‘In which case . . .’

‘. . . we have to pray that she didn’t talk first. Because if she did, then we’re too late.’

Wilde had deep forebodings about the way this operation might go. It was already looking deeply flawed. Why, he wondered, had he been sent here in the first place? Why not send in a highly trained fighting force – go in by parachute, get out by submarine? He knew the answer, of course: this was an American operation – a marker for the coming war. And the US did not have the bases or necessary men to carry out such a mission. As things stood, sending him in openly by semi-legal means was the only option, even though his death or incarceration were the most likely outcomes.

‘Where is Klara?’

‘Village a little way north of Berlin. She’s living with a couple named Rieger – Matthias and Maria Rieger – and has taken their name. He’s a schoolteacher and she’s a Hausfrau. They lived in Braundorf before and were known to the priest as good Christians who would take the baby in and give her a home. The village where they now live is called Kossertheim. They have a former farmhouse called Der Steinhof at the northern end of the village, near the river. I’m told their property is just outside the settlement, which should be to your advantage.’

‘And what am I supposed to do?’

‘According to Romy, the Riegers will understand the danger instantly – and will help you get the girl away. They will tell her she is being taken off to boarding school. They have known all along that this might happen one day.’

‘Any ideas how to get her out of Germany?’

‘You’ll be told by your contact soon enough.’

‘Contact?’

‘I’ll explain all when we’re afloat.’ He applied the footbrake. ‘Here we are – our boat awaits.’

They had emerged from woodland along a rough but well-used track. The broad sweep of Lake Havel – a bulge in the river – lay before them. Ahead of them a single sailing boat was tied up against a long wooden jetty. Surprisingly, its sail was up, flapping in the breeze. The area was deserted. Who the hell would come out here to go sailing on a chilly day in early December, in wartime?

‘What do you think?’

‘I think you’re mad, Jim.’

‘There’s method in my madness. Don’t look back, but our pursuers are parked a little way behind us, in the woods. They’ll find it impossible to follow us downriver. This is how you get lost, Tom. Come on, let’s get the tarp off and set sail before someone decides to stop us.’

The boat was a single-master with a small cabin. Wilde looked her over with admiration. The wood was richly grained and beautifully polished; she was well looked after.

‘What is she, twenty foot?’ Wilde asked as they jumped aboard, pulled the tarpaulin off the stern and took positions rehearsed in many hours afloat together.