A cold fog swirled over the River Spree, masking the watchtowers of Berlin's Wall and gathering in bright droplets on the bars of its newly installed steel gates. Suddenly, Communist searchlights poked white fingers into the fog, and the deep-throated barking of the Grenzpolizei's watchdogs echoed off the brick and barbed-wire barrier. A British military policeman scanned the Spree for escaping swimmers, but soon the searchlights flicked off, the dogs quieted, and the only sound was the rhythmic slam of Grepo boots on the cobblestones across the way. "They either got the poor bugger," muttered the MP, "or they...
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