Tony Marino drove his Volkswagen away from the apartment building, turned the corner, and continued three blocks through a residential area, a few restaurants and stores sprinkled among the townhouses and apartments. He went south and then east to Invalidenstrasse, a frequently used crossing between East and West Berlin. He parked close to the border, expecting to find turmoil and pandemonium, angry crowds with policeman controlling them, and a strong military presence. Instead, he found a handful of residents looking curiously at a closed border. Two policemen stood nearby, warily watching the concrete barriers, barbed wire fencing, and stone-faced guards as they paced to and fro. Marino observed for a few moments, expecting something to happen, but not sure what it would be. When nothing
