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Noemi watched the arms shoot up as the Führer’s cavalcade approached, noting the fact that it was exactly on time.

Once they’d decided where the attack was going to take place – during the celebration of youth rally to be held later in the day at the Dachau Palace, which was a short train ride outside the city – she and Matthias had fretted for days over the best way to pin down the Nazis’ plans.

They’d presumed that security would be watertight given how many dignitaries were expected to be in attendance.

All they’d actually had to do in the end was to spend their evenings sitting in the corners of the pubs frequented by the hordes of overexcited Hitler Youth boys who couldn’t hold their drink.

Munich, as it turned out, was a very leaky vessel.

The celebrations, which would continue to run like clockwork, began with the Führer and the wreath-laying ceremony.

That completed, he would retire to the sanctuary of his mountain retreat in Berchtesgaden, handing over the reins for the rest of the day to Baldur von Schirach, the head of the Hitler Youth, and Ludwig Siebert, Ministerpr?sident of Bavaria. The targets.

‘So far so good. Once the bulk of the spectators have moved off, we’ll go to the station along with the last bunch. If we’re right, the hill should be crowded by the time we get there and it’ll be easier to blend in.’

Noemi nodded as Matthias whispered a final check in her ear.

They’d blended in perfectly well so far.

They hadn’t been able to source Hitler Youth or League of Girls uniforms – no one they knew had safe contacts for those – but they’d dressed carefully.

Matthias wore a brown coat over a brown shirt and trousers, Noemi had found a black one to put over her dark skirt and white blouse; both of them were swaddled in thick scarves to hide their lack of Party badges.

It would be packed tight on the train and dark by the time the main ceremony started – nobody would notice their clothes were a little loose and a little threadbare.

Or suspect that a couple of illegal Jews with illegal pistols would be lurking among the revellers, on the hunt for two of the most important Nazis in Bavaria.

As Noemi had pointed out when she’d explained her plan to Matthias, they at least had the element of surprise.

The next stage advanced perfectly too. Nobody gave them a second glance on the train from Munich to Dachau.

The boisterous groups of young men and women crammed into it were too busy singing at the tops of their voices and flirting with each other to care about anyone but themselves.

Noemi still kept her hat low and kept her distance from the uniformed girls.

It might have been seven years since Nuremberg, and she was twenty not thirteen, but she had a feeling a punch like the one she’d delivered wouldn’t have been easily forgotten, and she had no desire to spot – or be spotted by – a familiar face.

‘Here we go.’

She could hear the adrenaline in Matthias’s voice as they got off the train and began making their way towards the gently sloping hill which led to the palace.

The torchlit procession – which had been allowed because Reichsminister Goring, the head of the Luftwaffe, had personally guaranteed there wouldn’t be any air raids that night – was already halfway up, its flames flickering across the dark hill like a spill of orange ribbon.

They followed behind the singing crowds, reaching the summit and the huge cauldrons of fire set up in the grounds as the band began playing, the drums rising and falling in a hypnotic beat.

The light from the torches and the firepits sent a gold-and-crimson arc into the sky which cast its rays down onto the blacked-out town below.

And across the camp Noemi turned quickly away from.

‘Inside there, hurry.’

They slipped into the shadow of the treeline as the crowds surged towards the stage where the dignitaries were waiting to start the speeches which would lead into the medal ceremony.

‘There’s younger children out there than I expected; they must have involved the junior leagues too. So it’s even more important that we strike before the winners get called onto the stage. I don’t want to kill a ten-year-old.’

Matthias looked as worried as she felt. It was a detail neither of them had planned for, but she knew he wouldn’t turn back unless she asked him to, and they’d come too close to stop now.

They separated at once as they’d agreed and edged carefully round the crowd to take up their positions on opposite sides of the stage.

Her target was von Schirach; his was Siebert.

So far, so good again. Except the plan had already started to shift out of shape.

Noemi swore under her breath as she located her sight line.

The torches planted at the side of the stage had heated the cold air, distorting distances and blurring bodies.

She took a deep breath and waited for her pulse to slow, trusting that Matthias – who must have encountered the same issue – was doing the same.

Everything is going to schedule; everything will be fine. A couple of glitches are nothing to worry about. And if my nerve starts to fail, I’ll imagine the target is Viktor.

Her racing pulse eased as Dachau’s mayor completed the introductions.

According to the timetable of events everyone in Munich knew off by heart, Siebert would address the audience first, then von Schirach would speak.

But both men would stand up together when the compère finished, to shake his hand and acknowledge the crowd’s applause.

And that’s when we shoot them, both at the same time. One burst and they’re gone.

Noemi stopped thinking about gone or what was needed to get the men there.

She let herself do what she’d been training to do for the past fortnight.

She checked no one was nearby, she took the pistol carefully out of her pocket.

She inserted the magazine, took another steadying breath, pulled the toggle back and raised her right arm, cupping her right hand with her left to ready the angle.

The official waved to his guests; the two men stood up.

Noemi pictured Matthias’s body mirroring hers.

She pictured the moment of their success.

Then she emptied her mind of everything but her target and fired.

But the heat haze had blurred her angle, and Siebert and von Schirach didn’t know the parts they needed to play for the plan to work.

In the same second as the bullets burst from the barrels, one man stepped back and turned round; the other leaned to the side.

The shots missed their targets. They ploughed into the rows behind.

Someone screamed, someone fell; a ripple of panic ran through the crowd.

Noemi fired again and again until her magazine was empty and her hand was numb.

It was too late. The two men who were supposed to be dead were very much alive and surrounded by a ring of armed guards whose guns were already blazing.

The ripple of fear ran wider. The crowd began to push and shove, before breaking apart into hundreds of terrified boys and girls desperately trying to get away from the stage and the bullets flying in both directions.

Noemi dropped her gun and kicked it away into the undergrowth.

Her body wanted to run towards Matthias to check he was safe, but her brain wouldn’t let it.

‘Whether it goes right or wrong, we can’t meet up anywhere near Dachau. We have to make our own way back to Munich, and wait a day before we contact each other.’

They’d both said it; they’d both agreed. But Noemi had been as overconfident that day as her partner. She hadn’t allowed for failure, or for the terror which had taken hold of the hill, and the very real possibility of injury or capture.

Crowds were already streaming past her as the gunfire continued, crying about bodies and murders and madmen.

Every instinct told her that the chaos wouldn’t be allowed to continue, that a cordon would appear in a minute or two and cut off the escape routes.

She couldn’t take her chances with that.

She could only hope that Matthias would recognise the danger and save himself as quickly.

‘Are you hurt? Did you see what happened?’

She flung herself into the nearest group of girls, no longer caring about familiar faces.

She clutched on to the one who was crying the most, adding her own – not entirely fictitious – panic to the rising tide.

Together they stumbled down the hill, Noemi sobbing as loudly as the rest, and scrambled onto a train, minutes before the Gestapo appeared, took control of the station and closed the line down.