Schellenberg nodded. ‘It is a fair point, sir.’

‘Well? Is there a Führerbunker in the Alps?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘And yet you were the man charged by Himmler with planning this thing.’

‘But nothing happened!’

‘Just for a moment imagine that something had happened. Where would the effort have been concentrated? At Hitler’s Berghof at Obersalzberg?’

‘That would have been foolish. All Germany’s enemies knew about the place. We would have sought somewhere far better hidden and more difficult to attack.’

Of course they would. Schellenberg wiped the sweat from his forehead again. It was time for a break. ‘I’ll get that tea,’ Wilde said. ‘Or perhaps you would prefer coffee.’

‘Yes, coffee, please. I would like that. Thank you.’

They had coffee and they went over the questions for another hour. Then they had lunch of pork chops and fried potatoes, accompanied by a glass of wine. The German plainly appreciated the food and drink, but Wilde realised he was getting nowhere. After lunch, he questioned him further and harder. Schellenberg knew little of use. The Alpenfestung had never happened. Full stop.

In frustration, Wilde leant across the table.

‘Give me something, Herr Dr Schellenberg. Give me something that will have made this day worthwhile. Something that will help persuade your judges that you did your best to assist me in discovering the true fate of Adolf Hitler. You know the alternative.’ The threat was implicit. It was time to get tough.

Schellenberg didn’t reply, but his hands were shaking.

Wilde pushed his face closer. ‘I’ve treated you well, but enough is enough. This is your last chance.’

The German general closed his eyes and for a moment Wilde wondered whether he was weeping. The man’s breathing was shallow and fast.

‘Schellenberg?’

He opened his eyes and blinked. ‘Do you have a pen and paper, sir?’

Wilde handed over his notepad and pencil. Schellenberg took the pencil in his trembling right hand and began to write, then handed the notepad back to Wilde.

There were three words: August Jaeger, Almrosen.

‘This is a name and a place, right?’

Schellenberg nodded. ‘Jaeger is a cousin of mine, on my mother’s side. He lives in the village of Almrosen, just across the border in Austria, but not so far from Garmisch. He is a mountain guide. In the First World War he was a hero in the Alpine war on the Italian front.’

‘And?’

‘In June 1944 after the Allies invaded Normandy, Himmler became very agitated and wanted solid plans for a retreat to the Alps. He wanted to know where it would be best to set up headquarters for an Alpenfestung. I suggested my cousin as an adviser. No one knows those mountains better than August Jaeger.’

‘So what happened?’

Schellenberg shook his head. ‘As far as I know nothing happened. I was no longer involved in the Alpenfestung. I had more important work to do.’

‘As far as you know . . .’

‘Indeed. It is possible someone did contact him and ask for his thoughts. He would certainly be able to make suggestions for places where Hitler could hide.’