The Rise Of A Billionaire 1943
Chapter 67 - 76: The Germans Are Suckers

Chapter 67: Chapter 76: The Germans Are Suckers

"North Borneo Company..."

The bright Mediterranean sunlight streamed through the window into the room.

At this moment, Berlin should have been icy cold, with the shrill sound of air raid sirens in the background.

Sitting on the sofa, holding a glass of red wine, Berlin sat there, eyes fixed on the window. Finally, from the shadows of the room, he let out an almost inaudible sigh.

"This might not be a bad choice after all."

He stood up from the sofa unhurriedly, took a sip of wine, and once again walked to the window, gazing outside.

On the distant road, speeding jeeps and American soldiers reminded him that this place had already been occupied by the Americans. They were advancing northward relentlessly.

The Americans had established a firm foothold on the European continent!

"Four years ago, when we occupied Paris, I thought we had won the war. But now, only a few years have passed..."

As an agent of the Military Intelligence Bureau, he had witnessed both Germany’s victories and its defeats.

With the surrender of the Afrika Korps, and especially after the Allies landed in Italy, his superiors in distant Berlin had quietly begun making preparations for the future.

And they were responsible for carrying out these tasks. According to the plan, they were supposed to go to Spain and use the intelligence bureau’s companies there to establish a secret route to South American countries such as Argentina.

But this...

The secret passage requires ships!

It was at this moment that the batch of Italian merchant ships purchased by Pierre caught their attention.

Pierre was Chinese, and China was a member of the Allies. Traveling to the Americas aboard an Allied vessel seemed to offer greater safety.

Would Pierre agree?

First and foremost, he was a businessman!

For businessmen, as long as the price is right, they’d even sell their souls!

Just as initially speculated, Pierre did not refuse the proposal. After all, who could turn down such a guarantee of safety? With this assurance, they could sail the Atlantic in security.

However, Pierre’s suggestion revealed another possibility to Berlin.

"Just as he said, is Argentina really the best choice?"

Once again, Pierre’s words flashed through Berlin’s mind. Staring at the backdrop of the man in front of him, he said,

"The whole world knows Perón is absolutely friendly to us. Even if the United States eventually forces Argentina to declare war on Germany, it won’t change this fact. A friendly country can certainly offer us asylum. The only problem is... the whole world knows about it!"

Gently swirling his wine glass, Berlin’s smile faded as he spoke.

"The Allies will know we’re hiding there too. If they demand to enter Argentina and investigate, do you think Perón and his people can withstand American pressure?"

"So, he’s given us another option!"

The man standing by the window gazed outside, watching a jeep drive by. He seemed to be picturing the future of Germany—would Allied vehicles also roam freely in a defeated Germany?

They couldn’t afford to think that far ahead now. At this moment, they could only look out for themselves and their families.

"North Borneo Company!"

"That’s a colony—hmm, he’s already bought the company. Over seventy thousand square kilometers of colonial land belong to his company. After the war, all sorts of people will be needed there. We can help each other: he provides us with shelter, and we help him build his nation—or rather, his company..."

"Asia..."

The man by the window nodded slightly and said,

"Who would expect us to go to Asia? The whole world thinks we’re in South America..."

He set his empty glass on the table by the window and nodded again.

"Looks like I’ll need to return to Berlin!"

Then he turned to Berlin and said,

"Keep in touch with him. Who knows? Maybe this really is a good option."

Most of the time, a first meeting is tentative.

To work together more closely, they’d have to wait. At the very least, trust needed to be established.

The next afternoon, Berlin appeared before Pierre once again. Unlike last time, when he only painted a rosy picture, this time he brought a contract.

"Iron ore?"

"Yes, transporting iron ore from Spain to Marseille—fifty thousand tons in total. Spain is a neutral country, and transporting goods to France is in line with international law."

The "France" Berlin referred to was, of course, Vichy France.

"You can consider this the beginning of our cooperation. And I believe that during our partnership, you’ll reap substantial rewards."

As he finished speaking, Berlin placed his briefcase on the table. Its weight made one wonder what was inside.

