Chapter 385 - 30: The Road to Whitewashing: The Final Gambit

"Report me for what?"

"For being a core member of the Stasi. For laundering hundreds of millions of Marks for them."

Werner laughed. "Does he have any proof?"

"No. But..."

"Then it's fine. Anna, Von Brown is a mad dog right now, lashing out at anyone he can. Nobody will believe him."

"But the prosecutor—"

"The prosecutor won't believe him either," Werner said, his tone certain. "Von Brown can't even save himself right now. His words have zero credibility."

Anna was silent for a moment. "So, what are you going to do?"

"Go see him," Werner said, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Make him understand that he'd be better off keeping his mouth shut."

*********

The next morning, Werner went to Horner Schonehausen Prison.

The gray building stood on the edge of East Berlin like a crouching beast. Werner passed through multiple security checks and was led to the visiting room.

The visiting room was small, with a thick pane of glass dividing it down the middle. Werner sat down and waited a few minutes. The door on the other side opened, and Von Brown was escorted in by two guards.

Von Brown had lost a lot of weight. His cheeks were hollowed, and his eyes were sunken. He wore a gray prison uniform and was still in handcuffs. He froze for a second when he saw Werner, then sat down.

"Werner," Von Brown's voice was hoarse. "What are you doing here? To laugh at me?"

"No," Werner said, leaning back in his chair. "I just wanted to confirm something."

"What?"

"I hear you plan to testify against me in court?"

Von Brown stared at him. "So what if I am?"

"I'd advise you against it," Werner said calmly. "It won't do you any good."

"Won't do me any good?" Von Brown sneered. "I'm in prison, probably facing a fifteen-year sentence. What could possibly be worse for me?"

"There is," Werner said, lighting a cigarette and watching him through the glass. "For example, your sentence becoming twenty years."

The color drained from Von Brown's face. "What do you mean?"

"I have proof that you spied on civilians," Werner said slowly. "Specifics down to the date, location, and victims' names. If you dare spout nonsense in court, I'll hand this evidence over to the prosecutor."

"You—" Von Brown's hand slammed against the glass. "You bastard!"

"Von Brown," Werner took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke, "we're both smart men. You should understand that in this situation, testifying against me won't benefit you in any way."

"I want to drag you down with me!" Von Brown's voice was almost a roar. "You think you can wash yourself clean? You think you can escape? I won't let you get away with it!"

"You can't drag me down," Werner's tone remained calm. "Von Brown, I destroyed all the sensitive material about me in the Stasi archives long ago. You have nothing but your word. What can you prove?"

Von Brown glared at him, his chest heaving violently.

"Besides," Werner continued, "you're a prisoner now, a high-ranking Stasi officer. Whatever you say, the prosecutor will just suspect you're lying to get revenge on me."

Having said his piece, Werner stood up and turned to leave.

As he walked out of the prison, the rain started again. Werner stood at the entrance and lit a cigarette. He looked at the gray building, thinking of his years of entanglement with Von Brown.

Von Brown had used him, treated him as a pawn. But at times, when others were investigating Werner and it might have implicated Von Brown, Von Brown would help him out. It was a complicated relationship—one of mutual exploitation and mutual suspicion. Neither trusted the other, but neither could do without the other.

Now, that relationship was over. Von Brown was in prison; Werner was still on the outside. The victor had been decided.

After driving home, Werner sat in his car, not getting out right away. He lit another cigarette, watching the rain beat against the windshield.

"Marcus Stein," he said softly, "we'll see each other in court."

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

May 15, 1990, 8:30 in the morning.

A crowd had already gathered at the entrance of the East Berlin Higher Court.

This was a special tribunal established specifically to hear cases involving former high-ranking Koko officials and their collaboration with the Stasi. The judge was sent from West Germany, and there were also several strictly vetted individuals serving as lay judges.

Reporters hoisted cameras on their shoulders as camera flashes went off one after another.

Some held up signs: "Liquidate the Old Regime!" "Give Us Justice!" Others shouted: "Let him go!" "He helped us!" The two groups faced off as police maintained order in between.

Werner got out of the car, his lawyer, Rosenblum, at his side.

"Are you ready?" Rosenblum asked in a low voice.

"Of course," Werner said, straightening his tie.

The crowd immediately swarmed them, thrusting microphones in his face.

"Mr. Betelich! Do you plead guilty?"

"Did you really help political prisoners?"

"Where did you get the money you have in Switzerland?"

Werner didn't answer, simply walking into the courthouse with a blank expression.

The courtroom was on the third floor. It wasn't large, but it was packed with people.

The gallery was crammed with reporters, former dissidents, former Koko colleagues, and ordinary citizens. There were also some sharply dressed individuals whose identities were unclear, but their eyes were keen. Werner knew they were the "observers" sent from West Germany.

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

At nine o'clock sharp, the judge banged his gavel.

The presiding judge was a West German man in his fifties named Friedrich Schulz. He wore glasses and had a stern expression. Beside him sat three lay judges—two from West Berlin and one vetted citizen from East Berlin.

"Order in the court," Judge Schulz said, surveying the courtroom and clearing his throat.

"The special tribunal of the Berlin Higher Court is now in session to hear the case of Werner Betelich, who is suspected of transferring state assets, money laundering, and collaborating with the Stasi."

The gallery fell silent.

"Mr. Prosecutor, please state the charges."

Marcus Stein stood up.

He was thirty-two years old, from West Germany, and was dressed in a sharp suit, his hair combed impeccably. He walked to the center of the courtroom, scanned the room, and began to speak.

"Your Honor, members of the court, citizens in the gallery," his voice was powerful. "Today, we are here to pass judgment on a vested interest who profited from the old regime."

He turned and pointed at Werner.

"Werner Betelich worked at Koko for twenty-seven years. From 1963 to 1990, he used his position to transfer tens of millions of Marks in state assets to overseas accounts."

Stein held up a piece of paper for the gallery to see.

"This is the defendant's account record from Zurich Bank in Switzerland. Account opened: 1976. Balance: four million, two hundred thousand Swiss francs."

An uproar erupted in the gallery. Four million, two hundred thousand Swiss francs—an amount an ordinary East German could never earn in a lifetime.

"And this. Property registration in Liechtenstein. Three villas with a total value of over two million Swiss francs. The owner: Werner Betelich."

"Where did this money come from?" Stein's voice grew louder. "Why would an East German official possess so many assets in the West?"

He walked back to the center of the courtroom and leaned on the table with both hands.

"According to Articles 3 and 7 of the former East Germany's Foreign Exchange Control Act, it is a crime for any citizen to transfer assets abroad without authorization," Stein said, picking up a document. "There are no official authorization records for any of the defendant's overseas accounts or properties."

"What's more," Stein continued, "we have evidence showing that the defendant had a long-term collaborative relationship with Stasi Major Reiner von Brown. Reiner von Brown was a notorious interrogation specialist for the Stasi who persecuted countless dissidents."

Rosenblum stood up. "Your Honor, I object to the prosecutor's phrasing. The prosecutor is forcibly connecting two facts without sufficient evidence."

Judge Schulz glanced at Rosenblum. "The defense counsel's objection is noted for the record. Mr. Prosecutor, please continue, but be careful to distinguish between statements of fact and inference."

Stein nodded. "I move to call a witness—Reiner von Brown."

The judge looked at his documents. "Granted."