The following day at noon, Tony Marino approached Frieda’s Café, tucked in a row of quaint buildings on Anklame Strasse. The weather was pleasant, the few outdoor tables scattered along the pavement mostly occupied. He saw Kirstin sitting in a corner, two men at a table beside her, one older and the second young, perhaps a college student. She was chatting as if she knew them when he walked up and pretended to search for a seat. After a moment passed, he motioned to an empty chair beside Kirstin.
Anklame Strasse“Please, sit down,” she said, knowing the charade was for anyone watching. It was a weak excuse, but all she could manage.
She turned to the adjacent table. “Dieter Katz and Dr. Werner, this is Tony Marino.”
The men nodded discreetly. Marino studied those around them, the waiter
