nashuaworldcup Chapter 173 Charlie's Checkpoint
Chapter 173 Charlie's Checkpoint
June 27, 1989, early morning.
Friedrichstraße.
The sky was a murky grayish-white, like an old bed sheet that hadn't been washed properly.
A black Mercedes-Benz W126 armored sedan slowly came to a stop in front of the roadblock.
Behind it followed a gray Volkswagen van without any markings. The windows were tinted with dark tint, and inside sat four fully armed SA security personnel. Their eyes, peering through the glass gaps, were fixed on every moving target in the vicinity.
The famous white sign stands by the roadside, bearing the Cold War mantra written in English, Russian, French, and German:
【YOU ARE LEAVING THE AMERICAN SECTOR】(You are leaving the American-occupied territory)
"We're going over there."
Fujita sat in the passenger seat. He didn't turn around, but his right hand had already quietly unbuttoned the bottom of his suit jacket and placed it on the holster at his waist.
In the back seat, Satsuki put down the English newspaper she was holding.
That was a copy of Time magazine I bought last night in West Berlin; it had Gorbachev's picture on the cover.
"Throw it away."
Satsuki handed the newspaper to Fujita.
"They don't need news over there. They don't need the truth."
Fujita rolled down the car window and threw the newspaper into a roadside trash can.
Hans von Schneider sat next to Satsuki, constantly adjusting his tie. His face was somewhat pale, and his eyes darted around.
"Miss Saionji, please double-check that there are no West German marks or prohibited books in your passport holder. Those East German border guards are a bunch of mad dogs; they'll detain you for an entire day over half a pack of cigarettes."
Hans's voice was somewhat hoarse. As a descendant of Prussian nobility, he had a natural, physiological aversion to the other side of the wall.
"rest assured."
Satsuki straightened her skirt.
"I only brought their favorite things."
The car started and slowly drove into the maze constructed of barbed wire, concrete blocks, and sandbags.
The famous Checkpoint Charlie.
Two East German soldiers in grass-green uniforms, carrying AK-47 rifles and leading a black German Shepherd with a muzzle, stood expressionless in front of the car.
The soldier knocked on the car window.
Fujita lowered the glass and handed over three passports.
The soldier took the passports, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the three people in the car like a cold searchlight.
"Get out of the car. Check."
The soldier gave the order in broken German. Another soldier, holding a long-handled mirror, reached under the vehicle to check for any hidden compartments in the chassis.
Satsuki pushed open the car door.
The air has changed.
The aroma of West Berlin coffee and the smell of car exhaust have disappeared.
Instead, there was a musty, sour smell, like burnt earth.
Lignite.
This was East Germany's primary energy source. The sulfur dioxide produced by burning this low-quality coal was like an indelible layer of grease, clinging to every inch of the city's surface.
"Is this what red tastes like?"
Satsuki stood on the concrete ground, looking at the watchtower not far away. The searchlight on the tower was on even in daylight, staring intently at this no-man's-land.
Behind her, four security personnel also got out of the car. Instead of approaching, they spread out around the vehicle, forming a human wall with their backs to the employer.
"exchange."
An East German officer in the window threw out a form.
Forced exchange (Zwangsumtausch).
Every Westerner entering East Germany had to exchange 25 West German marks for 25 East German marks at a 1:1 exchange rate.
On the black market, this exchange rate is 1:10, or even higher. This is not only robbery, but also a humiliation.
Satsuki pulled a brand-new 100 West German mark from her handbag and handed it in.
The officer took the money, counted out a stack of East German marks bearing Marx's image, and tossed them out. The banknotes felt rough to the touch, had a pungent smell of ink, and resembled children's toy banknotes.
Satsuki didn't even look at it, and casually stuffed the stack of money into her trench coat pocket.
"Let's go."
The railing was raised.
The Mercedes drove over the last speed bump.
The world was cut in two at that moment.
Just a moment ago, the streets were filled with neon lights, huge Marlboro GG signs, and young people laughing in jeans.
Now, only gray remains.
Gray sky, gray buildings, gray streets.
The road surface was full of potholes, and the Mercedes' shock absorption system made a dull sound.
"Thump, thump, thump..."
A sound like a tractor engine came from the side.
A light blue car is struggling uphill. Its exterior is made of plastic, and a thick blue smoke is billowing from its exhaust pipe.
Trabant. The pride of East German industry, but also a symbol of its backwardness.
Satsuki looked at the simple little car.
The driver in the car was wearing a gray-blue overall uniform and looked exhausted. He turned his head and glanced at the gleaming black Mercedes-Benz S-Class, his eyes empty and numb, lost in thought.
"Hans".
Satsuki withdrew her gaze.
"Wha...what's wrong?"
"Look at these buildings."
The car drove along Unter den Linden. The magnificent Prussian-era buildings still stood, but the plaster was peeling, bullet holes were still visible, and the paint on the window frames was long gone.
Satsuki's fingers tapped lightly on the leather armrest.
"Don't you think they're a bunch of bad assets waiting to be acquired?"
Hans paused for a moment, then gave a wry smile.
"You really are... able to find business opportunities everywhere."
Business is everywhere.
The convoy drove through the city center and stopped beside an open square.
Alexanderplatz.
The enormous television tower pierced the sky like a needle piercing the heavens. The world clock (Weltzeituhr) in the square turned slowly, displaying a time that did not belong here.
"It's just ahead."
Hans pointed to a building in one corner of the square.
A huge neon sign hung there, and even in broad daylight, its rugged, Suzhou-style design was still striking.
Café Moskau.
"get off."
"Satsuki gave the order."
Four bodyguards got out of the car first and quickly secured the area around the vehicle. Fujita opened the car door and held up a black umbrella. Although it wasn't raining, it was a gesture, and also a form of defense.
