Chapter 207 - 117: More Useful Than God’s Salvation

Chapter 207: Chapter 117: More Useful Than God’s Salvation

"It’s not blackmail. It’s giving you a choice," Werner said, stubbing out his cigarette. "You can choose to stand by your principles, refuse to sign, and then watch those six people get arrested. Or you can choose to compromise, sign the paper, and let them continue to live in safety."

"This isn’t fair."

"Of course it’s not fair." Werner’s tone grew colder. "The world has never been fair. Do you think the Berlin Wall is fair? Do you think locking people in prison is fair?"

He paused.

"But what we can do, in this unfair world, is try to keep as many people alive as possible."

The priest looked at him, his expression complex.

"You’re a very dangerous man," he said. "You make all these dirty things sound so matter-of-fact."

"Because this is reality." Werner stood up. "You can live in your ideal world, stick to your principles, maintain your innocence. But the people who rely on you will pay the price for your principles."

He walked to the door and knocked.

"I’ll give you five more minutes. After five minutes, I’ll come back in. If you still refuse, I’ll consider this deal a failure and report back to my superiors. As for those six people—"

He paused.

"Let’s hope they’re lucky."

The door opened, and Werner walked out.

The hallway was cold, and the heating pipes made a clanking sound.

A prison guard was leaning against the wall smoking. Seeing Werner come out, he asked, "How’d it go?"

"Give it a few more minutes."

"That old man is stubborn," the guard said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "He’s been here for two years and he’s still the same as when he first came in—reads the Bible every day, prays every day. The other prisoners are afraid of him. They call him the ’Mad Priest’."

"Why?"

"Because he’s not afraid to die," the guard said. "Last winter, an inmate tried to escape and the guards broke his leg. The guy was writhing on the ground in pain, and no one dared to go near him. Only this priest walked over, bandaged his wound, and even recited a prayer right in front of the guards."

The guard flicked the ash from his cigarette.

"The guards wanted to beat him, but the warden said not to touch him, that someone higher up was watching him. So he’s been here ever since."

Werner nodded but didn’t say anything.

Five minutes passed quickly.

Werner knocked on the door.

"I’m going in."

The guard opened the door.

Inside the cell, the priest was still sitting on the bed. But this time, a look of exhaustion was on his face.

"I want to ask you a question," he said.

"Go ahead."

"If I sign, will those six people really be safe?"

"They will," Werner said. "Once this project is underway, the Stasi will focus their attention on how to earn more foreign currency, not on chasing after small-timers."

"How can you guarantee that?"

"I can’t guarantee it," Werner said frankly. "But I can tell you that if you don’t sign, they have a one hundred percent chance of being arrested. If you sign, they at least have a chance to survive."

The priest was silent for a long time.

The candlelight flickered across his face, casting deep shadows.

"I have lived my entire life for my faith," he said slowly. "I believe in God, in justice, and in truth."

He looked up at Werner.

"But today, you’re telling me I must abandon my principles and admit guilt to protect those people."

"Yes."

"This is a deal with the devil."

"Perhaps," Werner said. "But sometimes, making a deal with the devil is more useful than waiting for God’s salvation."

The priest closed his eyes, his lips moving slightly.

Werner knew he was praying.

After a long while, the priest opened his eyes.

"I’ll sign," his voice was so low it was almost inaudible. "But I want you to remember one thing."

"What is it?"

"One day, you will pay the price for what you’ve done today." The priest looked into Werner’s eyes. "It won’t be me who makes you pay. It will be God."

Werner didn’t respond.

He turned, knocked on the door, and the guard opened it.

"Tell the warden to prepare the documents," Werner said. "He’s agreed."

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

It was 4:30 in the morning in the prison’s reception room.

The priest sat at a table, a document titled "Voluntary Renunciation of East German Citizenship" laid out before him.

The warden stood to the side, holding a fountain pen.

