dtnovels Chapter 177 Pass
Chapter 177 Pass
June 29, 1989, 10:00 AM.
Berlin, Friedrichstrasse.
A persistent drizzle fell. Grayish-white clouds hung low over the torn city. Rainwater meandered down the cold concrete walls, washing away the layers of graffiti.
The massive Berlin Wall stretched across the middle of the street like an ugly gray scar, forcibly cutting off the line of sight.
The towering watchtower was hidden in the rain and mist. The powerful beams of searchlights pierced through the rain curtain, sweeping back and forth across the uneven asphalt road. The anti-tank chevaux-de-frise, covered in reddish-brown rust, pointed their sharp metal horns straight to the sky, like a group of monsters lurking in puddles.
A convoy of five IFA W50 heavy trucks is slowly crawling through a serpentine path made of concrete blocks and sandbags.
Black smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe, and the vibrations of the diesel engine were transmitted through the damp ground.
Dr. Klaus Weber sat in the passenger seat of the lead car.
He was wearing a patched corduroy suit with the collar turned up. His hands gripped the old, coffee-stained leather briefcase tightly, his knuckles trembling slightly.
Outside the windshield, the rain was pouring down.
The windshield wipers were scraping the glass with difficulty.
"Swish—swish—"
The sound of rubber rubbing against glass was amplified tenfold in his ears. Each scratch felt like a sharp sawing through his nerves.
Through the rain-blurred glass, a wide white line was drawn on the ground fifty meters ahead.
The dividing line between East and West Berlin.
Across that white line, a huge Coca-Cola neon sign on the streets of West Berlin is flashing, its colorful halo rippling across the puddles.
It's only fifty meters away.
It was as if there was an insurmountable chasm between them.
Two East German border guards in grass-green uniforms, carrying AK-47 rifles and leading a large black German Shepherd, walked past the side of the convoy. The dog wore a heavy leather muzzle, let out a low growl, and its sharp claws scraped the asphalt with a teeth-grinding sound.
"Stop the car. Turn off the engine."
A border guard officer wearing a peaked cap walked to the lead vehicle and raised a red baton.
"Sizzle—"
The truck's air brakes emitted a long whistle as it came to a steady stop in front of the speed bump in the customs inspection area.
Several soldiers immediately surrounded them. They held long metal rods with reflectors at the top and skillfully reached into the truck chassis, probing inch by inch along the drive shaft and exhaust pipe.
The beam of the flashlight flickered back and forth in the darkness under the car.
The officer, his military boots crunching through the puddles, walked to the passenger side door and knocked hard on the window.
Weber swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty. He rolled down the window, and a gust of cold wind mixed with rain rushed into the car.
The officer extended his hand, which was gloved with black leather.
"Documents. Shipping manifest."
Weber handed over a stack of documents stamped with the red seal of the Ministry of Foreign Trade.
The officer took the document, carefully checked each seal on it, and glanced at Weber's face from time to time.
"Scrap metal exports from the Carl Zeiss Jena plant?"
The officer's voice was cold, piercing through the sound of the rain.
"Yes, sir." Weber's voice was hoarse as he struggled to control the vibrations in his vocal cords. "To the recycling center in West Berlin."
The officer closed the file, looked up, and glanced at the trucks behind him, which were completely covered by thick tarpaulins.
"Open the cargo compartment of the first vehicle."
The officer gave orders to the soldiers behind him.
Several soldiers immediately stepped forward and untied the ropes binding the sides of the carriage. A corner of the heavy tarpaulin was lifted, revealing several huge wooden crates inside.
"Pry it open."
A soldier pulled a steel crowbar, more than a meter long, from his toolbox and wedged it into a gap in the wooden crate.
"Creak—"
The sound of the wooden planks snapping was particularly crisp in the rain. Several rusty nails were forcibly pulled out, and one side panel of the wooden crate was roughly ripped off.
Rainwater pattered on the exposed goods.
It was the base of a mottled, rusty polishing machine. The surface was covered with a thick layer of sludge and dark red rust, and it emitted a musty smell of machine oil.
The officer stepped forward and circled the heavy iron lump.
He pulled a black rectangular device from the leather sheath at his waist.
Portable X-ray density detector.
The officer pressed the switch, and the instrument emitted a faint electrical hum. He held the detector and slowly moved it along the surface of the cast iron base.
The red indicator light flashed regularly in the gloomy sky.
