Prince explained everything: how they’d tracked the Kestrel Line to Trieste, where they were convinced Friedrich Steiner was hiding in a warehouse by the port, and how they’d been instructed to call off the operation and had been driven to Klagenfurt, where they were waiting to be flown back to England.

‘Who is with Steiner?’

‘Another German – we think he escorted Steiner from Frankfurt – and an English couple, one of whom is an important Nazi spy I was hunting last year: a traitor. It’s outrageous that they’re being allowed to escape just to please the Americans.’

‘It doesn’t surprise me.’

‘You don’t sound too shocked, Iosif.’

‘Of course I’m not shocked, my friend – we’re up to it too! It’s only you British who are shocked by this kind of thing. What about Bormann?’

‘He could be with them, we’re not sure.’

‘So what are you asking me to do?’

‘Tell the Slovenians they can do what they want with Friedrich Steiner, but we don’t want the others to get away: they must be detained somehow.’

There was no immediate response from Iosif, just the static down the line, but then he came back and asked how long they’d be in Klagenfurt, and when Prince replied until the next day, Iosif said something that was hard to make out and then told him to leave it with him. He couldn’t promise, but… and then the line went dead.

Kommissar Iosif Gurevich put the phone down and gazed out of his office window high on Behrenstrasse over the jagged and ruined roofscape of Berlin. The few minutes between the end of dusk and the start of night were now ticking past, and he knew he had little time. The prospect – however remote – of capturing Bormann was a tantalising one: it would certainly secure his next promotion. Apprehending the English spies would be a good career move too, Moscow liked the idea of having the British in their debt. And the fact that he’d be helping his English friend was pleasing, though only a secondary consideration.

He shouted for his assistant to come through. ‘You look as if you’re ready to leave.’

‘I was hoping to, sir, but if you—’

‘We’re going to be here all night, Yegorov. It will be like the old days. Get hold of Fyodorov, I think he’s still based at Hohenschönhausen prison.’

‘And what should I say to him, sir?’

‘Tell him I want to see him now, immediately. Oh, and get a pot of coffee, the stronger the better.’

Kapitan Fyodorov was a bag of nerves when he knocked tentatively on Gurevich’s door just half an hour later. It was best to assume a summons from a commissar was something to worry about, though for the young NKVD officer, almost everything was something to worry about these days. Gurevich shouted for him to come in and sit down and not look so nervous.

‘For heaven’s sake, Fyodorov, take your coat off. You’re not cold, are you? Here, have some coffee.’