“Sign the pact in blood, did you, Gunther?” he asked. “Your soul. I hope you got a good price for it, you bastard. I just hope I live long enough to have the chance to send you to hell myself.”

I felt pretty low at this. I went to the car and held out my wrists for the manacles. Then we got in and the Blue drove us away.

“What did that man say?” asked Rascher.

“He wished me all the best.”

“Really?”

“No, but I reckon I can live with it.”

In the little railway station in Johannesgeorgenstadt there was a train already waiting. The steam locomotive was black with a red star on the front, like something from hell, which, in the circumstances, was entirely suitable. I couldn’t rid myself of the feeling that even though I was planning to escape, I was doing something inherently shameful. I almost couldn’t have felt worse if I really had been intending to join the Fifth Kommissariat.

The four of us climbed up into a carriage with the word for Berlin in Cyrillic chalk-marked on the side. We had it all to ourselves. The train had no central corridor. All of the carriages were separate. So much for coming out of the toilet with all guns blazing. The rest of the carriages were full of Red Army soldiers headed for Dresden, which hardly made things any easier.

Our own Russian sergeant was sweating and nervous-looking, and before he boarded the train behind me I noticed that he crossed himself. Which seemed a little curious, as even in the Soviet zone, rail travel was really not that hazardous. By contrast, the two German MVD officers appeared composed and relaxed. As we sat down and waited for the train to move, I asked the starshina if he spoke any German. He shook his head.

“The fellow’s Ukrainian, I think,” said Major Weltz. “He doesn’t speak a word of German.”

The Ivan lit a cigarette and stared out of the window, avoiding my eye.

“He’s an ugly sonofabitch, isn’t he?” I remarked. “I imagine his mother must have been a whore, like all Ukrainian women.”

The Ivan didn’t flinch at any of that.

“All right,” I said. “I really do think he doesn’t speak German. So. It’s probably safe to talk.”

Weltz frowned. “What on earth are you driving at?”

“Listen. Sir. All our lives could depend on us trusting each other now. We three Germans. Don’t look at him. But how much do you know about our smelly friend here?”

The major glanced at the lieutenant, who shook his head. “Nothing at all,” he said. “Why?”

“Nothing?”

“He was posted to the camp at Johannesgeorgenstadt just a few days ago,” said Rascher. “From Berlin. That’s really all I know about him.”

“And he’s going back already?”

“What’s all this about, Gunther?” said Weltz.

“There’s something about him that’s not quite right,” I said. “No. Don’t look at him. But he’s nervous when he shouldn’t be nervous. And I saw him crossing himself a minute ago—”