Sentries were on guard at the entrance, stationed inside two massive gatehouses, both twenty feet high and decorated with a coat of arms comprising crossed hunting horns, befitting Göring’s title as Reich Master of the Hunt, one his many honorifics. The sentries saluted the two officers, took a perfunctory look at their papers, a slightly longer look at Wilde’s and Sunny’s – and then waved them all through. Another ten-minute walk followed. Neither officer tried to engage Wilde in conversation, much to his relief. Foreign workers were like furniture; they were there, because they were needed, but they did not merit attention. And as for a Frenchman, from one of the conquered territories, such a man was to be tolerated, but nothing more. Sunny also ignored him, as though she, too, considered him nothing more than a worthless flunkey, fit only for driving and carrying out her orders. Instead, she walked with Klara, holding her hand, laughing and joking with her Luftwaffe friends.

That suited Wilde fine.

Now they were at the broad-fronted house, perfectly situated on a narrow strip of land between two beautiful lakes. As someone who thought of a hunting lodge as some sort of wood hut in the forest, Wilde was astonished by the grandeur of Carinhall. A woman with a small girl at her side was standing outside the house as though waiting to greet them as guests.

Good God, that must be Emmy Göring, First Lady of the Third Reich. The nightmare was getting more bizarre by the moment.

*

In the trees, Otto Kalt slammed his fist on the ground. For a brief moment, he had had the girl in his sights – but then she had jumped up, and been whisked away by two Luftwaffe officers.

He thought of trying to take them all out with one sweep of his MP 40 machine pistol, but he couldn’t be sure how Bormann would react to news that two senior German officers had been killed. One girl killed and buried and no one would know; they would just shrug their shoulders and get on with the war. But five people – including two members of the bloody Luftwaffe – that would raise questions. And who could tell whether there weren’t other men close by. The officers’ presence suggested they must be close to an airfield.

He could have killed the girl with a single shot, but then what? He could not have disposed of the body, and Bormann had been clear about that – no trace must be left that she ever existed. Otherwise questions would be asked. Awkward questions.

These computations had taken little more than a couple of seconds, but the hesitation had been enough. Now all he could do was follow them.

It was not easy. He and Brunner had to stay well back from the party of five, and Hans was not light on his feet.