Chapter 162: No One Is Innocent
Two days later, Berlin.
A Rolls Royce bearing the British flag moved slowly through the streets.
Sitting in the back seat, Chamberlain looked out at a city he knew, yet no longer recognized.
The shrill whine of electric drills mingled with the heavy clang of hammers, forming a harsh but strangely vigorous symphony. Entire rows of old buildings were being demolished. Steel frames rose behind the construction barriers, and half-finished towers clawed upward until they nearly blotted out the sky.
Berlin was changing at a speed that made even an experienced politician uneasy.
Slogans hung across the barriers in bold black letters.
[True equality is women taking up picks and building a better tomorrow for Germany.]
[Culture is the symbol that distinguishes friends from enemies.]
[Extremism is something Germany must discard, but that does not mean we shall forget revenge or progress.]
The most striking of all was a recruitment poster painted in the style of an oil portrait.
Two black eagles circled beneath a stormy sky. Below them, German soldiers in black uniforms marched forward in perfect order, rifles on their shoulders, boots landing as one. In the center, a single line of German text stood out like a challenge.
[Germany needs soldiers. The Wehrmacht needs future generals.]
[And you are the next one.]
This ancient capital now stood before Chamberlain in a completely unfamiliar form. Whether it was better or worse, he had no mood to judge.
His thoughts were fixed on a single question.
How could he persuade Jörg von Roman?
Churchill, who had returned to the political stage and now sat beside him, was clearly far more interested in the scenery. After staring outside for a long moment, he snorted and shut the car window with some irritation.
In his eyes, that recruitment poster was not propaganda.
It was a declaration of war from hell.
And Roman was the devil who had written it.
The car turned left.
Instead of heading toward a mansion on Unter den Linden as usual, it entered another avenue that had already been cleared of ordinary traffic.
When the vehicle stopped, Chamberlain stepped out and looked up at the building before him.
It was a restaurant.
Its façade carried an unmistakably Western style, with carved wooden screens, hanging lanterns, and a signboard written in German. It looked utterly out of place in this transforming Berlin, yet precisely because of that, it seemed impossible to ignore.
Under Lia's guidance, Chamberlain and Churchill entered the restaurant and climbed to the second floor.
Lia wore a fitted black suit today. Her expression was calm, her movements efficient, and she carried herself with the confidence of a woman who had grown accustomed to being watched, doubted, and obeyed.
When they reached the private room, they saw Jörg sitting by the window, drinking black tea while speaking with a familiar man.
Chamberlain paused.
"You are... Mr. Dawes?"
Dawes looked up. Seeing Chamberlain, he seemed to realize he had overstayed his welcome. He placed down the chopsticks he still did not use very well and stood.
"Mr. Chamberlain."
He shook Chamberlain's hand, then looked carefully at Churchill for a moment before recognizing him and offering a handshake as well.
Afterward, Dawes turned back to Jörg with a smile.
"I shall not disturb you any longer, Jörg. When you have time, you must come to my home."
Jörg nodded.
"I will."
Only after Dawes had left did Jörg turn toward the two British politicians.
The smile on his face changed slightly.
It remained polite, but the warmth had disappeared.
"Please, gentlemen, sit. I am delighted that you have come to Berlin in a private capacity. Would you like something to eat? The food here is excellent."
As he spoke, he wiped a trace of oil from the corner of his mouth and gestured toward the table.
Chamberlain sat down, but shook his head at once.
"No, thank you, Mr. Roman. I had lunch on the plane before coming. I would like to discuss matters concerning the Middle East, and penicillin."
His tone was more impatient than usual.
"We have discovered that Germany is selling large quantities of weapons, as well as a medicine called penicillin, to forces in the Middle East. Considering that this will intensify the war and lead to more innocent sacrifices, we would like to request that the German government cancel all sales of weapons and medicine to the Middle Eastern rebels."
Jörg crossed one leg over the other and tilted his head slightly, listening as if this request truly deserved careful consideration.
