‘What about the stories that he would go abroad, to Spain or South America, by plane or submarine?’

‘I don’t believe Hitler would ever leave his homeland. There are still many people who love him in Bavaria and Austria. He knew he would be protected there.’

‘Who might know the precise location, do you think?’

‘Someone involved in the Alpenfestung planning. If any of them is alive, of course. Franz Hofer, perhaps. Is he alive? He was the Tyrol Gauleiter.’

Wilde glanced at Eaton, who shrugged. ‘I could find out.’

Diebner warmed to his theme. ‘Or Schellenberg,’ he said. ‘Walter Schellenberg, he was certainly involved. But I repeat, Himmler was specific: southern Bavaria. Hitler is there.’

Chapter 5

January 1945

Lilly Marais woke just before dawn to feed her baby and to milk the cow. It was the same ritual every day, however cold the weather, however dark the mornings. At least she had had a good night’s sleep, undisturbed by Nathalie. She switched on her bedside lamp and it threw out a weak yellow glow.

It was bitter this morning. Ice streaked the inside of the tiny window. She huddled into her threadbare dressing gown, combed back her long golden hair with her fingers, then crossed the room to the old apple box that served as a crib. There was a good little cot in the house – the baby pink one her own mother had used all those years ago – but that was forbidden her. It was an unpleasant sanction, but Lilly shrugged it off; the important thing was that her baby was healthy and thriving.

Her breasts were swollen, ready to give the child her first feed of the day. She reached down to pick her up from the blankets, but then she froze.

Nathalie wasn’t there.

Were her eyes deceiving her? The light was very poor. She picked up the tangled pile of blankets, but they were empty. Her fingernails scraped frantically at the rough edges of the wooden box, as though the baby was curled up in a corner. Where was she?

Perhaps her mother had come to collect her. Lilly left the box and went to the door. Lifting the latch, she stepped outside onto the short landing.

‘Mama?’ she called down the staircase.

There was no reply, and yet she could hear sounds from below, and the lights were on. She called again, louder this time. ‘Mama, is Nathalie with you?’ Unslippered, her feet icy cold on the bare boards, she hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Her mother was at the range, stirring a pot. She did not look around as her daughter entered the room.

‘Mama?’ Lilly said, perturbed by her mother’s failure to respond. ‘Where is Nathalie?’

‘Ask your father,’ the woman said, still without turning around. Her voice was flat. Something was not right.

‘Is she with him? Where is he? Where has he taken her?’

‘He’s in the yard.’

Lilly felt her heart beating faster. Her mother’s refusal to look at her told her that something was very wrong. They had had so many fights these past months. Her father’s refusal to let her use the family cot was just one of their many points of conflict. One day, her father had even spat on the ground in front of the baby.