Always his only concern: Friedrich.

The Obersturmführer was waiting in the reception area and led him to a black Daimler waiting with its engine running in front of the building on Wilhelmstrasse. Steiner was relieved to see that the curtains in the car weren’t drawn, and nor was there any kind of escort other than the officer and the driver, who greeted him with a ‘sir’, which boded well.

The Daimler headed south on Wilhelmstrasse and then west along Tiergarten Strasse. Steiner tried not to pay too much attention to the route, not least because that could mean very little these days. Berlin had been so badly damaged, it felt as if the city was being dismantled brick by brick – a neighbour had remarked to him that it seemed as if the roads were being pulled up like carpets, before he realised that he sounded disloyal and apologised profusely.

They carried on heading west, through the southern part of Charlottenburg, along Kanstrasse, before turning south, pausing by the roadside as the first Allied bombers of the night passed overhead. It didn’t surprise Steiner when they arrived at the Kleiner Wannsee, the smaller and more exclusive section of the lake. The whole area was dark, but he could tell where they were: a quiet stretch on the southern shore with some of the most expensive houses in Berlin. The Daimler pulled into the driveway of one of them, and the gates closed behind it.

It was a small villa, but perfectly appointed and decorated in exquisite taste. The walls were covered in a silk material with a modern print, and the rugs on the polished parquet flooring must have been worth a fortune. There was no doubt the design and decor were Bauhaus – that was apparent from the exterior, with its flat roof, bold curves and clean lines. Despite the regime’s disapproval, it was notable how the Bauhaus influence prevailed in Berlin. Steiner had little doubt this was one of the many Wannsee villas taken from Jewish owners; for a while he’d hoped he might be allocated one – looking out over the water would have been wonderful for his nerves – but was told they were reserved for families.

The Obersturmführer led him through the house to a lounge on the first floor that Steiner assumed looked over the lake. The large windows were covered in modern-looking blinds. Sprawled in a leather armchair was a beautiful girl in her early twenties wearing what appeared to be a cocktail dress with nothing underneath. She ignored Steiner but smiled sweetly at the young officer and waved her long cigarette holder in front of her like a conductor’s baton, appearing to beckon him towards her.

Martin Bormann bustled into the room and told the girl to go, patting her on the backside as she brushed past him. He ordered the officer to pour two cognacs – Not that bottle, you fool, that’s German brandy: I said cognac! – and then told him to leave and close the door behind him.