Lunging after it, he grabbed hold of the valve. The movement freed the snag. But now the surface seemed so much further away . . .

Oblivious to everything but the need to escape, Nash wriggled backwards out of the squeeze in a frenzy of fear. Even the relative expanse of the passage mouth failed to calm him. Panic shut down his peripheral vision. He was physically unable to strap on the rebreather, so he clutched it to his chest and finned madly back down the long passage. His thighs were on fire, threatening to cramp. The arm of the Octopus had doubled in length and, in the turbid water, Nash believed he was being sucked backwards. His gear was trying to kill him, too! Dragging gas through the mouthpiece was like sucking mud through a straw. His throat was burning: were the oxygen sensors faulty, or had the computer failed? He wanted to scream, to rip off the suffocating equipment and smash his way through the rocks to the air above.

Some distant part of him observing his plight wondered whether Natalie was watching on, too. Perhaps she wanted him to stay down there with her and their unborn child forever?

At the main shaft, Nash stared longingly at the disc of bright blue above. He required a five-minute decompression, but with a glance back down the dark tunnel, he made his decision. No way was he staying a second longer. Inflating his buoyancy control vest, he shot to the surface like a wayward cork – screaming an exhalation to save exploding his lungs with a pulmonary barotrauma.

On hands and knees, he crawled out of the pool, so terrorised that he didn’t even feel safe by the water’s edge. Hanging on to a barbed wire fence, he sobbed Natalie’s name, begged for her forgiveness.

The cold south wind was indifferent.

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Wednesday, 30th May, 1945

In the interests of future authentication, I should briefly establish my personal circumstances. I am the personal physician of Ambassador Erwin Hartmann. Privately wealthy, he took me to Japan with him in 1943 to treat his hypertension. There is not much to say about me. Boring and middle class, connections in high places kept me out of uniform and the only thing that will make me interesting to you is the love of my life.

Of course, I am referring to Ilse Hufnagl. You will have heard of her because she is the most innovative film-maker the world has ever seen. It is a tragic disgrace that her talent has been debased for propaganda. She was the Führer’s favourite until her big mouth got the better of her. We met while she was in Tokyo, filming more Axis lies. I still don’t know what she sees in me. I am a humble doctor, but she tells me I am the only man she has ever been able to truly rely on.