Wilde conveyed an edited version of this to Minsky. He seemed disappointed by the refusal to offer money, but remained undeterred. ‘I can discuss that when I am in England. Serious horse-trading. Money for secrets. The more you pay, the more you get.’

‘The other thing is that they need your name.’

The dancers were finishing their high-kicking routine and the bottles of vodka and whisky were arriving.

‘No, they can’t know that yet.’

‘You know, I’m doing my best here, Comrade Minsky, but you’re not making things easy.’

‘As soon as they know my name it will leak back to Moscow.’

‘Oh come now, you’re not suggesting there are any Soviet spies in the British secret services.’

‘You believe what you want, Mr Wilde.’

Wilde sighed heavily. His mind was already in Nuremberg, and he really didn’t need this complication. ‘Can you at least get yourself to Bad Oeynhausen?’

‘No, you have to get me there! I can’t travel a hundred miles through Soviet-held territory without raising suspicion. There will be roadblocks everywhere. You have to fly me out on an RAF or USAF transport, Mr Wilde. There is no other way.’

‘This is going to take time. My London contact will have to arrange such a flight. The problem is I don’t have the necessary time. I’m flying to Nuremberg in the morning.’

‘I don’t have time either. I have had information that I am to be recalled to Moscow at any moment, and I know exactly what that means.’ He held up his forefinger like the pistol of a gun, but surreptitiously. ‘If it happens, my blood will be on your hands.’

‘That’s ridiculous. Your blood will be on the hands of whoever shoots you.’ Wilde began to get up from the table. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I’ve done all I can, and I have a job of work to do elsewhere. Goodnight, Mr Minsky, and good luck.’

Minsky’s hand gripped Wilde’s wrist. ‘Wait, forget the money. And tell me the name of the British officer you have been dealing with.’

‘Philip Eaton? Do you know him?’

‘No, but you trust him?’

Did he? Wilde was never quite sure. But he had had no one else to go to. He did not answer Minsky’s question, if it was a question. ‘He will fly to Bad Oeynhausen and meet you. Another thought, comrade – if you really fear your liquidation is imminent, could you go into hiding here in Berlin, in one of the western sectors, perhaps?’

‘I will think about it.’ Minsky ran a hand over his bald pate. Was he frightened? He looked cool enough.

‘You could come with me now. I can’t offer you accommodation, but I could lend you civilian clothes. You could hide out in a cellar somewhere, or in the woods.’

‘No, I can’t do that.’