Desmond stood for a minute, looking across the square at Berlin’s most visited and recognizable monument, the pre-eminent symbol of German history: the Brandenburg Gate. His research last night had been fascinating. The gate had been constructed in the 1780s by Frederick William II, the king of Prussia, Germany’s predecessor state. Conceived as the entrance to Unter den Linden—which led at the time to the Prussian palace at the end of the street—the sandstone monument had been modeled after the Propylaea in Athens. It featured twelve carved columns—six on the front side, six on the rear—and was massive: 66 feet tall, 213 feet wide.

During World War II, the buildings in Pariser Platz had been leveled, and the Brandenburg Gate was significantly damaged. It sat unrepaired until 1957, and even after its restoration it was rarely visited, as it was enclosed by the Berlin Wall, preventing residents of both the east and west from reaching it. Second only to the wall itself, the gate came to stand as a symbol of a divided country and capital.

It was before this gate’s towering pillars that President Ronald Reagan stood in 1987 and said, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.” But it was the Germans themselves who tore it down—on November 9, 1989, after East Germany announced that its citizens could visit West Germany. And a month and a half after that, on December 22, 1989, West German Chancellor Helmut Kohl walked through Brandenburg Gate to meet East German Prime Minister Hans Modrow, formalizing the unification of Germany after almost forty-five years of division.

As Desmond watched the midday sun shine down on the monument, casting shadows on the crowds bustling through Pariser Platz, he hoped the gate’s history was a good omen—and that the day’s events would set him on his own course to freedom.

A few hundred feet away, a man named Garin Meyer stepped out of a taxi and made his way to the center of Pariser Platz. He wore a navy peacoat, jeans, a ball cap, and aviator sunglasses. He took a spiral-bound notebook from his backpack, flipped it open, and held it to his chest, revealing a page with block letters:

LOOKING GLASS TOURS

He stood still for several minutes, then began looking around, growing increasingly nervous.

In a white cargo van parked near Pariser Platz, two men wearing headphones hunched over a bank of computer screens, watching video feeds of the man holding the sign.

“Units One and Two, subject looks antsy. Be prepared to pursue and capture if he takes flight.”

Clicks echoed over the open comm line, acknowledging the directive.

“Unit Three, confirm you’ve attached the tracking dot to the subject.”

Another click echoed on the line.

They would know exactly where Garin Meyer went, and if they were successful, he would soon lead them to Desmond Hughes.