Sammy snuck a glance over his shoulder. Keep calm, he told himself. Breathe.
He sipped from his takeaway coffee. The cafe was four blocks behind him. Should he retrace his steps? Continue ahead?
Move slow. Move smooth. He fought to keep the cup from shaking. The city streets were not safe for “his kind.” Ever.
Sammy peeked again. His pursuer had also stopped. The man’s distinctive blue hat and jacket stuck out against the gray storefronts.
No question. Sammy had become an “object of interest.”
He took out his smartphone and pressed the luminous record button. Thank God for ZiVo, the app every Jew owned—and used.
Phone pressed to his ear, Sammy feigned conversation.
“This is Samuel Schwarz. I am walking up Hauptstrasse towards Potsdamer Platz. I have done nothing wrong, violated no