The detector swept across the solid part of the base, emitting a steady "beep-beep" sound.
Weber sat in the car, his hands gripping the edge of his briefcase tightly, his eyes fixed on the black instrument.
The detector slid towards the maintenance cover on the side of the base.
That's where the waste engine oil, iron filings, and lead foil wrapped in miniature rubber rolls were stored.
"Beep beep beep beep beep!"
The detector's alarm suddenly became sharp and urgent, and the red indicator light flashed wildly.
The officer's hand suddenly stopped.
He glanced at the reading on the instrument, and his brows instantly furrowed into a deep knot.
This extremely unusual density feedback means that there is a very high-density substance inside the metal that can block radiation.
"All alert!"
The officer roared.
He quickly took a half step back, and in an instant, his right hand drew the Makarov pistol from his waist, the dark muzzle pointing directly at the cast iron base inside the carriage.
The surrounding soldiers pulled back their rifle bolts in unison, the crisp metallic clang of bullets being chambered echoing through the checkpoint. Sensing its master's hostility, the black-backed wolfhound struggled wildly, trying to break free of its leash.
Weber's heart stopped beating instantly.
It felt as if a block of solid ice had been stuffed into my chest, freezing even my breath.
"Bring the heavy-duty drill over here!"
The officer stared at the base and gave a stern order.
"Drill a hole in this board! I want to see what's hidden inside!"
Two soldiers immediately ran to the outpost. Soon, they returned, dragging a heavy Bosch industrial-grade electric drill, its thick black cable trailing through the puddles and splashing mud.
A soldier turned on the power, replaced the drill bit with a tungsten carbide bit about the thickness of a thumb, and pressed the drill tip against the rusty inspection cover.
Once the drill bit cuts through the outer casing, black waste oil will flow out, iron filings will scatter, and those core classified blueprints tightly wrapped in lead foil will be completely exposed to the guns of the East German border guards.
At this critical moment.
"Bang!"
The truck's passenger side door was suddenly pushed open.
Webber stepped into the muddy water and rushed straight into the cold rain without even opening an umbrella.
He strode towards the officer holding the pistol. Rainwater instantly soaked through his thin corduroy suit, trickling down his graying hair and into his collar.
He showed no sign of panic; the muscles in his face were even contorted with extreme anger.
"stop!"
Weber roared, his voice piercing through the hum of the power drill about to start.
He walked up to the officer, completely ignoring the pistol that was so close at hand. He pulled a stack of documents from his briefcase and slammed them onto the officer's rain-soaked cloak.
"Snapped!"
The paper struck the waterproof cloth, making a loud sound.
"Open your eyes and look carefully! This is a special approval release order from the Ministry of Foreign Trade, stamped with the red seal of 'Highest-Level Foreign Exchange Earning Project'!"
Weber was breathing heavily, his eyes bloodshot. He perfectly replicated the arrogance of an East German bureaucrat when dealing with his subordinates, as well as the pent-up frustration from being humiliated by capitalists' money over the past few days.
He pointed at the cast iron base, his finger almost poking the officer's nose.
"The Japanese capitalists across the street are pricing this batch of antique scrap metal by the tonnage and based on its structural integrity! The buyer specifically requests to see its original industrial casting condition!"
Weber's voice cracked from hysteria.
"If your drill bit damages the counterweight structure and destroys its integrity, what if the Japanese refuse to accept it?"
"This is millions of West German marks! It's the foreign exchange the country desperately needs right now!"
He grabbed the officer by the collar and shoved the humiliating fax, bearing the SA Group logo and written in extremely arrogant language, right in front of the officer's face.
"If the deal falls apart, are you going to bear the loss of these millions of foreign exchange?! Or will you expect your entire border guard unit to pay for it?!"
The officer was stunned by the barrage of angry roars.
He glanced down at the document he was holding to his chest.
The bright red seal of the Ministry of Foreign Trade was slightly stained by the rain, but it was still clearly visible. In this country, the Ministry of Foreign Trade's foreign exchange earnings targets were paramount.
The officer hesitated.
He glanced at the X-ray detector in his hand, then at the dilapidated lump of iron. He knew all too well that Western capitalists sometimes had some extremely strange collecting hobbies, claiming to be the "most rugged industrial aesthetics," and demanding perfection in order to maintain the so-called "original" form of scrap iron, which was perfectly logical.
