‘He looked vaguely familiar,’ Wilde said. ‘I have a nagging feeling that he was among the drinkers singing the Horst Wessel song at the bar in Grünegg.’

‘Then he deserved to die. And we have to assume that he is just one of many. Think about it: Collingham and Harper killed in Bavaria, and now an attack hundreds of miles away in Berlin. Someone wants to stop us.’

‘You’re right.’

Heck touched the side of Wilde’s head, his finger tracing the old bullet scar where the hair had never regrown, even nine years later. ‘This wasn’t the first time someone tried to shoot you, Professor. You want to tell me about it?’

‘Another day maybe.’

‘I hope you killed the guy who did it.’

*

The flight was scheduled for early morning, so Wilde had to make do with four hours’ sleep. Washing quickly and hurrying downstairs, he stopped to scratch a note of thanks for Richard Helms and left the Minsky caviar to be shared out.

Outside, the morning was grey and had a chill in the air and he cursed the lack of a cup of coffee. The military driver of a large Daimler Benz was already there, waiting to take him to Tempelhof. The road had been cleared of debris so the drive was relatively easy and he arrived with half an hour to spare before the transport plane was due to depart.

A familiar figure was standing outside the airport entrance. Boris Minsky.

Wilde did not try to conceal his astonishment and irritation.

‘Comrade Minsky, what in God’s name are you doing here?’

‘Nothing to do with God, my friend.’ Minsky gave a shrug that said, I had no option. He was in a civilian suit rather than the tunic and medals of a Red Army colonel general. ‘Everything to do with Comrade Stalin and his two attack dogs. When I got back to my quarters last night a summons was awaiting me. I was ordered to report to Viktor Abakumov in Moscow with immediate effect. And we all know what that means.’ He held his hand like a gun and put it to the back of his head. ‘Boom. Boris Minsky dead.’

‘That’s bad, but it doesn’t answer my question.’

‘You have to save me, my friend.’

‘Impossible. I’m heading to Nuremberg, and I’m going alone.’

‘This is life or death. You’re my only hope. It was difficult enough getting here to the aerodrome undetected. I certainly could not make my way out of the Soviet sector of Germany by an overland route. Please, you must allow me to join you on your flight.’

‘And how would I explain to the crew that a Soviet colonel general wishes to join me aboard an American transport to Nuremberg?’