Copyright (c) 2014 Phyllis Zimbler Miller
All rights reserved.
U.S. Defense Dept. expresses deep concern over the shipment of Soviet planes and pilots to Egypt. – September 1, 1971
“For the individual members of the Resistance Movement this was a war that never ceased, waged during each of the 24 hours of every day, month after month. For them there were no front-lines behind which they could find sanctuary, and there was no leave.” Introduction to the section “The Dead” of the Museum of the Danish Resistance Movement 1940-1945
Mitch and I placed our dinner trays down on a small plastic table along the wall of the sparse second-story Copenhagen restaurant. Another Arthur Frommer recommendation.
The restaurant wasn’t crowded with Americans the way the Frommer recommendations had been in Zurich. “Most American tourists must have returned home for the start of the school year,” Mitch said.
We were both excited to be in Copenhagen, 10-and-a-half months after our ill-fated attempt to cross the border between Germany and Denmark on the train. This time we had flown from Munich to Copenhagen with all the correct documentation.
A middle-aged man sitting by himself at the table next to us said in English, “Excuse me. I see you are Americans.”
We nodded.
“Is this your first time in Copenhagen?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Are you here for long?”
“A week,” Mitch said.
“Going to visit a beer factory?”
“We plan on taking the Carlsberg tour,” I replied.
The man nodded as if this was to be expected.
Then he said, “I’ve just returned from visiting Russia. The people there are so hard-working. These Danes are frivolous, only thinking about their own pleasure.”
It took only one heartbeat for me to realize that this was a classic espionage pick-up line – a Russian spy trying to cultivate friendship with American military personnel – that both Mitch and I had been warned about with our security clearances.
(Upon our return from Copehagen I would start working as a GS-3 at the 66th Military Intelligence Group in the former Luftwaffe headquarters.)
I looked at Mitch, and our knees touched below the plastic table. We said nothing.
The man continued, “In Russia I saw factories where the production levels have been rising consistently each year.”
At the same moment, without saying a word to each other, Mitch and I stood up, grabbed our trays and dumped them at the dirty dishes collection area.
And in the next moment we ran downstairs from the second-story restaurant and raced towards Tivoli Gardens two blocks away.
Only when we had entered and run to the lighted fountains in front of The Bazaar did we slow and catch our breath.
“A classic pick-up,” Mitch said.
“Right off the pick-up script,” I said. “But how did he know to try?”
