7I passed through the glittering entrance of Berlin’s most impressive hostelry. It had been built on the site of the former Adlon hotel, which had escaped damage from Allied bombs, only to be destroyed five days before the official end of World War II—set on fire by drunken Russian soldiers ransacking the wine cellar. The Adlon had inspired the book Grand Hotel, and Greta Garbo, herself a former guest, had starred in the movie. The lobby smelled of polished wood and new leather, the rich perfume of privilege. Security was tight, if elegant. Men wearing designer suits and plastic earpieces cluttered the ground floor, muttering from time to time to the back sides of their wrists, eyes continually sweeping the area. A bank of meeting rooms had been sealed off for the conference, and a bevy o