‘We know who you are. We know what you do.’ He jerked his head towards Lieselotte’s body. ‘We can help each other. Come to an agreement.’ He reached over and picked up Lieselotte’s bag with the clock, handed it to John, grabbing John’s hand to make sure he grasped the handles.

‘A memento.’

Evidence. John shook his head, let go of the bag so it dropped to the ground. The clock struck once, coils singing, fell silent.

‘Come,’ the thin lieutenant said. ‘Walk with me.’ He paused, added, ‘Just you.’ He nodded at his colleague. Arthur held up his arms as the major pointed his pistol at him.

The lieutenant clasped his hands behind his back, strolled as if this was a pleasure outing. John got the sense that he was the one in charge, even though he was the junior officer. John’s mouth tasted sour, and his empty stomach rolled in painful spasms. His legs had no feeling, no gristle. They went through the motions of walking. One foot, another. The officer was silent. They drew close to the willow tree. He stopped, turned to John.

‘My proposition is simple,’ he said, his accent thick as a noose. ‘You have military secrets that are, rightly, ours. Certain scientists you have interviewed, certain formula you privy to.’

‘No,’ John said. ‘You’re wrong. I haven’t interviewed them. I know nothing.’

‘I apologise,’ the officer said. ‘I exaggerate. You are translator. Am I correct?’

His English was faulty, but the meaning was clear. John nodded.

‘As translator, you learn many thing.’

John shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re wrong again. I reproduce a sentence, but I work without meaning.’

The officer pursed his lips. ‘I forget. You are new to this in the West, translating as someone speaks. We are doing it many years in Soviet Union. It is rare skill. And you are young. Inexperienced. Doing it for first time.’ He paused, eyeing John, scrutinising him. John stood, fighting the trembling, the urge to run. Keep your wits, he thought, be agile. ‘You correct transcripts, do you not?’

The officer knew too much about their practices. John said nothing.

‘Let me explain your situation,’ he went on, articulating each syllable. ‘The British do not allow their men to fraternise, any more than we allow ours. Disobedience is an offence, is it not?’ He peered closely at John, studying his insignia, added, ‘Lieutenant. Same as me.’ He patted his chevrons, grinned. ‘Before, soldier. Now, lieutenant. Very clever.’

John’s sinews tightened, tendons cramped. Paralysed.

‘And murder,’ he said. ‘Cold-bloodied murder. That is capital offence, no? I believe penalty is death. Hung by neck until dead. Or perhaps, in army, you would be shot.’ The officer picked off a willow leaf, rubbed it between his finger and thumb. ‘Such an elegant tree,’ he said. ‘Good for hide-and-seek.’