PDLP Chapter 172 Wasteland Under the Iron Curtain
Chapter 172 Wasteland Under the Iron Curtain
June 26, 1989, early morning.
Place Vendôme, Paris.
The heavy curtains at the Ritz Hotel blocked out the first rays of morning sunlight, and the room was filled with the calming scent of lavender.
Ayako Yoshino and Reiko Isokawa were still fast asleep, their bedroom door tightly shut. They must have exhausted themselves with last night's social engagements.
Satsuki was already dressed.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror in the entryway, making one last adjustment to the collar of her trench coat. It was a sharply tailored black Burberry trench coat, which, compared to the languid beige tones of Paris, appeared more austere and cold.
"Is everything arranged?"
Satsuki asked softly.
Fujita stood outside the door, carrying a lightweight black leather suitcase.
"Yes, Miss. The school has already spoken to them."
Fujita reported in a low voice.
"The reason given was that 'the Saionji family's branch in Germany has urgent assets that require a guardian's signature.' The headmaster hesitated for a moment but did not object. As for Ms. Yoshino and the others, I left a note saying that I was going to handle some family business and would meet them in London in two days."
"very good."
Satsuki put on sunglasses, concealing the weariness in her eyes.
She pushed open the door and stepped out of the suite. The carpet in the hallway muffled her footsteps.
She didn't even glance back at the still-sleeping paradise.
For Ayako and the others, it was a carefree school trip. But for Satsuki, Paris was just a transit point, a glamorous ball used as a cover.
The ball is over, and it's time for the hunters to get going.
……
Two hours later.
Charles de Gaulle Airport, private helipad.
The Gulfstream G4's engines were warmed up, emitting a deep roar. The heat distorted the air at the end of the runway.
Satsuki climbed the gangway.
The cabin door slowly closed, shutting out the romance and glitz of Paris.
"Destination: West Berlin, Tempelhof Airport"
The captain's voice came over the intercom.
The plane taxied, accelerated, and soared proudly into the sky.
At 30,000 feet, Satsuki looked out the window. The clouds below gradually changed from soft white to oppressive leaden gray.
That's the color of the North German plains.
It was also the color of the front lines of the Cold War.
……
It was evening.
West Berlin, Tempelhof Airport.
This was once an architectural marvel of NC Germany, but now it is a vital choke point on an isolated island under Allied control.
The enormous, curved terminal building resembles a giant steel eagle, spreading its wings and overlooking every arriving passenger.
The hatch opened.
A completely different atmosphere rushed in.
Gone is the scent of chestnut blossoms from the banks of the Seine; instead, there is a rough, sour smell of burning lignite, the stale smell of industrial oil, and a certain dry, dusty aroma.
Fine coal dust drifted in the air.
Satsuki wrapped her trench coat tighter and stepped off the plane down the gangway.
The wind was strong, and it tousled her hair.
Not far from the tarmac, several U.S. military C-130 transport planes were parked silently, their massive propellers looking particularly menacing in the twilight. Beams of searchlight swept across the gray sky, and occasionally the sonic boom of a jet fighter could be heard in the distance.
This is an isolated island surrounded by a red ocean.
A powder keg that could erupt into World War III at any moment.
A black Mercedes-Benz W126 with West German license plates was already waiting. The car was spotless, but it looked somewhat out of place against the gloomy background.
A middle-aged man with a receding hairline, wearing a dark gray suit, stood beside the car.
Hans von Schneider.
He looked to be around fifty years old, his back ramrod straight, almost stiffly. His suit was made of fine fabric, but the cuffs showed extremely fine wear. His typical Germanic face was etched with deep nasolabial folds, and his eyes held a complex mix of arrogance and dejection characteristic of the old aristocracy.
Seeing Satsuki come down, Hans stubbed out his cigarette, quickly straightened his tie, and went to greet her.
"Ms. Saionji, welcome to Berlin."
His German was standard but stiff, and he bowed slightly. His manners were impeccable, yet he exuded a sense of aloofness that kept people at a distance.
In his eyes, this girl from the East was probably just another arrogant, nouveau riche Japanese. He'd seen too many people like this lately, waving yen around, buying designer bags and castles in Europe, trying to fill their cultural inferiority complex with money.
