Germany, January 1943

To his surprise, Prince managed to grab some sleep on the ferry, especially after the engines were turned off for the night. The pumps continued to hum in the background, a sound he found reassuring. Less so the intermittent clanking sound of metal moving, which came across as if the hull of the ship was bending one way then the other.

He woke a few times, the cold eating through him despite the blankets. He sipped water and ate the sandwich from his backpack, but otherwise just sat there in the darkness, occasionally switching on the lamp to check the time. The ferry pulled away from its moorings at nine o’clock, and he certainly felt every minute of the crossing to Warnmünde, most of the journey making sure he wasn’t pitched against the side of the cupboard he was in.

It docked a few minutes after noon. He knew the port police would come on board and search the ship, so he pulled a pile of the lifejackets over him in the hope that that was all anyone would see. After an hour, he began to worry. He had to get from Warnmünde to Rostock station to catch a train to Greifswald, and this was a journey he’d rather do in daylight. Security checks seemed to be more demanding in the dark, and he didn’t think his Ulrich Leuschner identity would withstand much scrutiny.

Just before one thirty, he heard people walking past his hiding space, and then silence. A few minutes later, the cupboard was unlocked, and through a gap in the lifejackets he could see Peder.

‘Everything is fine, you may come out now.’

Prince gave himself a minute or two to straighten up and get used to the light. Peder handed him a mug of black coffee.

‘There were no problems today, but still be careful when you leave the ship. The railway station is about ten minutes’ walk from here, maybe a bit less – you can’t miss it. From there it’s about a fifteen-minute journey into Rostock central station. You don’t need to tell me where you’re going from there, but it is possible to buy a ticket from Warnmünde straight through to your destination – as long as that’s on a direct line from Rostock.’

At Warnmünde station, a train was already waiting, due to depart in five minutes. The woman in the tiny ticket office didn’t bother to ask for his identity card and was happy to sell him a ticket straight through to Greifswald as long as he had the correct change: ‘Don’t make me mess around with lots of coins, you understand? I’m doing this job on my own today. That’s fine, sir, have a good journey. My sister-in-law lived in Greifswald. Heil Hitler!’