For a long time, she’d been coming to a conclusion that she could no longer work for a state which lied and cheated in this way. She knew the Republic didn’t have a monopoly on lying and cheating – governments in the West no doubt acted in the same way, for different ends. The presence of ‘Brian Jones’ behind her was proof enough of that.

All she cared about now, all that was left, was her children and their future. She knew she had to survive, if only to be able to rescue them. To provide them with a better life. But how could she do that here in this rotten state, one that had promised so much, but sunk so low?

So perhaps she should have done with it. Give them their beloved research paper. Let the British hide their secrets, and let them pay the Republic for the privilege.

But then that would be betraying Rüdiger Bahlow, a man orphaned by the Anglo-American terror bombing. A Stasi agent, but – if what he said was true – one of the rare good ones.

It would be betraying Lotti Rolf, who’d only been trying to do her best in her own misguided way.

Over and above all that, it would be betraying Arnold Southwick, a man who was principled enough to die for his beliefs.

So, across the span of the bridge, she shouted a single word.

‘No.’

There was a pause then. An overwhelming silence waiting for the Stasi man’s gunshot. Or would it be Jones to fire first?

Then she realised they weren’t shooting, but advancing towards her – one from the front, one from behind.

She made a quick calculation. Could she fire off a round before they took her down? The answer was clear. She’d be gunned down while still reaching into her shoulder holster.

They were nearly upon her, from front and back. It was almost over.

Then a shout.

‘Freeze, both of you. Kriminalpolizei! Drop your weapons. Hands above your heads.’

Tilsner!

She tried to see where he was, but the echoes of his voice made that difficult. It sounded like there were two Tilsners, three perhaps, even four.

The Stasi officer had ducked down behind the rampart-like side of the bridge, his gun still trained on Müller, ignoring Tilsner’s instruction.

Then something in his look made her turn round. Jones had crept up behind her, keeping his body below the level of the parapet side of the bridge. She started to draw her gun but he was on her before she could, and she felt the cold metal jab of a gun barrel at her temple, and her gun arm yanked up behind her back to her shoulder blades. The pain forced her to drop her own weapon.

‘I’ve got a gun pointing at your boss’s head, Oberleutnant Tilsner. Show yourself and drop your weapon or—’

A shot rang out.