"The car is ready." Hans opened the car door mechanically. "The suite at the Kempinski Hotel has also been confirmed. Would you like to rest first, or go shopping on Ku'damm Street? The shops there are still open."
Satsuki stopped in her tracks.
She took off her sunglasses, her dark eyes sweeping over Hans's somewhat rigid face before looking at the gray shadow that cut the city in the distance.
"Not going to the hotel."
Satsuki's voice was somewhat scattered by the wind.
"We don't go to the stores either."
She climbed into the back seat, where the comforting smell of leather filled the air.
"Take me to Potsdamer Platz."
Hans froze for a moment, his hand on the car door hanging in mid-air.
"Where? Potsdamer Platz?"
He thought he had misheard.
"Miss, that place is not a good tourist spot now. There's nothing there, just ruins and rabbits."
"drive."
Satsuki offered no explanation.
Hans frowned, closed the car door, and walked around to the driver's seat. He glanced at the strange Asian girl in the rearview mirror and started the engine.
……
The Mercedes drove out of the airport and merged into the congested traffic of West Berlin.
It was Friday evening.
The view outside the window presented a morbid, almost hysterical prosperity.
Neon lights flashed dazzlingly on both sides of Kurfürstendamm. Huge GG signs, featuring sexy blondes and Marlboro cowboys, served as a showcase of capitalism.
Punk youths with brightly colored mohawks are a common sight on the streets. They wear leather jackets, are covered in metal chains, and carry Kindl beer from Berlin. They kiss, laugh, and even give the middle finger to passing police cars without a care in the world.
The music store was filled with deafening heavy metal rock music, and David Bowie's voice mixed with Big M's cloying sweetness fermented in the air.
The people here are having a blast.
Hysterical revelry.
Because nobody knows whether Soviet Red Army tanks will roll into this street when they wake up tomorrow morning.
Since the future is unpredictable, let's just borrow from the present.
"A bunch of lunatics."
Hans looked out the window, muttered a curse under his breath, and rolled up the window.
As the car drove through the bustling area, the surrounding scenery gradually became desolate. The lights became sparse, and the road surface began to become uneven and potholed.
Finally, the car stopped in front of a desolate ruin.
"arrive."
Hans stopped the car, pointed ahead, and his tone revealed a sense of helplessness and disdain.
"This is Potsdamer Platz you're looking for."
Forty years ago, this was the busiest intersection in Europe, the heart of Berlin, and the center of Prussian glory.
But now, this is the end of the world.
An ugly, four-meter-high concrete wall stood in the way, abruptly cutting off the view. The wall was covered in graffiti of various colors—red, black, and yellow paint layered upon each other, like the festering wounds of the city.
The wall was covered with barbed wire, and in the distance, the searchlight beams of East German soldiers could be seen swaying in the watchtower.
On this side of the wall, on the West Berlin side...
It was a wasteland overgrown with weeds.
This is a dead end. Because it's right next to the wall, it has no commercial value, and even homeless people don't want to live here. Only a few wild rabbits hop between the abandoned tram tracks, and a few abandoned shipping containers are scattered in the grass.
"Miss Saionji, look."
Hans turned around, trying to persuade the capricious patron.
"There's nothing here. This land belongs to Daimler-Benz and a few bankrupt families, but it's been abandoned for thirty years. As long as this wall stands, it's worthless. Even people who want to take out their trash think it's too far away."
Satsuki pushed open the car door and got out.
The heels clicked as they stepped on the gravel and rubble.
The wind was strong, making the trench coat flutter loudly.
She walked to the wall.
A huge English graffiti was sprayed on the wall: "Change Your Life".
Satsuki reached out her hand.
Instead of touching the bright paint, the fingers pressed against the rough, cold concrete surface.
A chill ran through my fingertips.
She looked up at the gloomy sky beyond the wall.
That was East Berlin.
The place was deathly still, but this wall had already crumbled.
"Hans".
Satsuki did not turn back.
"I want this land."
Hans had just gotten out of the car when he heard this, and he stumbled and almost fell into the pile of broken bricks.
"Wh...what?"
