Chapter Twelve
“I seem to have spent my whole life hunting things,” said Mike Stern.
They were huddled in a Trabant, new paint job, new licence plates, parked up in a side street in West Berlin, watching the scene before them. It was near midnight and in the distance, along the street, was the padded door of a nightclub. A large concierge, more geared for violence than welcoming clientele, stood guard outside.
“When I was a boy in Virginia, my daddy would take me hunting. I got my first stag when I was twelve years old and was a few years away from having whiskers. So by the time I joined up for the military, I really just swapped hunting animals for hunting men,” reflected Stern.
It was Mike's last few weeks in Berlin. His secondment to SIS's Covert Operations Group had come to an end
