "If I’m caught, I’ll lose my job, maybe even be sentenced to prison."
"I understand your concern," Werner said sympathetically. "But think of your wife, think of your children. This hundred Marks is just the beginning. If you’re willing to help , I guarantee your family will have a better life."
He took out another two hundred Marks and placed them on the table. "Three hundred Marks. Enough for your wife’s treatnt for three months. And I promise you, I will make sure you bear absolutely no risk."
Lorry stared at the bills on the table, his heart in turmoil.
Three hundred Marks was a huge sum for him, enough to solve so many of his problems.
"If... if I help you, what happens after?" he asked in a low voice. "You won’t keep pestering , will you?"
"Of course not," Werner said sincerely. "I only need your help this one ti."
In the end, Lorry was persuaded.
He carefully pocketed the money and nodded, agreeing to Werner’s request.
The next afternoon, Lorry arranged to et Werner in a secluded corner near the Soviet Army camp.
He looked nervous, constantly glancing around.
"I wrote down the data," Lorry said, handing Werner a small slip of paper. "These are the inventory discrepancies for the 79th Regint for the last three months. But Werner, you have to destroy this note imdiately after you read it."
Werner took the note and read it carefully:
January: dical supplies issued - 8 crates. Usage recorded - 3 crates. Discrepancy - 5 crates.
February: Canned food issued - 12 crates. Usage recorded - 5 crates. Discrepancy - 7 crates.
March: Pharmaceuticals issued - 4 batches. Usage recorded - 1 batch. Discrepancy - 3 batches.
"What’s the official explanation for these discrepancies?" Werner asked.
"They’re all attributed to ’ergencies’ or ’classified operations,’ but there are never any specific usage logs," Lorry said. "And what’s strange is, this only happens with supplies that Ivanov is responsible for. The inventory managed by other officers is all normal."
Werner nodded with satisfaction.
’This data, combined with the dical supplies he’d bought bearing the 79th Regint’s insignia, now ford a complete chain of evidence.’
He then destroyed the note right in front of Lorry.
"Rember, we’ve never t," Werner said sternly.
"Of course, of course." Lorry clutched the money and hurried away.
*********************
「One week later.」
Werner had just left the "New Germany" coffee shop, in a very good mood.
The engineer he’d just dealt with had haggled for ten minutes over so Swiss coffee beans but had caved and paid up in the end.
"Comrade Betelich!"
The German words, spoken with a Russian accent, ca from behind him.
Werner turned and saw Major Ivanov.
Today, Ivanov looked even more imposing, his uniform crisp and his leather boots polished to a gleam.
Werner noticed a predatory excitent in his eyes—the kind of look a cat gives a mouse.
"I am Major Ivanov," Ivanov introduced himself.
"Comrade Major, is there sothing I can help you with?" Werner asked calmly.
"We need to have a little talk about your ’small business’," Ivanov said, looking Werner up and down with an amused, mocking gaze.
Werner’s expression remained impassive. "What business? I don’t understand what you an."
"Don’t play dumb, young man," Ivanov sneered. "On March 15th, at the train station, you exchanged three small packages with a train conductor nad Franz. On March 18th, you crossed the border carrying more coffee and cigarettes than the personal allowance. On March 20th..."
He listed Werner’s "cris" one by one, and with each accusation, Werner’s face grew a little darker.
This Soviet Army officer clearly knew his activities like the back of his hand.
"Those activities were all..." Werner began to say.
"Smuggling!" Ivanov cut him off, his voice turning harsh. "In the German Democratic Republic, that’s a serious cri! It can get you ten years in prison!"
Pedestrians on the street began to notice the situation.
A few won who were passing by stopped, watching with curiosity.
A Soviet Army officer berating a young German—such a scene was not uncommon in East Berlin.
"Let’s talk sowhere else," Werner said, glancing at the crowd of onlookers. "This isn’t the place."
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