"This piece of land." Satsuki turned around, her back to the Berlin Wall, which everyone considered indestructible, and pointed to the overgrown ruins at her feet. "From the base of this wall all the way to the edge of Tirgarten Park over there."
She stretched out her hand and drew a huge circle in the air.
"all."
Hans's mouth gaped open, his fat jiggling. He stared at the young Asian girl as if she were a madwoman.
"All of it?! This place is at least 60,000 square meters! And..."
He pointed to the wall behind him, his voice becoming shrill with excitement.
"This is a dead end! What are you going to do with it? Grow potatoes? Even if you were to grow potatoes, the soil here is full of shrapnel from World War II!"
In his view, this was not just foolish, it was practically throwing money into the Spree River.
Satsuki ignored his lapse in composure.
She picked up a broken brick from the ground and tossed it gently.
"Mr. von Schneider."
"Yes..." Hans responded subconsciously, the word "von" bringing back a bit of his aristocratic composure.
"Did you hear that?"
"Listen...what do you hear?" Hans looked around blankly. "Punk rock? Or an American plane?"
"No."
Satsuki threw the brick in her hand forcefully at the high wall.
"Snapped!"
With a crisp crack, the brick shattered, leaving a tiny white dot on the thick graffiti.
"That's the sound of loose bricks."
She dusted off her hands, and a slight smile appeared on her lips, which Hans found meaningful.
"This wall is already crumbling."
Hans looked at her and thought the reason was utterly absurd.
It's crumbly?
This is the Iron Curtain of the Cold War! The fulcrum of the nuclear balance! The border between two superpowers! How could it possibly collapse so easily?
On one side was the rising global superpower, the United States, and on the other was the unbreakable red giant, the Soviet Union. He simply couldn't imagine which side would back down.
"Ms. Saionji, I think you may have some misunderstandings about geopolitics..." Hans tried to save his client's wallet with rational analysis. "This wall will be there for at least fifty years, maybe even a hundred years."
"No buts."
Satsuki interrupted him.
She pulled a checkbook from her trench coat pocket; it contained promissory notes from UBS.
She spread out the checks on the dusty hood and pulled out the dark blue Montblanc pen.
What are the current land prices?
"Because there are no takers, Daimler's asking price is probably... 300 marks per square meter. The smaller plots held by those families are probably even cheaper," Hans replied mechanically.
Satsuki wrote a number on the check.
The pen tip scratched across the paper, making a soft, rustling sound.
"Sizzle."
She tore off the check and handed it to Hans.
"I'll offer five hundred marks."
"Tell those landowners I'll pay in cash. Whether it's Daimler or some Prussian nobleman, as long as they sign, the money is theirs."
"There's only one condition: I want to see all the land deeds by tomorrow morning."
Hans took the check.
His gaze fell on that number.
That's a huge sum of money. Enough to buy a nice apartment building on Kurfürstendamm, or a small castle in Bavaria.
His Adam's apple bobbed.
As a member of a fallen aristocratic family, he looked down on the nouveau riche, but he couldn't resist money. Especially money that was so foolish, so generous, and so unreasonable.
His pathetic Prussian arrogance vanished instantly in the face of this check.
"...Yes, ma'am."
Hans carefully put the check into his pocket, his tone becoming much more respectful.
"Since you insist, I think those landlords will be happy to dump this mess on you. I'll take care of it immediately."
"Then let's get it done."
Satsuki didn't look at that wasteland again.
She got back into the car and closed the door.
"Let's go. Let's find a place to eat near Checkpoint Charlie."
"We're going to the other side of the wall first thing tomorrow morning."
The Mercedes started up, turned around, and drove away from this forgotten corner of the world.
Night fell completely.
The neon lights of West Berlin came on, and the roar of heavy metal rock music drifted from afar.
In the rearview mirror, the high wall still stood silently, like a huge scar dividing the world in two. The beam of the searchlight swept across the top of the wall, making it appear stern and terrifying.
The car headlights swept across the wall.
The graffiti that read "Change Your Life" flashed by in the darkness.
Satsuki leaned back in her chair, watching the street scenes rushing past the window.
The wind whistled through the barbed wire, its sound overlapping with the distant footsteps of East German soldiers on patrol.
The funeral is approaching.