“What now?”

“I want your absolute guarantee that if we are sent into action, we will not be fighting against British, American or Commonwealth troops.”

This sounded reasonable to Strasser. The implication of Lockhart’s words also seemed to be that he was perfectly willing to fight the Russians.

“You have that guarantee—it has always been the case.”

“Thank you,” said Lockhart.

Now was the time to spring the news, the news he was sure that Lockhart would dislike.

“In fact,” said Strasser, “there is talk that we will shortly be sent to Dresden, so you’ll be well away from any of your compatriots.”

Lockhart’s expression was just as Strasser had hoped.

“Dresden? Why Dresden?”

“There is an SS pioneer school there.”

“We’re going to be pioneers? But we’ll be little more than navvies!”

“I didn’t know the English had such a low opinion of pioneers. In the Wehrmacht and the SS, they are highly regarded—they destroy minefields, clear enemy defenses, man support weapons. It’s a frontline role.”

“It sounds as though your pioneers are a little different to ours.”

“We like to think of them as combat engineers.”

“So they’re in the thick of it then?”

Strasser smiled.

“That’s right,” he said. “Right in the thick of it.”

“The men won’t like that.”

“It’s your job to see that they do.”

“And when are we meant to be going?” Lockhart asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Strasser, which was the truth. “In a few weeks, I think.”

“Next month then?”

“More than likely.”

“Does this mean that I won’t get to see my wife?”

Strasser had been waiting for that. In fact, he had thought it was going to come up earlier.

“Not at all. I’m still working on it. I hope to have some good news for your shortly.”

The Rosenstock was usually quiet on Sunday nights, which was why Lockhart chose it for dinner with Worstead. He was scrutinizing Worstead’s face, looking for a telltale flicker as he had done with Strasser so many times before. Lockhart felt his right leg shaking underneath the table. He was tense, steeling himself for the confrontation that only he knew they were about to have. Worstead looked down at the tablecloth—he was evidently uneasy with the whole subject of Anna.

Since returning from Berlin, Lockhart had been trying to decide how he would play this moment. Would he play it straight, by simply accusing Worstead of what he knew? Or would he be more subtle, laying traps for Worstead, hoping that he would fall into them? He favored the former, as Worstead had proved himself to be supremely cunning. The straight approach had the benefit of creating a sense of shocked panic, a sense that should ensure Worstead would not have the right mind-set to wriggle out.

The waitress arrived with their drinks—two large beers and two large schnapps. This, thought Lockhart, would be the last time he raised his glass to Worstead.

“Here’s to you, Andrew,” he said, lifting his schnapps glass.