Steiner Beck approached a square building recently built of gray stone, part of Stasi headquarters on Rusche Strasse. There were several similar buildings, a complex of government offices that all looked the same, scattered along the boulevard. A large mound of rubble sat across the street, covering most of the block, remnants of bombed buildings from the Second World War. He suspected that someday soon the rubble would be cleared, replaced by square gray buildings like the one he was about to enter.
Rusche Strasse. It was a warm day, a bit humid, the air stinking of sulfur, smoke belched from the lofty chimneys of a nearby factory that left the area draped in a misty haze. The leaves of trees planted along the street wilted with the humidity, some of the upper branches dying from polluti
