We got there first. The area in front of the theater bustled with activity. We wormed our way through the crowd and realized they had prisoners. Three uniformed ÁVO officers were lined up against a stone wall, their hands in the air. Two of our soldiers pointed their guns at them. “No! No!” someone shouted. “String them up!”
I looked at the faces of the prisoners. They looked terrified, like cornered animals. One man wore an officer’s hat. A woman, I took to be a civilian, slapped him so hard his cap flew off. Then she spit at the decorations on his chest. The man had blond wavy hair. His eyes darted nervously from face to face. I knew that if we didn’t do anything, they would be executed on the spot. I told Michelangelo to do something. Michelangelo scanned the angry faces and said in a
