At ten o’clock, the colonel was at his bedside, bristling with hostile indignation. ‘You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?’

‘Yes, sir. Perhaps you already know what it’s about.’

‘Well, why don’t you try giving me a clue and we’ll take it from there. I believe you said you had some kind of proposition for me.’

‘Actually, I just want to know what the deal is with Boden. Why is he here in this hospital being treated? And why didn’t you tell me or Wilde that you had him?’

The colonel didn’t try to conceal his anger. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘No? I saw him last night. I held a blade to his throat in a bed not a hundred paces from here.’

‘I think I’d better call the doctor, soldier. You’re delusional.’

Heck had risen from the bed and was moving towards the door. ‘Come with me, Colonel, let’s go talk to him now.’

Appache reached out to stop him. ‘Where the hell do you damned well think you’re going?’

Heck slipped from his grasp and ran along the corridor. The movement shook his injured arm and the pain was intense, but he didn’t stop until he was at the door of the room where he knew Boden was being treated.

Appache was three steps behind him. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Heck?’

‘Open the door, Colonel. Show me what’s inside.’

‘God damn you, Heck, if you were in the US Army I would have you court-martialled for your insubordination. As it is, I am going to relieve you of your mission with immediate effect. You will return to your regiment as soon as you’re out of here.’

A nurse and a doctor had heard the commotion and had joined them.

‘OK,’ Heck said. ‘I’ll do it myself.’ With his left hand, he pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The bed was empty, just a bare mattress where Boden had lain.

*

There was movement at the door to the mountain house. Wilde screwed the binoculars tight to his eyes. A dark-haired woman was coming out. She had some sort of tool in her hand.

Wilde quickly realised it was a pair of secateurs. She was deadheading geraniums in boxes along the front verandah. At first sight he had thought she was quite young, but now he estimated she was about forty or fifty, a plain-looking woman, but healthy and strong.

She turned back towards the door as though she had been called, but it was impossible to hear anything up on the high ridge.

Wilde had a good view of her face, and he had seen photographs of Eva Braun. He was certain this woman was not her. Could it be one of Hitler’s secretaries or a relative? He had no way of knowing.