Excerpt from The Berlin Exchange by Joseph Kanon, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"The car?"

"To drive him to the studios. In Adlershof."

Martin glanced out the window. Another glass high-rise, dreary in gray Berlin, designed for sun. The socialist experiment, with car and driver.

"It's a good experience for him," Kurt was saying.

An audience darling. He imagined holding the car door for him, his chauffeur, some absurd turnabout. But what had he thought they'd be doing? Playing catch? Going to ball games?

"You don't approve?"

"No, I was just thinking—how much I don't know. How much I've missed."

"Well, but you're here. You'll get to know each other better. Ah, look. Karl-Marx-Allee. Now you'll see what we have done in the East. You remember when it was Frankfurter Allee? After the war, the bombing, there was absolutely nothing. They made a mountain in Volkspark Friedrichshain with the rubble. Now look."

Now look. A broad divided avenue lined with apartment blocks as far as one could see, not the cheap glass of Alexanderplatz, but solid stone, Soviet wedding cake style, modern and curiously lace curtain at the same time, what you saw in pictures of Moscow.

"Different architects," Kurt was saying. "You can imagine the competition, to be a part of this. Your design. Yet a harmonious effect."

One giant building after the other, their long façades broken by numbered entryways and hundreds of windows, not like the dim Hinterhofs of old Berlin, one courtyard behind another. A traffic circle with a fountain.

"Who lives here?" Martin said.

"Everybody. Workers. Of course, in the beginning, a privilege. Hot water, central heating, these things were luxuries in those days. But now everywhere. We live not far from here. In Weberwiese. You'll see later."

"Not Party leaders?" Martin said, still looking.

"Out in Pankow. They prefer villas. All close together. Maybe to keep an eye on each other." He arched his eyebrows, making a joke. "And maybe a little old-fashioned. This is—modern for them. So, here we are. Interhotel Berolina. Nothing but the best."

The hotel was brand-new, located on its own plaza behind the Kino International, a theater with a swooshing curve to its roof, as if it had been streamlined during the trip from Miami. The hotel also had a tropical look, its front faced with blue glazed tiles, like a beach resort. Inside, the lobby furniture was Scandinavian modern, dotted with plants in pots. Anywhere.

There were no forms to fill out at the desk, everything having been arranged by Kurt and the manager.

"Your key, Herr Keller," the manager said. "Welcome to Berlin. There is no other luggage?" Looking at the overnight bag, all he'd been allowed in prison.

"No."

"We must fix you up with some new clothes," Kurt said. "Bodo Jahn, I think, no?" A question to the manager, who nodded. "A tailor," Kurt explained. "Out in Biesdorf. Very good workmanship." He ran a hand down the side of his suit. "Always busy, but he'll fit you in if I ask. But today you'll want to rest." Locked in another room. "I'll have the car come for you at seven, all right?"

Martin nodded. Agree to anything. Alone soon.

"Well, Kurt." A voice behind them. "It's lucky to run into you." A stocky man in a bulky shapeless overcoat, glancing at Martin, expecting to be introduced.

"Hans," Kurt said, suddenly hearty. "What are you doing here? During working hours." He looked at his watch. "Not some assignation, I hope. The hotel has a reputation to protect."

Martin looked at the man more closely. Short and balding, with ferret-like eyes, an unlikely candidate for an affair. But who knew? He took the joke, or maybe just the intimacy, as a kind of compliment, smiling and nodding.

"No, I thought you might be here. And here you are. So, a good guess, no? You always bring your visitors here," he said, looking at Martin, waiting.

"And family friends. Martin, Hans Rieger. Neues Deutschland."

Excerpted from The Berlin Exchange by Joseph Kanon. Copyright © 2022 by Joseph Kanon. Excerpted by permission of Scribner. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.