In its dark wooden walls, mirrors and intarsias of bouquets—blond walnut inlaid in the dark walls—looked down on a cramped scene of marble-topped tables stuffed with politicians involved in serious discussions over late breakfast. A woman offered to take his coat; when he declined, she frowned and told him it was the tradition, that all coats were taken, so he handed it to her. She gave him a slip of paper with a number on it. Again, Brano felt underdressed.He found Lutz in the back, beneath a tall, narrow mirror in which he could see himself approach, a short man in this crowd. Lutz’s tiny table was overflowing with empty cups and saucers, dirty spoons, and a full ashtray. He was reading from a stack of typed pages that he put away when he noticed Brano. He smiled and stuck out his hand but didn’t have room enough to get up.“Delightful to see you, Brano. Delightful. What’ll you have, a coffee? Something stronger?”“Just coffee.”Lutz took care of the ordering and stretched beneath the table.“You’ve been working hard,”
