She followed him up the track. Tendrils of smoke drifted out of the open door, which sagged from a single hinge. As they reached the farmhouse, one of the Special Ops men walked out with a wailing child in his arms. Petra ran up and took his burden from him. ‘It’s all right, Tanja,’ she said, stroking the girl’s lank, unwashed hair. ‘I’m taking you back to your mum.’

The commander was nowhere in sight. ‘What happened?’ Petra asked the officer who had brought Tanja out.

‘Stupid bastard went for his shotgun,’ he said. ‘We’ve got one guy with flesh wounds to the arm and thigh. Nothing serious, I don’t think.’

‘What about Matic?’ she asked, rocking the whimpering Tanja in her arms.

The officer made the traditional throat-cutting gesture. ‘We had no choice. It’s a bugger, though. The come-back we get from something like this, you’d think we went around shooting people for the hell of it.’

‘You don’t have any option when somebody’s pointing a gun at you,’ Petra agreed. ‘Look, I want to get Tanja out of here. Will you tell your boss I’ve gone? We’ll need to have a proper debrief, but that can wait for morning.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll pass it on.’

Petra walked away from the farm, wishing her car was parked closer. Tanja was growing heavier with every step, and she didn’t know if she could carry her all the way. What a day, she thought, plodding onwards. She wondered momentarily how Carol was coping. She presumed there would be a report of yesterday’s meeting with Radecki waiting in her mailbox, but there was no way she was going to get to that for the next couple of hours. She had to get Tanja off to the safe house and make sure all the security was in place. Tomorrow, she would organize the first of a series of interviews with Marlene that she hoped would give them enough to make sure Radecki stood trial in Germany, not in liberal Holland.

There was so much to be done. But it would all be worth it when she sat in court and watched Radecki go down for a very long time. She grinned in spite of her aching back. God, she loved this job.

Carol was finally managing to enjoy herself. Marijke had kept her posted about everyone else’s activities, and she’d been frustrated at her inability to lend a hand. But there was no point in fretting, she scolded herself. So she’d taken a long luxurious bath, which had left her feeling more relaxed than she had since she first arrived in Berlin. She’d discovered that her apartment TV had a cable channel showing English films in the evenings, and she was sprawled on the sofa in Caroline Jackson’s silk kimono, savouring the black humour of Shallow Grave and a bottle of Sancerre.