‘The results were misrepresented – turned completely on their head, initially by Lindemann. I know because I was there. Instead of being used as a reason why carpet bombing was pointless because it wouldn’t undermine the morale of a population, the data from Hull was perverted to show that if enough bombs were dropped – ten times as many bombs – the German people would crack.’ He tapped his documents. ‘And it’s all clear in these documents. Minutes of meetings between Lindemann and the psychologists. Records of exchanges between Lindemann, Churchill and Harris. When you see all this, you’ll see the bombing of Dresden in a new light.’

I nodded thoughtfully. The man was right – if the documents backed up what he was saying. I could see the man’s hands shaking as he held the papers. Keeping all this bottled up for years – when it meant so much to him – had clearly had a profound effect.

‘What I don’t understand,’ I said, ‘is why you’re giving me this information now. You’re still taking a huge risk in breaking the Official Secrets Act. What’s in it for you?’

‘I don’t want money, if that’s what you’re implying. I just want to right a terrible wrong. I’ve lived with the guilt of this for years. The bombing of Dresden wasn’t just a mistake. It wasn’t just a miscalculation.’

‘So what was it?’

‘A war crime. An horrific, predetermined war crime – and some of Britain’s most revered and lionised wartime leaders were simply that: war criminals.’

Chapter 46

46

That, of course, was why the East German authorities were so interested in my research. I wasn’t naive. If they could cultivate an eminent British academic, whose research included secret papers that appeared to show Britain’s wartime leaders had deliberately and illegally flouted the rules of war, just how valuable could that be? Not just as a propaganda tool, but also – potentially – as a way of receiving reparations, despite the fact that Nazi Germany had been the initial aggressor.

Where did it all go wrong? Why am I languishing here, in a People’s Police holding cell? The answer to that is Lotti, or rather my mistake in reviving our friendship – and to me that’s all it was and would ever be. How was I to know that the Stasi would manage to blackmail her into joining them, and that – bizarrely – they would use her to undermine my research, not strengthen it?

I hear the metallic clang of the cell’s observation hatch being slammed open. A pair of eyes peers through at me, as if to check I haven’t managed to discover some secret passage, and escaped, like in an Enid Blyton novel.

Then the sounds of the door being unlocked, and two men enter who I’ve never seen before.