"This is the deposit."

Berlin took out two gleaming gold bars from the bag.

Gold bars!

They even bore the Third Reich’s eagle insignia and the weight!

10 kilograms each!

Two gold bars—twenty kilograms in total!

Looking Pierre straight in the eye, he said,

What a generous offer!

With a sigh, Pierre glanced at the gold and replied lightly,

"You should know, shipping costs are very high these days."

If you come across a sucker and don’t take advantage, you’d be letting your ancestors down.

"I like you,"

Berlin shrugged and said.

"Because you’re a shrewd businessman!"

Sometimes, the reason for liking someone is just that simple.

Pierre crossed his arms and simply smiled at him without saying a word.

Berlin said straightforwardly,

"Name your price."

...

After signing the iron ore transport contract with Berlin, Pierre immediately drove to the port of Taranto in southeastern Italy. This was the largest port in southern Italy. During the North African campaign, German and Italian transport ships had departed from here for Africa.

Because of this, tens of thousands of tons of Italian merchant ships were now gathered here. Now that they were no longer needed, these merchant vessels sat idle in the harbor, and unemployed sailors filled the area around the port.

Standing on the dock, looking at the freighter before him named "Tunisia," Pierre looked quite pleased with himself. He even took out a cigar, lighting it in the style of "Fatty Churchill."

Now, all these ships belonged to Li.

"Mr. Li, these ships are all yours now!"

Alberto, the deputy manager of the Italian shipping company, said with a hint of regret in his voice.

"When we built these ships back then, it cost us thirty million dollars. And now... they’re only worth two million. Sir, you’ve made the best investment possible."

Listening to Alberto’s words—whether he was complaining or sighing—Pierre didn’t really care. He simply smiled and said,

"Mr. Alberto, when the war is over, no one will want to buy these old ships."

Really? No one?

At least, when the United States launched the Marshall Plan, thousands of Liberty ships were left idle in American ports. These old ships... really were hard to sell!

But "hard to sell" doesn’t mean "unsellable." These ships might not look large, but in reality, there aren’t many ports in Asia that can accommodate ten-thousand-ton Liberty ships. In contrast, these smaller cargo ships of several thousand tons are actually more suitable for North Borneo.

"Who knows?"

Alberto shook his head helplessly. Looking at the merchant ships in the harbor, he specifically reminded Pierre,

"Mr. Li, although you acquired this fleet at a low price, you must understand that the daily docking fees are not discounted. If you can’t find business for them soon, this expense will be quite significant..."

"That’s true, so..."

Pierre glanced at the bewildered sailors standing by the dock.

"Mr. Alberto, would you be willing to command this fleet?"

"What?"

"Sorry, I didn’t make myself clear. I mean, would you be willing to take charge of my shipping company?"

Looking at Alberto, Pierre knew about this guy—he was definitely an expert at running shipping companies and organizing transport. Even under the Allied air and naval attacks, he had managed to ensure the supply of goods to North Africa as much as possible.

Not making use of such talent would be a real waste.

"Of course, sir."

Alberto accepted almost without hesitation. After all, he needed a job—or rather, he needed a job that paid.

"Alright then, Mr. Alberto. Now we need to get our fleet moving as soon as possible. Do you have any suggestions?"

"First, we need to hire crew. That’s not a problem, since there are captains, crew members, and sailors right here in the port. They all need jobs too."

In fact, this was one of the reasons Pierre had come to Italy—not only were there ready merchant ships, but also ready crews.

"That’s fine."

"But, as you know, sir, the Italian lira is depreciating rapidly. The crew would prefer to be paid in U.S. dollars or in goods."

In goods? That’s no problem at all.

If there’s one thing we have plenty of, it’s goods, Pierre said.

"If we use sugar as the standard, how many kilos does each crew member need? I mean, as monthly wages."

"Sugar!"

Alberto’s face immediately lit up with joy.

"Ten kilos—no, eight kilos. Eight kilos is enough for ordinary crew members..."

Pierre was stunned—this... this was dirt cheap!