“I see,” said Chavasse softly. “And what exactly are your aims at the moment?”

“The same as yours,” Hardt said calmly. “I want that manuscript, but even more than that, I want Bormann.” Before Chavasse could reply, Hardt got to his feet and moved to the door. “I think I’d better go into the corridor and see what’s going on.”

The door closed behind him and Chavasse sat on the edge of the bunk, a slight frown on his face, as he considered the implications of what Hardt had said. It was well known that there was at least one strong Jewish underground unit that had been working ceaselessly since the end of the war in all parts of the world, tracking down Nazi war criminals who had evaded the Allied net in 1945. He had heard that its members were fanatically devoted to their task, brave people who had dedicated their lives to bringing some of the inhuman monsters responsible for Belsen, Auschwitz, and other hellholes to justice.

On several occasions during his career with the Bureau, he had found himself competing with the agents of other Powers toward the same end, but this was different – this was very different.

The train started to move, the door opened, and Hardt slipped in. “I just saw Steiner. He’s been raging like a lion up and down the track. It was finally pointed out to him that you were probably several miles away by now and he was persuaded to come back on board. I don’t fancy your chances if he ever manages to get his hands on you.”

“I’ll try to see that he doesn’t.” Chavasse nodded toward the American uniform. “A neat touch, your disguise. After the crime, the criminal simply ceases to exist, eh?”

Hardt nodded. “It’s proved its worth on several occasions, although the spectacles can be a bit of a nuisance. I can’t see a damned thing in them.”