‘Unfortunately, we need to turn what we hear from rumours into hard intelligence. There’s talk of them coming up with rockets that can be fired from the Continent at targets in England. I hope I don’t need to tell you how critical it is that we get on top of this. I sometimes fear I’m a lone voice, but I think if there’s any truth in this rumour, then it could turn the tide of the war against us. And Denmark is crucial: not only is it near where we believe the rockets are being developed, but it seems to be the place where what little information there is on them gravitates to. Sorry to ramble on, Hendrie: what’s this got to do with a policeman in Lincolnshire anyway?’

Hendrie opened a file and read from it. ‘“Richard Marius Prince, thirty-four years of age, born Nottingham.” His father was also born in Nottingham, but his mother, Elsebeth, was born and brought up in Denmark, hence Prince’s middle name. And, which is why I’m here, sir, I’m told Prince speaks Danish fluently.’

Gilbey nodded approvingly and reached out for the file. When he’d finished reading it, a broad grin crossed his face. ‘Well I never… fancy that. Good show, Hendrie. Who was it who spoke of the long arm of coincidence?’

‘I don’t recall, I’m afraid, sir, but I’m pleased to see you’re smiling.’

‘That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain. At least I’m sure it may be so in Denmark.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

‘If I recall correctly, that’s from the end of Act 1 of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, eh?’

Chapter 2

Denmark; London, October 1942

Not for the first time since the start of the war, Aksel felt there was a distinctly biblical dimension to the decisions he was required to make as leader of the small resistance cell based in Vorning, a rural area north of Randers. He was no longer a religious man, but he’d had enough of the Bible drummed into him when he was younger to be familiar with the story of the binding of Isaac, when Abraham was instructed to take his son to Mount Moriah and leave him there to be sacrificed.