“I don’t know,” the lieutenant said, “but everything’s so confusing now that I doubt anyone will stop us. What’s to lose? Let’s give it a try.”

Though most of the new one-stars were a little concerned about getting stopped or even detained by East German or Russian guards—and about getting chewed out for putting themselves at risk without a good reason—they were unable to resist such a dare from a hard-charging young officer. So they piled into a van and headed for Checkpoint Charlie, where, to their astonishment, they found no guards. It was like the ghost of an old Cold War movie set.

On the other side, the main streets of East Berlin—Unter den Linden and Karl-Marx-Allee—offered a façade of modernity, an East German communist Potemkin village. But turning off the showplace avenues revealed the real differences between East and West—pockmarked walls still bearing bullet scars from the war—while more recent buildings were cheap and ugly Soviet-style cinder block and concrete, run-down and shabby. Instead of the new BMWs, Mercedes, and Audis of the West, they saw small cheap East German Traubis.

The most striking aspect of East Berlin was its quiet. Few people were about; there was no vibrant, urban bustle, as in West Berlin. In fact, there was little evidence of commerce . . . or activity of any kind.

East Berlin was a far cry from a great, modern world city like New York, London, or Paris . . . or its sister to the west. It was a poor, depressed, patched-together relic from the 1950s.

As they were taking all this in, the lieutenant came up with another bright idea. “Let’s go find a Russian military compound,” he said.

“Sure,” the one-stars agreed. “A terrific idea.” They were really game by then to push their luck. This was an opportunity they could have only dreamed about before this moment.