In his lucid moments when the morphine had worn off, he knew he had to talk to his mother. Something had gone terribly wrong and he was bereft of information.

And there at last was John Appache, telephone in hand, trailing a long wire into the makeshift bedroom in his own quarters. ‘Here you are, Boden,’ he said. ‘One call, that’s your lot. You understand?’

Boden struggled to sit up in bed and winced at the intense pain. ‘Of course, and thank you for everything, Colonel.’

‘Don’t thank me, thank my superiors.’

The American CIC man turned on his heel and walked out.

When the door was shut, Boden tried to get comfortable. He had been shot in the stomach. The American surgeons had saved his life thus far, but he knew from their faces that the prognosis was not good, and he did not expect to live. He knew from the battlefield that it was often not the initial wound that killed, but the infection that followed. He was burning hot. His torso was bandaged heavily and the pain coursed through him in waves as he tried to ease himself into a position to make this last call. Finally, he settled back on the pillows, lifted the handset and got the exchange to put him through to his home number.

He had an important message to pass on to Siegfried. He would have to take the torch and carry it forward to the next generation. Siggy would be the bearer of the flame that had been lit by Adolf Hitler. A fire that must never be extinguished.

His mother answered, her voice as brusque as ever. ‘Bauernhof Edelweiss.’

‘It’s Julius. We have to talk.’

‘Julius, you’re alive. Thank God. Hildy is dead. So is Frau Fuchs. And Opa.’

‘Opa dead?’ Opa – grandad. Their private name for Adolf Hitler. He wasn’t anyone’s grandfather, of course, but the few people charged with concealing him had had it drummed into them that he must never be referred to as anything but Opa. You never knew who might be listening. Only the Bodens and Frau Fuchs must ever know about Hitler’s presence in the hidden meadow. That was why August Jaeger had had to die. He had found the place for them, but his loyalties were questionable.

‘The Ami got to him. Fuchs set off the device. It must have been all she could do, but Siggy has other ideas. He blames her. He is angry, Julius. He says you should never have made him defer to Frau Fuchs. He also blames the Frenchwoman, too. He even blames me.’

‘I’ll talk to Siggy.’

‘Julius, you don’t sound well. Your breathing is not good.’

‘I think I do not have much time. Give me Siggy.’

The boy’s voice came on the line. ‘When will we see you, Julius?’

‘You won’t, Siggy. The torch passes to you. You know what to do.’