Through the quiet that had descended, Frankie made her way to a stool along the counter, nodded to the woman pouring coffee, and took her place. “Thanks,” Frankie said, accepting the full cup pushed before her.“Morning.” The man beside her grinned. It was the leader of yesterday evening’s swimmers.“Morning.” She nodded back.The door pushed open and a man silhouetted by the brightness outside stood for a minute on the threshold, nodding hellos, before moving forward to the stool beside her. He put one foot up on the step and climbed up lightly, as if into a saddle. He was neat as a barrel, small and compact, his gray-blond hair cut very short along the ridge of his skull. He set his hat down on the counter beside the plate as carefully as a judge.“Harry,” greeted the young fisherman beside Frankie.“Hello, Johnny,” Harry said.The chime for the top of the hour rang out on the radio and the room fell silent as if in front of a fire. British and Soviet forces have invaded Iran, the radio announcer’s voice came on, followed by the three chimes signaling the news.
