Rain hit the steamed-up window of the restaurant. A cork popped from a bottle of wine. The officers at the next table laughed loudly, like men who were used to laughing in wide-open spaces, possibly on horseback, but never in small Berlin restaurants. They even clinked their glasses with more panache and noise than was properly required. In the kitchen someone shouted that an order was ready. I looked at Scheuer’s watch—my own was still in a paper bag back at Landsberg. It was one-thirty.

“Maybe I’ll check the bar,” I said.

“Good idea,” said Scheuer.

“Give me some money for cigarettes,” I told him. “For appearance’s sake.”

I went through to the bar, bought some English cigarettes from the barman, and glanced around while he found me a light. Some men were playing dominoes in a snug little alcove. A dog was lying on the floor beside them, its tail wagging periodically. An old man sat in a corner nursing a beer and reading the previous day’s edition of Die Zeit. I took a quick schnapps with the change, lit my cigarette, and went back into the restaurant as a coffee machine howled like an arctic wind. I sat down, stubbed out the cigarette, sawed off a corner of my uneaten schnitzel, and said:

“He’s in there.”

“My God,” said Frei. “I don’t believe it.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hamer.

“I never forget a man who’s punched me.”

“You don’t think he recognized you?” said Scheuer.

“No,” I said. “He’s wearing reading glasses. And there’s another pair in his top pocket. My guess is he’s long in one eye and short in the other.”

A Bavarian-looking wall clock struck the half hour. At the next table, one of the Americans pushed his chair away with the backs of his legs. On the hard wooden floor of the restaurant it sounded like a drumroll.

“So what happens now?” asked Hamer.

“We stick to the plan,” said Scheuer. “Gunther will follow him and we’ll follow Gunther. He knows this city better than any of us.”

“I’ll need more money,” I said. “For the U-Bahn or a tram. And if I lose you, I might have to get a taxi back to Ihnestrasse.”

“You won’t lose us.” Hamer smiled confidently.

“All the same,” said Scheuer. “He’s right.” He handed me some notes and some small change.

I stood up.

“Are you going to sit in the bar?” asked Frei.

“No. Not unless I want him to recognize me later. I’m going to stand outside and wait for him there.”

“In the rain?”

“That’s the general idea. You’d best stay out of the bar. We wouldn’t want him to feel like he was of any interest to anyone.”

“Here,” said Frei. “You can borrow my hat.”