Pausing for effect, Bormann stubbed out his cigarette and pulled yet another from the box on his desk, picked up the gold, swastika-embossed lighter Himmler had given him for his fortieth the previous year, flicked the wheel and lit it. As an afterthought, he offered Kalt the packet.

‘American,’ he said.

‘Thank you, Herr Reichsleiter,’ Kalt said, taking one of the Luckies.

‘Otto,’ Bormann said, handing him the certificate. ‘I have a small task for you. Read that carefully. Note every detail and then return it to me. It is the birth and baptism record of a ten-year-old girl. I want you to find her and dispose of her – and anyone who has ever been associated with her. It is best if the world never knows she existed. Leave no trace.’

‘Yes, Herr Reichsleiter.’

‘I cannot stress how important this task is. You have done many favours for me over the years and I have rewarded you well. But nothing – nothing – has been as crucial as this one thing. Succeed and I will double your land holding.

‘I will not fail you, Herr Reichsleiter.’ Kalt bowed his head.

‘Good.’

Because if you do fail me, thought Bormann, I am done for.

*

In the hour before first light, Father Peter Huber pulled back the duvet and gazed at the woman’s sleep-warm body. She was on her back, her hair tangled across the pillow. Her eyes drifted open and she smiled at him hazily, as though not sure whether this was still part of her dream.

‘Come back to bed, Peter.’ Her voice was husky, soft and full of sleep.

‘You know I can’t.’

He knelt at the side of the bed as though about to pray, but instead he bent forward and kissed her pubic hair lightly, breathing in the intoxicating fumes. She rolled towards him and, as he stood up, she reached out and tried to fumble beneath his priest’s robes.

‘Let me kiss you there, too.’

‘Trudchen, you are bad.’

‘But that’s why you love me, Peter. And later, I will confess to the priest and will be forgiven my transgressions.’

‘I am the priest!’

‘And will you deal with me very harshly, Father? Will you make me say twelve Hail Marys?’

He laughed. ‘I have made you coffee. It’s in the kitchen.’

It was still dark and snowing gently when Father Huber opened the door. Trudchen’s house was a little way from the village of Braundorf, a fact which made these nightly visits possible. It was a pleasant, modest chalet, high up on the Alm, backed by the mountains, and from there he had a pleasant stroll through the meadow back home. In the short nights of summertime, he had to leave her far earlier than this, but with the long nights of late November, they had more time together. A small but welcome blessing.

The snow had come early this year, however, which could sometimes be a problem. His tracks would be all too visible to the village gossips. And so he had to listen to the forecasts carefully. Today, it was said, the snow would fall steadily, all through the night and late into the day, and so it was proving. That meant his footprints would be erased almost as soon as they appeared.