Daniel Arora The Signal The rain fell over Berlin in needles of silver, slicing through the pale light of the streetlamps that lined Friedrichstrasse. Adrian Cole stood beneath the brim of his hat, collar pulled high, the cold seeping into his gloves as if the city were testing him. The hour was late—too late for pedestrians, too early for traders—and yet the radio in his pocket had whispered something that forced him out of his safe flat on Krausenstrasse. A signal. Shortwave. Three dots, two dashes, then silence. The kind of sound that could tear apart whole governments if interpreted…