Then he shook his head without hesitation.
"I am sorry, Mr. Chamberlain. If you have come all the way here merely to warn me, then I believe there is nothing further to discuss."
He spread his hands, his expression almost regretful.
"Business is business. Politics is politics. I believe you understand this better than I do. It is normal commercial conduct for arms manufacturers to sell weapons to countries in the Middle East. If Cardolan Pharmaceuticals develops a new drug, then it may sell that drug to whomever it wishes."
At the other end of the table, Churchill curled his lip in disdain.
He clearly wanted to retort, but perhaps because this was still a diplomatic conversation, he forced himself to remain silent and only bit down on his pipe.
Chamberlain was no fool. He understood the hidden meaning in Jörg's words.
Germany could stop selling.
But not for free.
"What would satisfy you?" Chamberlain asked directly.
Jörg gestured for the waiter to remove the empty plates. Soon, a rich chocolate cake was placed before him.
He cut off a piece, ate slowly, then handed two newspapers across the table.
One was Austrian.
The other was Czechoslovak.
Both reported the same development. Public enthusiasm for unification with Germany was rising rapidly. More than seventy-five percent of respondents believed that joining Germany would benefit economic development and political stability.
Jörg placed his fork down.
"As long as the British government gives tacit approval to the unification of Germany, Austria, and Czechoslovakia, and abandons its infiltration of Saudi Arabia, its political colonization of Iraq, and its de facto colonization of Jordan, then all the conditions you proposed earlier may take effect."
Churchill reacted as if someone had stepped on his tail.
"Mr. Roman, you truly have great confidence in your negotiating skill. Do you even understand what you are saying?"
Jörg swallowed the cake unhurriedly.
"Of course I do, Mr. Churchill. But you are mistaken on one point. I do not have great confidence in my negotiating skill."
He raised his eyes.
"I have great confidence in Germany."
Churchill's expression darkened.
"And who do you think you are? The seas are not filled only with merchant ships."
There was anger in his voice now, thinly concealed beneath the words. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Sensing that the conversation was approaching a point of no return, Chamberlain took over again, his tone gentler.
"No offense is intended, Mr. Roman. We indeed do not have the authority to decide on that matter here and now. Let us set it aside for the moment and discuss the purchase of penicillin."
He leaned forward slightly.
"We would like to purchase one ton of penicillin for five million pounds."
Then he added, "If you are interested, we are also willing to offer fifty million pounds for the manufacturing technology."
Jörg smiled.
"Mr. Chamberlain, five million pounds for one ton? Are you joking?"
He tapped his finger lightly against the table.
"The output of this medicine is pitifully small, and the cost is unimaginably high. Our current price is twenty dollars per injection of four hundred thousand units. One unit is zero point zero zero six grams, which means four hundred thousand units equal zero point two four grams."
He looked at Chamberlain calmly.
"For a bulk purchase, I can offer you a discount. Eighty dollars per gram. One ton is eighty million dollars. Of course, if we settle the transaction, it will not be settled in dollars, but in Marks."
Churchill's mouth opened slightly.
For a moment, even he seemed unable to find words.
The British government's annual naval expenditure was a little over one hundred million pounds, roughly four hundred million dollars. One ton of penicillin would consume nearly a quarter of the Royal Navy's annual budget.
This was not merely an inflated price.
This was a knife pressed openly against Britain's flesh.
"You are deliberately raising the price, Mr. Roman," Churchill said coldly. "We found this medicine among the Arabs. I refuse to believe the Saudi government paid eighty million dollars."
Jörg's smile did not change.
"They did not."
He picked up his tea and took a sip.
"But they gave me a promise. If the war ends and they are not defeated, then many of Saudi Arabia's valuable assets and rights will become collateral for their debt."
He placed the cup down and looked at Churchill with open amusement.
"You may also choose not to pay in cash. How about using Australia as collateral?"
The words sounded like a joke.
But no one at the table laughed.
.....
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