‘Do you have machines in production that can achieve such consumption?’

‘No, but I have a prototype.’

‘And you have tested it exhaustively, yes?’

‘Of course.’

‘Ninety miles per US gallon?’

‘Ninety-two, to be precise.’

‘Which in metric . . . that’s thirty-nine, almost forty, kilometres per litre.’ It took him all of two seconds to work it out. ‘Impressive, Herr Esser. Are you sure of this? Do you have a photograph of this motorcycle?’

Wilde laughed. ‘I have a photograph of my wife and children – but not the bike. And no, before you ask, I have not brought diagrams. What I can tell you is that the prototype has the body of the Brooklyn, so nothing special to look at, really. The change is all internal – I’m not talking aerodynamics here. I promise you this, though – it works. My problem is that America isn’t interested. They want speed and power. Gasoline is dirt cheap and plentiful. No one gives a goddamn how much fuel their cars and motorcycles use so long as they can burn up the highway. I can’t compete with Harley, so if we’re going to expand I need to sell to someone who does care about fuel economy. Someone to whom it means a great deal right now. That’s why I thought of Germany.’ He pursed his lips and appeared to hesitate. ‘Look, I’ll come clean with you. My firm is in trouble – a deal with you could save it.’

Todt was silent, thinking.

Wilde read his thoughts. ‘And if my method works for motorcycles – which I assure you it does – then there is no reason why it shouldn’t work for tanks and armoured vehicles, too.’

The Reichsminister glanced at the wall clock, then picked up the phone and dialled a single number.

‘Come in here, please.’

A junior officer entered the office.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Get me Porsche, if you would.’

‘I believe he’s in Stuttgart, Herr Reichsminister.’

‘Call him – find out his movements. Tell him to make his way to Berlin as soon as he can. If not today, then tomorrow.’

‘Right away, Herr Reichsminister.’

The officer nodded and left the room.

‘You have heard of Ferdinand Porsche, Herr Esser?’

‘Of course.’

‘If we are to continue this conversation, we need him here.’ Todt began to rise from his chair. ‘Forgive me, sir, I have an important meeting I must attend. But believe me, I am extremely interested in your innovation. Come here again tomorrow. If all goes well, Herr Porsche will be here too. Then we can try to make progress to everyone’s satisfaction.’

Wilde stood, picking up his grey American hat from the floor at the side of the chair.

‘Thank you for your time, Herr Doktor Todt.’

Todt shook hands. ‘In the meantime, enjoy Berlin. It is a fine city, though not at its very best at this time of year. I’m sure you will find much to interest and amuse you, however. The museums, the Tiergarten, the bustle of city life. Herr Offenbach will advise you. Just make sure not to speak English too loudly – I’m afraid some Americans have found themselves at the wrong end of a fist for speaking the language of our enemies.’ And then he reached out and touched the scarred groove in the side of Wilde’s head. ‘That looks like a bullet wound. Hunting accident – or war?’