The money was rubles and, in an envelope addressed to Mielke’s friend, several hundred dollars. The papers included a pink pass, a ration card, a travel permit, and a German identity card—everything I’d need if I was stopped on the road to Nuremburg in the Ami zone. There was a small key for a set of manacles. And there was a loaded gun that was almost as small as the key: a six-shot Colt .25 with a two-inch barrel. Not much of a gun, but enough to make you think again about disagreeing with the person who might be holding it. But only just. It was a joy girl’s gun, hammer-less so as not to snag her stockings.

I tucked the papers and the money inside my boots, the gun under my waistband, and walked toward the gate, where Lieutenant Rascher and a Blue sergeant were waiting for me, as predicted. The only trouble was that Major Weltz was waiting for me as well. Killing two men was going to be hard enough. Three looked like a much taller order. But there was no going back now. They were standing beside a black ZIM saloon that looked more American than Russian. I was halfway there when I heard someone call my name. I glanced around to see Bingel nod at me.

“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.