‘I told you to bring me Bormann. Get me Bormann or I will have you shot. I will shoot you myself. Do you think I won’t? Get me Boden, too, I want Boden. This is a great day, for I have decided to raise him up to the rank of field marshal. He will command the reserve armies in Pomerania, the third SS Panzers. Kesselring will take over the Ninth Army and move from the south. In tandem, they will drive eastwards through Prussia and sweep Zhukov’s rabble aside in a mighty pincer. Come, young man, look here.’

He patted the table and Wilde realised he was looking at an intricate relief model of Europe complete with tiny toy soldiers, aircraft and tanks.

Hitler thrust his open hands forward until the fingers joined to illustrate the pincer movement. It was the sort of dramatic display he might have made from the podium at a million-man rally. ‘We must seize this moment of destiny. The final thrust – first Leningrad, then Moscow.’

Wilde watched him bemused. Hitler’s arms were down at his side now, shaking with excitement and palsy.

Behind him, the film flickered on in all its horror. Wilde didn’t want to look, but nor could he tear his eyes away; the images were repulsive. A stool was kicked from beneath the feet of the man with the wire noose about his neck. Now he was swinging helplessly in space, the tips of his toes inches from the stone floor, his legs and arms bound tight. The camera moved onto his face, close up on his bulging eyes, his hopeless resignation and longing for death. Who was this man?

The woman in the apron – Frau Fuchs – had joined him at the door. ‘Is this really Hitler?’ Wilde asked her.

‘This is Opa,’ she said. ‘He has a taste for old Hollywood horror films, and he imagines things. Now please go.’

‘No,’ the bearded man said. ‘I need him. He is to bring Bormann and Boden to me. Together we will save Germany. This is our destiny.’ He stopped and his watery blue eyes bored into Wilde. ‘Who are you? Have I seen you before?’

‘My name is Wilde. I have come to arrest you.’

‘Then you will be shot. Frau Fuchs, bring me my pistol.’

This was not going to be easy. Before coming down here, Paula had studied the map and pointed out what she believed would be an easier, quicker way out of the hidden meadow, a route down to a village to the north avoiding both Schwarzenkirche and Almrosen. But even the route she suggested would not be simple. There would be some difficult climbing, some streams to cross, treacherous inclines, even a small glacier that would be tough to negotiate without crampons.