‘What is it?’

The young officer saluted again. ‘I have come straight from the Führerbunker, sir.’

Steiner nodded and waited for the man to continue. When he turned his head to reveal the part that wasn’t burnt, he looked younger than Steiner’s own son.

‘Yes, and?’

‘I have a message for you, sir, from the Reichsleiter.’

Wolfgang Steiner felt a sensation in his stomach. Although he got on well enough with Martin Bormann, he was always nervous about any dealings with Hitler’s deputy. For a couple of years they’d worked very closely in the Nazi Party headquarters – Bormann’s office had been just across the corridor from his – but for the past few months Bormann had spent most of his time in Hitler’s bunker, and Steiner hadn’t heard from him in a while. The rumours were that Bormann was more or less running the country.

‘Perhaps you’d like to give me this message?’ He held out his hand.

‘There is no letter, sir: a car will collect you from the front of this building at nine o’clock tonight and take you to a meeting with the Reichsleiter. He asks that no mention is made of this to anyone.’

Even allowing for his propensity to worry, Wolfgang Steiner realised this sounded ominous. Rather typically, too, he was bothered about a minor detail. ‘How will I know which car?’

‘I will find you, sir. Heil Hitler!’

Wolfgang Steiner’s secretary had brought him a plate of herring and a few slices of proper black bread, but he had no appetite that afternoon. He picked at the bread and sipped some water and wondered about having a schnapps or two but decided against it because these days once he started he’d never stop, and Bormann wouldn’t appreciate him turning up in any kind of drunken state.

He did think about whether he should leave the city – it was over seven hours, after all, before the car would be coming for him – but quickly decided against it. His plan had been carefully constructed and he wasn’t ready yet. It would all be a rush and something was bound to go wrong. And he knew how shrewd Bormann was: he had informants and confidants throughout the Parteikanzlei. He wasn’t even sure about his own secretary; she fussed over him unnecessarily, always wanted to know what he was up to and where he was going.

By the middle of the afternoon, he’d decided that if he was in trouble, then Bormann would hardly have left him alone in the Party headquarters; he’d have been pulled in straight away. But on the other hand – there was always an ‘on the other hand’ with Wolfgang Steiner – it was a rather formal summons. He and Bormann were on first-name terms after all, and Bormann was in the habit of sending hand-written notes. Using an SS officer as a messenger seemed to be making a point.

He’d been so careful and so meticulous he’d be amazed if Bormann had any evidence against him. As nine o’clock approached, a strange calm fell over him. Whatever was going to happen would happen, he told himself. Berlin would fall soon anyway, so it wasn’t as if the future looked especially bright. His only concern was Friedrich: his son wouldn’t cope.