It was a quiet afternoon at Checkpoint Charlie in West Berlin when suddenly a convoy of official cars raced up to the Wall from the Communist sector of the city. Out swarmed dozens of Russian security men around a familiar portly figure decked out in a black astrakhan cap and grey overcoat. It was Nikita Khrushchev all right, and he promptly proceeded to give one of his impromptu theatrical performances. Grinning broadly, he mugged for photographers, gaily waved a pudgy finger at the barbed wire and steel barrier, then ambled over for a chat with a busload of astonished...
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