CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
On Shakespeare Street, a van is waiting. The slogan ‘Fresh Fish’ is painted on the side panel alongside a cartoon picture of a herring. Hencke walks off down Shakespeare Street without a backward glance, and the Stasi men bundle you into one of the four tiny cages inside the van, handcuffing you to the door. The doors bang shut, and you’re engulfed in darkness. It’s hours before the van comes to a halt again and you’re released into the fresh air and can stretch your aching limbs.
You’re in a high-walled courtyard, and dawn is breaking. (Years later, you learn you were still in Leipzig. They drove around to disorientate you.) A young guard grabs your elbow and propels you up some stairs and along a corridor that stinks of disinfectant. Halfway along, he stops outside a
