‘What kind of arrangements do you mean, sir?’

‘That is what I very much hope you are going to tell me.’

The room was so quiet he could hear the crump crump of artillery in the distance. Just a few weeks ago he’d been impressed at people who could tell the difference between incoming and outgoing artillery fire – it all sounded the same to him. Now even he could tell this was incoming. Most of it was these days.

‘I really… I really don’t know what you…’

‘Let me help you, perhaps, eh? What I mean is that I understand you have made arrangements to escape from Berlin. That is correct, is it not?’

Steiner hesitated, unsure how to reply. ‘No, sir – I intend to remain at my post until the last possible moment, at which point of course it would be improper for me to remain in Berlin and surrender or be captured or…’

Bormann held his forefinger to his lips. ‘Let’s not beat about the bush: I know you’re making plans to leave Berlin well before the battle for the city is over. Don’t forget, I have eyes and ears everywhere; how else do you think I’ve got to the position I’m in now in this nest of vipers? I know everything. I know you’re smart and I know you’ve been photographing documents at the Parteikanzlei and taking the film home, and I’ve picked up reports of you being seen in the Rott Valley. So don’t treat me like a fool, Wolfgang.’

Steiner found himself unable to respond. It was as if he was hypnotised, but was brought round by a heavy slap to his thigh.

‘But it is no more than one would expect of you, you crafty Austrian bastard, eh?’ Bormann was smiling. ‘Not only do I want you to continue with your arrangements, I want to be part of them!’

‘I’m not sure I understand…’ Steiner was convinced he’d stepped into a trap.

‘For so many years, anyone who was anyone wanted to be in Berlin. In a matter of weeks, anyone who’s anyone will want to be anywhere but here.’

‘But, sir, I—’

‘Stop, Wolfgang, please. Anyone not making arrangements to leave the city is a fool, as long as they’re being discreet about it, of course. Who wants to hang around for the Russians, or to be arrested by the Allies? There are escape lines being set up, some of them quite sophisticated, I’m told. My problem is who to book my passage with: I don’t trust anyone.’

Bormann leaned back in the leather armchair and smiled at Steiner.

‘Apart from you, of course, Wolfgang: I’m counting on you.’

Chapter 4

Germany, July 1945

When Wolfgang Steiner realised he had no choice but to take his son to a psychiatrist, he was careful to choose one of the few in Vienna who didn’t appear to be Jewish. The last thing a prominent Nazi needed in 1935 was to have a Jew analysing his son’s problems.