"What kind?"
"The kind of fool who thinks he’s clever, but in reality, leaves all the evidence out in the open." Werner exhaled a puff of smoke. "Joseph is that kind of fool right now. He thinks those chemicals are safe because on the surface, they all look like normal industrial materials. But..."
Werner paused, letting Keller process this information.
"But what?"
"But anyone with even a little knowledge of chemistry knows what those things an when you put them together." Werner’s voice grew low. "Nitric acid can be used to make nitroglycerin, sulfuric acid can be a catalyst, and hydrogen peroxide can be an oxidizer. Put all that together, and you have a complete explosives manufacturing plant."
The color drained from Keller’s face. "Doesn’t that an..."
"Yes. Espionage. Sabotage. Counter-revolutionary activity." Werner enunciated every word. "In the eyes of the Stasi, Joseph is now a potential Western Spy or a saboteur. He doesn’t know it yet, but soone will find out sooner or later."
Silence fell over the warehouse, broken only by the distant sound of a train whistle. Keller was clearly stunned by this analysis; he had never thought about the problem from this angle.
Werner stood up and walked toward a map in the back of the warehouse.
It was a detailed map of Berlin, marked with various Black Market routes, checkpoint locations, and safe houses. His finger slid across the map, finally stopping at a location by the Spree River.
’The abandoned textile mill...’ he muttered to himself.
"Boss, do you have an idea?" Keller asked, walking over to his side.
Werner turned around, a dangerous and excited glint in his eyes. "Keller, what do you think would happen if the Stasi suddenly discovered Joseph’s ’little secret’?"
Keller was beginning to understand Werner’s implication. "You an..."
"I an that sotis the best competitive strategy isn’t direct confrontation, but letting others make their own mistakes." Werner sat down again and picked up a beer bottle from the table. "Right now, Joseph is like a madman holding a lit stick of dynamite. All we have to do is make sure he sets it off at the right ti and in the right place."
Keller’s eyes lit up. "Boss, you’re a genius!"
"Don’t praise just yet." Werner waved his hand. "This has to be done flawlessly, without leaving a single trace. The Stasi agents are no fools. If they find out soone set him up, we’ll be their next target."
"Then what should we do?"
Werner didn’t answer directly. Instead, he got up and walked to another corner of the warehouse, where various goods brought back from West Berlin were piled up.
He picked up an empty box of West German laundry detergent, carefully examining its label and printing.
"Keller, what do you think the Stasi hates most?"
"Counter-revolutionaries? Spies?"
"Exactly." Werner placed the box on the table. "Especially espionage activities linked to the West. What do you think would happen if Joseph’s chemical business was suddenly linked to a ’Western Spy’?"
Keller sucked in a breath of cold air. "Then it wouldn’t be an ordinary Black Market cri, but a matter of national security!"
"Clever," Werner nodded.
Keller rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Boss, do you have a specific plan already?"
Werner gave a mysterious smile. "A plan? Of course. But now’s not the ti to talk about it."
He glanced at the sky darkening outside. "You go back and rest for now. Over the next few days, keep in contact with Joseph and his n, but be careful not to give yourself away."
"Understood!" Keller got up to leave, but turned back at the door to ask, "Boss, when do we make our move?"
Werner relit his cigarette. In the dim light, his face looked both calm and dangerous. "Soon. Since Joseph loves playing with fire so much, we’ll just help him make the flas burn a little brighter."
After Keller left, the warehouse fell silent once more.
Werner sat there alone, contemplating his every next move.
The next evening, Werner and Keller t at a small bar by the Spree River. It was far from the city center, its patrons mostly dockworkers and small-ti rchants—there wouldn’t be any Stasi informants here.
"Boss, I found sothing out!" Keller said excitedly in a hushed voice. "Joseph and his crew move goods from the military factory every Tuesday night. Hank is in charge of stealing the stuff from the factory, and then they use a truck to transport it to the textile mill."
"What else?"
"Fritz said they’re about to get a batch of ’premium goods’—one bottle can sell for five hundred Marks!" Keller’s eyes shone with excitent. "Boss, should we hijack their shipnt?"
"Hijack the shipnt?" Werner let out a laugh, shaking his head as he lit a cigarette. "Keller, look at how many n the Mole has. How many do we have?"
He took a drag from his cigarette and continued, "Besides, a direct fight is the worst possible option. In the Black Market, brains are more useful than brawn. The Mole has more n. If we clash with them head-on, it’ll be mutually destructive, and the Stasi will be the only ones who benefit."
Werner flicked the ash from his cigarette, his gaze deepening. "The most dangerous thing on the Black Market isn’t the Stasi, nor is it your competitors. It’s greed. Joseph is just too greedy; he’ll touch anything, no matter how dangerous."
Werner took a swig of vodka, wincing from the burn, but his eyes were exceptionally calm.
"Since they like playing with fire, let’s let them burn themselves to death."
He leaned closer to Keller and whispered, "Tomorrow, go contact so friends at the dye works. I need to buy a few things..."
After hearing Werner’s plan, Keller gasped.
"Boss, this... isn’t this too ruthless?"
"In East Berlin, you can’t survive if you’re not ruthless." A chill crept into Werner’s voice. "They dared to steal my goods, so they should be prepared to face the consequences."
In this divided city, people fought for survival every day, and every choice could be a matter of life and death.
Werner looked at the night view outside the window, a dangerous light glinting in his eyes.
’Joseph, your doomsday has arrived.’
*********************
At six in the morning, Werner was woken up by the sound of an argunt downstairs.
Through the thin curtains, he saw several workers in gray overalls standing downstairs, gathered around a dilapidated car, pointing and gesturing.
"Damn carburetor’s broken again!" a bearded worker exclaid, kicking the tire. "This piece of junk is less reliable than my bicycle!"
"Stop complaining, Frank. You’re lucky to have a car at all. Do you know how long the waiting list is to buy one? Five years!"
Another worker shook his head. "My neighbor applied for a ’Trabant’ last year and was told he can’t pick it up until 1966. That’s our East German ’people’s car,’ with a body made of cardboard and plastic, but at least it’s better than walking."
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