‘Don’t worry, there shouldn’t be any. The important thing is that I’m getting papers sorted for you and we’re applying for your visa. You’ll be an engineer with a background in shipbuilding, which means your legitimationskort will be fine. The cover story is that I need your expertise with the company we’re working with in Berlin; we may need you to spend more time at their factory next year. I’ve sent a telegram to my contact in Berlin telling him I’m arriving on Tuesday and confirming we’ll meet him the next day. I expect to have all the papers and tickets sorted by Friday. Let’s meet on Saturday, say twelve noon outside the Restaurant Grøften in the Tivoli Gardens. Hopefully it won’t be raining.’

The terminal building at Kastrup airport at nine fifteen on Tuesday morning, the first day of December, was a bleak place. The civilian passenger building had been closed over the weekend and no one appeared to have bothered as yet to turn the heating back on. Deutsche Lufthansa flight number 29 to Berlin was the only flight scheduled before noon, so a building that could comfortably accommodate well over two hundred passengers today held only a dozen or so. Most sat on their own, well away from anyone else. There were two or three pairs of passengers, people who obviously knew each other. One of those pairs was Otto Knudsen and Peter Rasmussen, the latter now dressed in more formal garb than the ship worker’s clothes he’d been wearing before.

‘It’s good we didn’t arrive first,’ said Knudsen, who was not quite as calm as Prince had previously seen him. ‘The Gestapo look out for early arrivals, I’m not sure why. You see those two over there?’ He indicated with a slight nod of his head two men strolling in front of the seating, one short and fat, the other tall and thin. Both wore long coats and wide-brimmed hats. ‘They’re Gestapo. They’re always here. They look so unhealthy.’

‘If you were making a film about the Gestapo, you’d choose two people like that, wouldn’t you?’