“You see, Gunther, we have something in common, you and I. Years ago, both of us were denounced as mischlings because, allegedly, we have a Jewish grandparent. Nonsense, of course. But not unconnected with what I told you before.”

“You mean about how someone is trying to kill you.”

“Yes. Having failed to persuade the Führer that there was any truth in these wicked rumors, it is certainly Himmler’s intention to have me assassinated. Of course, I am not without resources of my own. Certain records pertaining to my family’s past in Halle, and which might be open to misinterpretation, have been erased. And the person who denounced me—a naval cadet I knew at the academy in Kiel—that man met an unfortunate accident. He was killed in the Deutschland Incident of 1937, when the Republican Air Force attacked the port of Ibiza. That’s the official version, anyway.”

The car arrived. It was a large, open-top, black Mercedes. The driver, an SS sergeant, sprang out, saluted, and then opened the big suicide door and tipped the front seat forward.

“What took you so long, Klein?” said Heydrich.

“I’m sorry sir, but I was filling her up when your call came through. Where are we going?”

“Holter’s, the tailor.”

“Sixteen Tauenzienstrasse. Right you are, sir.”

We drove south, as far as the corner of Bulow Strasse, and then west.

“That briefcase I gave you,” said Heydrich. “It also contains a file about the man who denounced you, Gunther. In fact, that file is not unconnected with Mielke’s file, as you will discover. You see, the man who denounced you was Hauptmann Paul Kestner. Your former schoolmate and Kripo colleague.”

“Kestner.” I nodded. “I always thought that was someone else, sir. This girl I used to know, who also knew Mielke.”

“But you don’t look surprised that it was Kestner.”

“No, perhaps I’m not, Herr General.”

“He was a member of the KPD before he was a Nazi. Did you know that?”

I shook my head.

“It was Kestner who tipped off his friends in the KPD that you and he were traveling to Hamburg to arrest Mielke. After you left Kripo, he hoped to divert suspicion from himself by alleging that it was you who had tipped off Mielke. Something that was easier to do if it turned out that you were part Jew.”

I shook my head.

“Oh, it’s all in the file,” said Heydrich.

“No, that’s not it, Herr General. I’m just disappointed, that’s all. As you say, I’ve known Paul Kestner since we were at the same gymnasium, here in Berlin.”

“It’s always disappointing when one discovers that one has been betrayed. But in a sense it’s liberating, too. It serves as a reminder that ultimately one can only ever truly rely on oneself.”