Oberst Albert Kampmann was killed following a shooting incident in the Mitte district of central Berlin last night. Der Angriff understands that Oberst Kampmann was taken to the Charité hospital, where he died of his wounds in the early hours of the morning. The 26-year-old officer had been in the service of the Führer since 1939 and was based at the headquarters of the Air Ministry on Wilhelm Strasse. The circumstances of the shooting are still unclear and are being investigated by the Gestapo special investigations unit at Prinz Albrecht Strasse. Anyone with any information regarding Oberst Kampmann are required to contact this unit or their nearest Gestapo office as a matter of extreme urgency. Citizens of Berlin are reminded that ultimate victory is a common cause and their vigilance in helping to inform on and root out enemies of the Reich is both a legal and a moral obligation.

‘It’s not very subtle, is it?’

‘That’s the way the Nazis work. But it’s worrying, isn’t it?’

Prince nodded. ‘Of course it is. He seems to have been alive at some stage. They could have got something out of him before he died. But then again, if they had, we wouldn’t be sitting here now, would we?’

‘They were on to him, though, weren’t they? Those last two sentences: it’s a clear message that they regard him as a criminal. There’ll be a thorough investigation. They could link him to Bruno and then us. They’ll know where we are in Copenhagen.’

Both men sat in silence, their heads bowed, their beer untouched.

‘I tend to agree with what you said earlier, Otto.’

‘What was that?’

‘About never wanting to come back to this country again. Still, at least my job is done.’

At ten to six, they were led out of the departure lounge and along the front of the building to where their plane to Copenhagen was waiting. The group of passengers paused in front of another glass-plated lounge, waiting to be escorted across the apron to the plane.

Prince looked through the window. She was standing there, this time wearing an elegant trilby-style hat with a neat floral arrangement on one side. The jet-black eyes darted around before settling on him, and the briefest of smiles crossed her lips. As the passengers were moved on, she raised her hand as if to adjust her hat, allowing it to form a fleeting farewell wave.

Chapter 13

London, December 1942

‘I say, Roly, would you believe it? There’s the most dreadful row going on at our local church – about this year’s Christmas carol service of all things. Most of the choir are vehemently opposed to “Silent Night” being included in the service. They claim it’s a German hymn and—’

‘Well it is, Tom – “Stille Nacht”. Don’t you remember we were made to sing it in German lessons?’