‘With brandy. Judging by the landing we somehow survived, I think your pilot must have driven tractors before the war.’

Bormann ordered his secretary, Heidi, to bring the drinks, then closed the door and sat close to Jung, keeping his voice low.

‘I am going to get straight to the point, without euphemisms. I had entrusted a task to Kalt, but all is not going as well as planned. You remember Otto Kalt, don’t you, Charlie?’

‘How could I forget him?’

Kalt was the man who had killed Miriam and her parents back in January ’37.

‘Well, he’s fouling up.’ Bormann stubbed out one American cigarette and lit another. ‘He was supposed to have liquidated a girl named Klara Rieger, but she gave them the slip. Her adoptive parents have been taken care of, but I fear someone else is involved in her escape.’

‘Who is this girl? Why do you want her dead?’

‘Keep your damned voice down, Charlie. Anyway, those are things you don’t need to know. In fact it is safer for you that you don’t know. All you need to do is find her and despatch her, just as Kalt did with your wife and her parents.’

‘Now, Martin, I owe you nothing for that. You were paid handsomely, more than we even agreed.’

Bormann stood up and paced around, drawing deeply on his cigarette all the while. Then he pulled his Luger from its holster and pushed the muzzle into Jung’s face.

‘Don’t ever think you owe me nothing, Charlie. I could have you sent to a concentration camp or worse with a click of my fingers. How about a punishment battalion on the Eastern Front? You might even survive half a day.’

Jung remained calm. ‘You don’t need to threaten me, Martin.’

‘Don’t I? Good. But just to be clear, do you think I did not keep evidence – proof – of your part in the murders of your wife and her family? You owe me everything – your wealth, your women, your very life – and I could just as easily take them away.’

Jung raised a hand, the palm pressed against the end of the cold black gun barrel.

‘I’m sorry. I understand, of course.’

‘Do you, Charlie?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry. You’re right – I have become too comfortable.’

‘Well, there is a war on, so now is the time to snap out of it.’ Bormann studied him from head to toe, then flicked his tie with a sneer. ‘What is this, silk? Look at you – you are dressed like an English fucking gentleman.’

‘That’s because I am an English fucking gentleman, Martin.’ Apart from the female secretaries, he was the only person at this redoubt in the east of the former Poland, not in uniform, but wearing an expensive suit and handmade shoes.