The drive to Oberursel showed them more of the terrible destruction wrought on Germany. Roads were cratered, bridges hastily repaired but not properly rebuilt, checkpoints commonplace, town centres shattered and shops boarded up. Makeshift markets had sprung up everywhere – sometimes single stall-holders like Birgit Zimmer’s pathetic collection of bric-a-brac on a remote roadside in Bavaria, sometimes groups of people throwing up tables full of food, old clothes or random items in bombed-out squares and streets.

Heck had asked that he be allowed to lead the questioning this time. Wilde wasn’t happy, but Heck pushed his case. ‘You think I am not subtle, Professor. But I am when need be. Had the Nazis not invaded the Netherlands, I would have gone to university to study literature. At least try me.’

‘OK, but remember, there is no suggestion that this woman is a war criminal. She’s not SS.’

‘I understand that, and I accept that you are the boss. If it’s not working, butt in.’

*

Hanna Reitsch was not what Wilde expected. Strong, small, smiling, not pretty but strangely magnetic. They met her in the camp commander’s comfortable sitting room. Reitsch wore a smart red suit, pearl earrings, and had somehow managed to get her short fair hair permed. Neat and businesslike, it enfolded her scalp and temples like a military helmet.

At thirty-three years old, feted in Germany and abroad for her remarkable flying skill, she was clearly a woman who enjoyed her star quality and would never present anything but her best face to the world.

She seemed particularly interested in Wilde and he assumed it was his position as a Cambridge professor that impressed her. He could imagine her as the sort of person who immediately latched on to the most important person in the room, anyone who could in any way advance her career or interests. ‘I must say, you don’t look like a professor, Mr Wilde.’

‘I’m not quite sure what a professor looks like – or whether I should feel flattered or insulted.’

‘I mean, you look more physical than the usual type. German professors are all bent and weedy with thinning hair and thick spectacles.’

Wilde knew when he was being manipulated and shut down the flattery by indicating to Heck that it was time to change the subject and get on to more important matters. ‘Lieutenant, over to you.’

Heck put his first question. ‘Perhaps you would tell us about your final trip to Berlin, Frau Reitsch.’

The Dutchman’s voice was calm and soft. Wilde was pleasantly surprised.

‘You know, of course, that I have been all through these events already – on several occasions?’

‘Indeed we do, but we would like to hear it from you for ourselves. Otherwise it’s all hearsay.’

‘To what end, may I ask?’

‘We want to find Hitler.’