When he was rested, he turned on to his belly, clutched the binoculars to his face and looked down to the Boden house – the Bauernhof Edelweiss as it was prettily called.

He watched the house steadily for a few minutes, then ranged his view around the village. He recognised the mayor with his ornate pipe in his hand, striding past the ruins of the schloss, and he saw various other faces he recognised from their earlier visit. Far below the village he saw a red speck on the road, some sort of vehicle making its way towards Schwarzenkirche.

Heck took out his flask and poured himself a small, strong coffee, keeping his gaze vaguely on the village. He had enough food and water to last three days at most, but he hoped this would be settled long before then, for the coffee certainly wouldn’t last. He lit up a cigarette and drew deeply of the smoke. It occurred to him that if he saw Frau Boden’s son, he might have a clear shot with the rifle. But that wasn’t the point, was it? He couldn’t shoot the bastard. They had to either take him alive and question him – or follow him. Either way, he had to lead them to Hitler.

Letting Boden live would be hard. It went against the grain not to shoot an SS man, but maybe his chance would come later, when they had found their true quarry.

They had invested a great deal in Boden and there was no doubt that he was their best bet at the moment, but the truth was there was no solid evidence that he had helped Hitler escape the bunker. At the very least, however, he was a filthy Nazi who deserved to die.

There was movement at the Boden farmhouse. Frau Ilse and her maid had emerged and were standing on the doorstep, talking animatedly. The way the girl hung her head it seemed she was being chastised, as if she still hadn’t been forgiven for daring to answer any of Wilde’s questions. Heck stubbed out his cigarette

Suddenly, the mistress of the house slapped the girl around the face with brutal force and she fell to her knees, holding her head in her hands. The older woman pulled her roughly to her feet and shook her violently.

A rickety van – the one he had seen a few minutes earlier on the road up from the valley – was drawing up nearby. It was bright red and bore the legend Reichspost on the side. The driver stopped it beneath some fruit trees.