‘Stasi.’ The contact confirmed what I’d suspected.

I stayed sunk in my seat as the Gaz came to a halt. Tenny mumbled from behind: ‘What’s going on, mate?’

Red Ken didn’t have time to answer. Spag was flapping. ‘Don’t stop! They’ll kill us! I’m ordering you.’

Red Ken smiled through the windscreen. ‘Nick, Tenny – stand by. We’ll sort this once we’re out of the vehicle. I see two so far, no weapons.’

I gripped the Maglite in my right hand, with the shaft up my forearm. You’re better off out on your feet than sitting in a wagon. Once we were in the open air, I’d be ready the moment Red Ken kicked it off.

The closer the voices got, the tighter I gripped. My eyes strained at the tops of their sockets. The two Stasi seemed to be waving us out of the wagon, with the confidence that comes from no one ever fucking you about.

Red Ken’s fingers closed round the door handle.

The contact wound down the window. Cold air rushed into the wagon. His breath billowed as he spoke.

I heard the word ‘Zigarette’.

Then: ‘Ach so – Englische Zigarette?’

I pretended to come awake, and looked around dozily. Red Ken was sitting there, beaming friendship and goodwill.

Spag was close to hyperventilating. The knuckles gripping the bag gleamed white.

The contact opened his door and got out. The Stasi in the sheepskin arched an eyebrow as he studied the cigarette in his hand, but he accepted a light. Then he spotted the cheap disposable, and his hand grabbed the contact’s wrist.