A freezing night in Berlin. Silence. Mist. Breath steams above a gaggle of grey-faced men, collars upturned. An unbearable tension in the air. Binoculars trained across the River Havel from Wannsee to Potsdam. An officer reaches into the pocket of his greatcoat to take a bite of schnapps. Another smokes nervously. Then, at last, a light on the east side of the Glienicke Bridge.
The exchange is on. There is almost a sense of relief as the action begins. This is the moment in the spy film after the espionage is over, the mole exposed and the agonising denouement can begin.
