‘There is a risk of that.’ Prince was nodding thoughtfully.

‘I don’t agree.’ Hanne looked annoyed. ‘He’s a weak man. I have experience of dealing with criminal organisations; Falmer is probably fairly low down in this one and will feel accountable to the people above him. He’s more likely to be spooked, as you put it, Tim, by the thought of what will happen if he leaves Frankfurt with the money. I believe he’ll have come with instructions about what to do if the first rendezvous didn’t work. It’s inconceivable there wouldn’t be a backup plan.’

They agreed that following his release, Charles Falmer would be followed. If he headed for the Hauptbahnhof and back to Cologne, then the gamble would have failed. But it was a risk worth taking.

There was something close to a spring in Charles Falmer’s step as he left the American headquarters. He couldn’t relax completely, of course, but the worst part of the nightmare was over. His stomach no longer felt quite as wretched as it had done over the past few days, and he paused for a minute or two to breathe in fresh air.

It wasn’t quite as fresh as it had first seemed. There was a definite early-winter bite to it along with the ubiquitous smell of burning. That was what he’d noticed in Cologne too: everything was being burned – wooden beams, ruined furniture, and some kind of filthy coal that exuded thick brown smoke and stuck to the back of the throat.

Falmer had asked the American officer who’d escorted him from the building for directions to the station, and he’d very helpfully pointed the way: just over a mile south-west of here but probably longer given the detours you’ll need to make. He’d indicated a ruined building in the distance that seemed taller than the ones around it, twisted metal beams pointing accusingly at the sky. Head for that, the station’s nearby.

Falmer walked slowly, mindful that most of the pavements were impassable and the roads could be dangerous, with the few vehicles on them not appearing to be subject to any kind of Highway Code. It wasn’t an easy journey – not so much because of the detours the American had mentioned, but more due to the absence of many of the street signs. He paused on a street corner to buy a packet of cigarettes from a young girl and allowed himself a minute or so to gather his thoughts and get his breath back, although the acrid smell didn’t make that easy.

He’d certainly been lucky, as the Englishman and the woman with the odd accent had repeatedly told him, though he considered that to an extent he’d been responsible for that luck – they ought to have at least acknowledged that. After all, he’d stuck to his story, and what he’d told them was, by and large, true. He was surprised they’d allowed him to have the money back, though, but then the Americans had been so heavy-handed, he wasn’t altogether surprised they’d breached their own rules.