There weren't many people in the square. The pedestrians wore simple jackets and hurried along. No one stopped to talk, and no one even dared to look directly at this group of imposing, uninvited guests.
Satsuki walked into the coffee shop.
The interior decor was reminiscent of the 1950s. Deep red velvet curtains, heavy crystal chandeliers, and waiters in white aprons with expressions as cold as prison guards.
A man sat at a table in the corner.
He wore a badly worn corduroy suit with a mismatched patch on the elbow. Thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, the temples wrapped in tape. His fingers, long exposed to cheap tobacco, looked incredibly yellow and withered.
He looked like a down-on-his-luck high school teacher.
But on the table in front of him, a worn-out leather briefcase was pressed tightly against it.
Dr. Klaus Weber.
Senior Optical Engineer at Carl Zeiss Jena.
Seeing Hans and Satsuki approach, Weber abruptly stood up, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. He instinctively looked around, his eyes filled with terror.
"Sit down, Dr. Weber."
Hans stepped forward and blocked the view from the window with his body.
"It's safe here."
Weber swallowed hard and sat down cautiously. His gaze fell on Satsuki, as if he couldn't believe that this girl who looked like a doll was the buyer.
"What would you like to drink?"
Satsuki sat down opposite her and took off her gloves.
"I...don't need it..."
"Two coffees, please," Satsuki said to the approaching waiter.
The waiter made a note in his notebook and then turned to leave.
"Dr. Weber."
Satsuki didn't exchange pleasantries.
"I heard that the Jena factory paid out canned food as wages last month?"
Weber's face flushed red. It was humiliating, but unfortunately... it was also true.
"This is a temporary difficulty..." he murmured, "The country is adjusting..."
"The government doesn't have time to care about you."
Satsuki interrupted him.
"The Soviets were too busy to take care of themselves, while Honecker (the East German leader) was still dreaming."
She took a photo out of her handbag and pushed it in front of Weber.
That was a state-of-the-art Nikon lithography machine.
"The Japanese have already been able to build this. And you're still grinding lenses by hand."
Weber stared at the photograph, his eyes filled with complex emotions. It was the longing of a technician upon seeing cutting-edge technology, and also the despair of the status quo.
"I...I can't betray state secrets." Weber's voice trembled. "If you're looking to buy the blueprints, I don't have them. They're all in the safe, guarded by the Stasi (secret police).
The waiter brought the coffee.
The cup had a chip on the rim, and the black liquid smelled of burnt wheat.
Satsuki picked up the cup but didn't drink it; she simply felt the faint warmth.
"You've misunderstood, Doctor."
She put down the glass, and the liquid sloshed around inside.
"I don't want the blueprints. The technology on those blueprints is ten years behind the West."
"What do you want?"
I want you.
Satsuki's voice was soft, yet it clearly pierced through the noisy background noise of the coffee shop.
"I want the hands that can grind the most precise lenses in the world."
"I want a brain that, despite using outdated equipment, can still design top-notch optical structures."
Weber was stunned.
"I……"
I know what you're worried about.
Satsuki pulled out the stack of East German marks she had just received from her pocket; it probably amounted to several thousand marks.
She casually tossed the money on the table, as if it were a stack of waste paper.
"This money is enough for you to buy a Terrabike, or exchange it for a ton of coal."
Weber looked at the money, and his breathing became rapid.
"But this is just a deposit."
Satsuki leaned forward, looking directly into Waver's cloudy eyes.
"I opened an account for you at a bank in Zurich, Switzerland. There are $100,000 in it."
"As long as you nod."
"Within three months, I will arrange for someone to bring you and your family out. Not to West Germany, but to Tokyo."
"There are state-of-the-art laboratories there that you've never seen in your life, and there's an unlimited budget."
"You can stop grinding glass for a few crowns' worth of allowance and instead build eyes that can see the structure of atoms."
Weber gripped the briefcase handle tightly, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.
The temptation was too great.
That was freedom, that was dignity, that was the stage a scientist dreamed of.
"But... the Stasi..."
His voice trembled, and he looked out the window with a terrified expression.
A green and white Fort Wolverhampton police car slowly drove across the square, its lights flashing in the gray haze.
Startled, Weber's hand trembled, and he knocked over the coffee cup in front of him.
Brown liquid was spilled on the dirty tablecloth and dripped onto the floor.
"Don't worry."
Satsuki pulled out a handkerchief and covered the stain. The pristine white silk was instantly stained black.
"The wall has crumbled."
She stood up and looked out the window at the police car driving away.
"When the first brick falls, nobody will remember where an engineer went."
She gestured to Fujita.
Fujita stepped forward and slipped a piece of paper with a phone number on it into Weber's palm.
"I've made up my mind, I'll make this call."
Satsuki turned and walked towards the door.
"Don't keep me waiting too long, Doctor. Berlin gets very cold in winter."
The door opened.
A gust of cold wind carrying the smell of coal smoke blew in.
Weber sat there, clutching the note tightly in his hand. He looked at the blackened handkerchief, then at the stack of East German marks on the table.
In the distance, the world clock continues to tick.
But in his heart, time, which had been stagnant for forty years, began to tick again.
Satsuki walked out of the coffee shop.
A light rain began to fall from the sky.
"Young Miss, someone is watching this area."
The bodyguard's whispers came through the earpiece.
"Don't worry about it."
Satsuki got into the car.
"They were just a group of gatekeepers guarding the graves."
The Mercedes started up, rolled over the wet cobblestone road, and headed toward Checkpoint Charlie.
In the rearview mirror, the huge TV tower gradually blurred.
Like a giant about to collapse, it stands alone in the gray rain and mist.