I’ll let you into a secret: I also sometimes question our role, what we are doing. The question vexes me as much as it vexes you.” Hahn looked at Koehler, waiting for a reply that didn’t come. He stood up again, wandered around his desk, and sat back down in his chair.

“Do you love your family, Ernst?”

“Of course.”

“More than the Führer?”

Koehler blinked.

“I love the Führer and my family.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I—­”

Hahn held up a hand, stopping him.

“Let’s hope you never have to answer that question, Ernst. Thank you for speaking freely. I’m glad we’ve had this conversation.”

Hahn picked up the pencil again and wrote something in the margin of one of the documents, then shut the file with a flourish.

“Your request for transfer to Germany is denied. I’m going to bounce you upstairs for a few months; you can join the national planning team.”

“Planning team, sir?”

“Railway timetables, census work, just paperwork regarding the Jews throughout the country. Basically the sort of stuff you’ve been doing in London, on a slightly larger scale.”

Hahn smiled as Koehler slumped a fraction in his chair.

“It isn’t as bad as it sounds, Ernst. You’ll be deskbound, so you’ll not have to work directly with the Jews. You can just slide them across the tabletop on sheets of paper and keep your hands clean.”

“Thank you, sir,” Koehler said unconvincingly.

Hahn paused, then steepled his fingers and leaned forward, elbows on the desk.

“I know this is difficult for you, Ernst, but whether you like it or not, you are good at your job. Stick with this for a while and I’ll get you some leave back in Germany with your wife and child. How does that sound?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’ll keep you away from the Jews, and give me a man I can trust working there to keep an eye on things.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will report for duty in five days. That’ll give you time to get your Oak Leaves and say good-­bye to your family when they return to Germany.” Hahn slid the file to the far side of his desk and pointed at the door. “You are dismissed.”

Koehler sat and stared at Hahn for a second, then nodded slowly. He rose, put on his cap, and saluted before making his way to the door.

“Ernst,” Hahn called, and Koehler turned to face him.

“Sir?”

“You are a stunning soldier. You really are one of the best. Germany needs you and I need you. This is important work. We’re sowing the seeds for the future here, remember that. You’ve plenty of fight left in you, you just haven’t realized it yet.”

“Thank you, sir,” Koehler said.

For fuck all, Koehler thought, closing the door behind him.

 

CHAPTER 5

IT WAS SAID that the diplomatic quarter of London was one of the safest places on earth.

Maps now featured a thick black line that signified the German ring of steel, an impenetrable phalanx of checkpoints within which roaming squads of German soldiers patrolled, ready to sweep up those foolish enough to be inside without good reason and the correct papers.

A circle of safety for those on the German payroll, and a place where swastikas and portraits of the new leadership remained safe from resistance paintbrushes.

Inside the ring security was tight; at its edge it was tighter still. Ever since the Waterloo Station bomb a few years earlier, the Germans had taken care to protect their own. Now, just a few years later, it was said that the pigeons in Trafalgar Square had to show their papers every morning before landing on Nelson’s Column.

All this meant that Lotte Koehler felt safe as she walked with Anja along Regent Street toward Piccadilly. The snow was falling beautifully, silently sliding past the swastikas that hung from every other lamppost, virginal bright white against the bloodred flags that hung limp, barely drifting in the gathering breeze.

A few nervous-­looking cars crept down the road, back ends slipping this way and that on the compacting snow, their occupants rushing home before the storm closed the roads. Lotte noticed that the buses were almost all empty; the city was battening down. It made her wonder how Ernst’s meeting with Hahn was going and whether he’d be home before them.

Maybe they’d be heading back to their real home soon?

Back to Germany, back to being a family.

“Can we build a snowman tonight when Daddy gets home?” Anja tugged on her hand.

“Aren’t you a little old for snowmen?”

“You are never too old for snowmen, Mother, even you,” Anja teased, and Lotte realized how much her little girl was growing—­thirteen, nearly fourteen, not nearly a young woman but already her best friend.

Anja beamed at her mother, red cheeked, strands of blond hair escaping from under her woolen hat.

“Frau Koehler?” A young man in a smart suit and overcoat approached from where he was standing next to an Opel parked at the curb. “Your husband sent me to collect you.” The man pointed to the open rear door of the car.

“My husband sent you?”

“Yes, ma’am. He said I was to pick you up and take you home.” A smile, and almost impeccable German.

“He said that?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The man took a shopping bag from Anja. “The weather, he was worried.” The man pointed a finger up at the snow falling around them, just in case Lotte hadn’t noticed it.

Lotte looked into the Opel. Another man was sitting in the driver’s seat, also smiling.

“My husband Ernst sent you here to collect me?” Lotte turned to the first man.

“Yes, ma’am.” The smile now didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Lotte stepped back from the car, taking hold of Anja’s hand once more.

“Who are you?”

“We’re attached to your husband’s office; we provide low-­key security, ma’am.”

“I’ve never seen or heard of you.”

“That shows we’re doing our job.” The smile again.

Lotte looked at Anja and then back at him.

“Do you have identification?”

“Of course.” An ID card swept into sight from where it had been waiting in his right hand. “We do need to get moving . . .”

“I have one more thing to buy.”

“Allow us to take you to the shop. This is awful weather to be walking in.”

Lotte lowered her head to take another look at the driver, who was now staring straight ahead, hands on the wheel, waiting.

“The shop is just across the road; we can walk.”

“I must insist, Frau Koehler.”

Lotte took another half step and Anja, sensing tension, looked first at her mother and then cautiously over her shoulder at the half-­empty street behind them.

“There really is no need, the shop is just across the road.” Lotte pointed to a nearby tailor’s shop, barely visible through the plummeting snow that was getting heavier by the minute.

From out of the shop two uniformed army officers appeared.