"Sign it," he said, handing the pen over. "Sign it, and you’ll be free."

The priest took the pen and looked at the document.

The document was in a standard official format, printed with dense clauses. At the very bottom was a blank line, waiting for a signature.

The priest’s hand hovered over the paper for a long time.

"Do I need to read it to you?" the warden said impatiently. "You voluntarily renounce your East German citizenship, confess to the crime of endangering national security, and accept a humanitarian release—"

"There’s no need," the priest interrupted him. "I can read."

He signed his name on the paper.

After signing, he placed the pen on the table and folded his hands in his lap.

"Can I go now?"

"Get changed." The warden tossed him a paper bag. "Then get out."

The priest picked up the paper bag and went into the changing room.

A few minutes later, he walked out, changed.

His black priest’s cassock was faded from washing, the collar badly frayed. But as he wore it, he still stood up straight.

Werner was standing at the door, watching him.

"Are you ready?"

"I am," the priest said. "But I have one question."

"Go ahead."

"Those six people... will you really protect them?"

Werner looked him in the eye.

"I’ll do my best."

"’Do your best’?" The priest sneered. "Is that your promise?"

"It’s the only promise I can give," Werner said. "I’m not God, Father. I can’t protect everyone. But what I can do is help as many people as possible survive."

The priest stared at him for a few seconds, then finally nodded.

"Let’s go."

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

「Dawn was breaking.」

Werner took the priest to a safe house—a nondescript apartment building in the suburbs of East Berlin, indistinguishable from the buildings around it.

Vogel was waiting at the door. Seeing the priest, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"You finally agreed."

The priest didn’t answer, simply walking into the apartment.

Inside, in the living room, the other four were sitting and waiting.

Hans and Peter sat on the sofa, huddled close together. The journalist, Martin Weber, stood by the window, smoking, his eyes wary. The underground publisher, Friedrich Beck, sat at a table, flipping through an old newspaper.

Seeing the priest enter, they were all stunned.

"Father?" Friedrich stood up. "Is that you?"

"It is," the priest said.

"You too...?" Friedrich’s voice choked with emotion. "You’re leaving too?"

"Yes."

Friedrich walked over and hugged the priest tightly. The two of them stood there without saying a word.

The journalist, Martin, tossed his cigarette butt and came over.

"Father, I thought you would hold out to the end." His tone was complicated. "You... you signed?"

"I did," the priest said. "I had no choice."

"None of us have a choice," Martin said with a bitter smile. "Those are the rules in this country. Either you obey, or you die."

Werner stood at the door, watching the scene unfold.

Five people.

Five people who had been imprisoned, tortured, and nearly broken by this country.

Now, they were finally going to be free.

But what was the cost?

The priest had abandoned his principles.

These five people had admitted they were "guilty."

The West German Government had paid five hundred thousand Marks.

And Werner himself—he had used threats and lies to force an old man to compromise.

Vogel came over and asked in a low voice, "Is it all settled?"

"It’s settled," Werner said. "When’s the delivery?"

"Dawn tomorrow," Vogel said, glancing at his watch. "Helmstedt-Marienborn Checkpoint. The West German side is ready."

"And the money?"

"Once the people are safely in West Germany, the money will be wired to the account," Vogel said with a relieved smile. "Werner, we did it. The first deal. Five hundred thousand West German Marks."

Werner nodded and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, the priest called out to him.

"Young man."

Werner turned back.

The priest was standing in the middle of the living room, looking at him.

"You got what you wanted today," he said. "But one day, you’ll understand that some things are more important than money."

Werner didn’t answer.

He pushed the door open and walked out.

The sky outside was already starting to whiten.

In the distance, factory smokestacks billowed white smoke, forming gray columns in the morning light.

Werner lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

’Perhaps the priest was right. One day, he would pay the price for what he’d done today. But not now. For now, he just had to get these five people to the border, collect the money, and then move on to the next deal.’