Most importantly, he cannot bear the responsibility of disrupting national-level foreign exchange earning projects.
The officer's hand slowly fell to his sides, and the pistol was put back into its holster.
"Stop drilling."
He waved to the soldier holding the electric drill.
The buzzing of the electric drill gradually subsided.
The officer was not entirely dispelled. He turned around and pulled a ten-pound long-handled iron hammer from the soldier's toolbox.
He walked up to the cast iron base, gripped the hammer handle with both hands, and raised it high.
Weber stood in the rain, biting his lower lip hard until he tasted blood in his mouth.
"call--"
The hammer, whistling through the air, slammed heavily into the hollow side of the base.
"Thump."
A deep, muffled thud echoed through the rain.
This is an extremely rigid physical feedback.
Because Weber and his students had filled the cavity with viscous waste oil and high-density iron filings the night before, all the gaps were filled, and there was no clear echo that a hollow structure should have when struck.
The officer threw down the hammer.
The dull sound and extremely high density feedback meant it was solid inside; there was no way around it. The physical weight, combined with the bureaucratic system's instinct to seek profit and avoid harm, completely dispelled the last vestige of doubt in his mind.
"Release them."
The officer turned around and gestured to the soldiers in the outpost.
Heavy railings, painted in red and white, slowly rose, accompanied by the sound of machinery.
Weber turned around and dragged his soaking wet body back to the truck. He opened the door, got into the passenger seat, and slammed the door shut.
Water droplets dripped down the tip of his nose.
The truck restarted.
……
Checkpoint Charlie, on the U.S. military side of the zone.
West Berlin.
A black bulletproof Mercedes was parked quietly outside the police cordon.
The car windows were tightly closed.
Inside the carriage, the temperature was maintained at a precise 24 degrees Celsius.
Hans von Schneider sat in the passenger seat, clutching a handkerchief and constantly wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. His gaze was fixed on the slowly rising railing a few dozen meters away.
In the back seat, Satsuki sat quietly.
She wore a soft beige cashmere sweater and held a steaming cup of black tea in her hand. The bone china teacup was edged with gold thread.
She didn't speak, but simply gazed silently at the East German border across the one-way glass.
The heavy roar of an engine came from the other side of the wall.
The first IFA truck spewed black exhaust fumes as its massive tires rolled over the white line that marked the dividing line between the two worlds.
Then came the second one, and the third one.
Hans let out a long breath and slumped into his seat.
"God help...they're coming," he mumbled weakly.
Satsuki's gaze passed over the huge wooden crates, which were washed by the rain and covered in mud and rust.
My gaze pierced through the rain and fell upon the passenger seat of the lead car.
A very faint smile curved at the corner of his lips.
A $100,000 deposit, plus a lie woven using bureaucratic greed.
She successfully smuggled a top-notch brain, brimming with half a century of Carl Zeiss's technological expertise, out of the Stasi's close surveillance.
The truck convoy slowly came to a stop next to the Mercedes.
The passenger door of the lead car was pushed open.
Dr. Weber stood with his feet on the smooth asphalt road in West Berlin.
Rain soaked his gray hair. Water droplets slid down his cheeks. He didn't wipe them away.
He turned around and looked at the towering gray wall behind him.
The beams of searchlights appeared somewhat hazy in the rain and mist. Soldiers in green uniforms, barking wolves, and officers with pistols were all completely separated from each other by the lowered railings, leaving them in another world.
He slowly loosened his grip on his right hand, which he had been holding tightly the whole way.
The stiff knuckles made a slight grinding sound as they loosened. The old briefcase, stained with coffee, was transferred to the other hand.
Weber's legs went weak, and his back slumped heavily against the cold truck bed. He tilted his head back and opened his mouth.
The air in West Berlin lacked that pungent smell of brown coal. The cool rain, mixed with the aroma of cream and car exhaust wafting from the distant streets, filled his lungs through his nostrils. He breathed heavily, his shoulders, which had been tense for a day and a night, gradually slumped, and his muscles spasmed slightly in extreme exhaustion.
The raindrops overhead were suddenly blocked.
A huge black umbrella with a long handle was placed over him.
Weber opened his eyes.
Satsuki had stepped out of the black bulletproof Mercedes at some point. Fujita stood quietly beside her, holding an umbrella in one hand. She wore a soft beige cashmere sweater, a perfectly measured smile playing on her lips.
"Welcome to the world of capital, Dr. Weber."