As before, Wilde parked in woods well away from the village of Almrosen. Given what had happened to August Jaeger up at the hermitage, it was impossible to rule out the possibility that Paula was a target and so he couldn’t take a chance that she was being watched or that her phone was tapped. The village was in darkness and the rain still fell, which helped him approach her house with stealth.

Skirting Paula’s neat little chalet, he went around to the back and found a dry place near her outhouses where she kept her goats and chickens. His body tensed at the sound of the animals bleating and clucking when they sensed his presence, but they soon stopped and went back to sleep.

He put his pack of weapons, rope, and binoculars down and crouched beneath the overhanging roof and watched her house. An hour later, he moved through the rain to her back door and knocked. There was no reply and he guessed she was asleep. All around the world, farmers always went to bed early and rose early. They lived their lives in the same rhythm as the seasons and their livestock.

The door was unlocked so he went in and lit his torch. She was sitting facing him, a long-barrelled hunting rifle pointing directly at his chest.

*

In the early hours, Mozes Heck slipped out of bed. Barefoot, wearing only pyjama trousers, he left his room and padded along the corridors. He was aware that at least one night nurse would be on duty, so he had to proceed slowly and carefully.

Prowling, like a night predator.

He moved from room to room, ward to ward. It was a small military hospital, with fifty beds, only a quarter of which were occupied. There was no form of identification on the doors, so he had to move silently to each patient to check the clipboard at the foot of each bed and, when possible, the face of the invalid. His only light was the low-wattage illumination from the corridors.

Julius Boden was in the last room. He was alone, flat on his back, either unconscious or asleep.

Heck stroked his brow to see if he would wake. Boden was burning up, and he continued to breathe heavily – his chest heaving as though every inhalation would be his last – but did not stir. For a minute Heck studied the face. He was young, fair-haired and handsome, with soft skin and no hint of stubble from a day or more without shaving. Not just handsome, but pretty. And there seemed to be a slight smile on his perfect pink lips.

On his way here, Heck had chanced upon a trolley with medical equipment and found a pair of sharp scissors. Now his left hand held the point of one of the two blades to Boden’s throat. ‘Where is he?’ he whispered into the SS officer’s ear. ‘Where is Hitler?’