‘About as much as a rattlesnake.’

‘Good. I’d be worried otherwise. Let me take advice – see what we can do.’

‘I don’t need to tell you how important discretion is in this matter.’

‘Of course not, old boy. Your friend’s secret is safe with me. But isn’t this all rather interrupting your own work?’

That had indeed worried Wilde. But he had given his word to Minsky and would see it through. It would be good if at least something came of this mission, for he wasn’t optimistic at the moment about his chances of finding Adolf Hitler. ‘Can we talk tomorrow, Philip. I don’t intend being in Berlin for more than a couple more days – at the most.’

‘Of course, old boy. And I look forward to hearing what other music you can provide.’

Wilde replaced the phone and went to find Helms again. ‘I’m getting worried about Heck. I have no idea where he’s gone.’

Helms looked helpless. ‘There are two or three million people in this city, swelling with refugees by the day. And the place is split into four zones. Where could anyone even begin looking?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to offer simplistic philosophy, but all I can say is that if your colleague’s dead, there’s nothing to be done. And if he’s alive, he’ll make his own way back, and you can quiz him then. Come on, I think you need a pre-prandial, Tom.’

He did. Something to dispel the memory of that squalid underground cell where six children had died at the hands of their own parents.

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Heck had begun to suspect he was being followed even before he handed Maria Dienstag into the care of the soldiers. Now he was heading back towards Wolfsstrasse because he wanted to talk to the neighbours, and he was certain he had a tail.

He stopped. All he saw were resentful, cast-down faces. Even in civilian clothes, the older ones seemed to step as one, like a military unit. He looked for contrition or shame, but saw only bitterness and anger. No remorse for starting the war, just rage at losing it. At least the children laughed and ran and played. Defunct and burned-out artillery and military vehicles were their playgrounds. Perhaps there was a glimmer of hope for the generations to come.

A man in workmen’s dungarees caught his eye, but he didn’t break his step. Which one of these men and women was following him? Was he imagining it?

And then he saw the man. He was young and slender. He wore a trilby, perched low over his brow, and the clothes of a working man with a belt tied tight around his waist. He had stopped when Heck stopped. Now he was lighting the butt of a cigarette. Quickly, he glanced up, then just as rapidly lowered his eyes.