was Heinrich Himmler who ran the SS with a bureau-
cratic fervour never before known in  human  hist-
ory. Himmler's forearm was known as  the  RSHA, or 
Reich Security Administration.  
   The  fist  of  this sinister limb was Reinhardt 
Heydrich, who ran the SD or Sicherheitsdienst, the 
Security Service.  And  if  its thumb was Heinrich 
Müller who ran the Gestapo,  or Secret Police,  as 
Dept IV of the RSHA,  it also had a crooked little 
finger.
   The nail of  this  crooked  little  finger  was 
Heinz Jost who ran Dept VI,  the foreign intellig-
ence.  But  the  nail  was a long one and it had a
nasty little point. The point was called Neuheim. 
   Captain Neuheim ran Dept VIB  of  the  RSHA,  a 
section that specialized entirely in devious prac-
tices of one kind or another.  Whether Neuheim had 
the sheer brainpower necessary for  such  devious-
ness, there was no doubting  his  enthusiasm,  nor 
his physical qualifications.  Some might have said
he would have done better in the  state  machine's 
right arm, or even as it's big toe.
   Alfred Helmuth Neuheim  was born on 2 September
1911 in Kiel where he early distinguished  himself
as a boxer and dockside hoodlum.  He  soon discov-
ered in the early 1930s that there was  much  more 
power and glory to be gained  -  and  just as much 
blood and money - in working for the Nazi cause.
   This suited him down to the ground,  where  his
victims usually stayed. Neunheim had nothing part-
icularly against Communists or Jews  -  except his 
fist or a knife  -  but  was  quite  reconciled to 
eliminating them if that was what  the  Nazi  doc-
trine required of him.
   He soon became known as the scourge of the Com-
munists, who had put a price on his head.  He  had
been ambushed more thanm a dozen times,  his  body
covered with the scars of bullet wounds and  knife 
thrusts, his nose broken with an iron bar,  and he
had lost the use of one eye which was now  covered
bya  sinister-looking patch, adding to the impres-
sion that he made on people that he was only  half
there. the half that was there, however,  was vol-
atile, dangerous and liable to pounce on  anything
that the half that wasn't couldn't,  and  call  it 
his.  He  had,  inevitably,  come to the notice of 
Reinhardt  Heydrich  at  a  crucial stage in Heyd-
rich's career,  and  when  Heydrich became Head of 
the SD he took Neuheim with him as his  right-hand 
man and occasional confidant.
   Neiheim was a fanatic:  essentially  a  man  of 
action who  would  nevertheless  prove useful in a
department specializing in the production of false
documents, agents' radio sets and  miniature  cam-
eras, which only needed a  nominal  head  to  make 
sure that the technicians  didn't  slacken.  Heyd-
rich's judgement was absolutely right: Neuheim had
the department running brilliantly,  primarily be-
cause he delegated everything, and then struck the 
fear of God in his delegates.
   Thus Neuheim could be freed for  more  original 
capers.
   It was here that Heydrich made a mistake. Orig-
inality was not one of Neuheim's strong points. He
demanded perfection of others and was critical  in
the extreme,  but  when he himself was required to 
handle a  delicate  operation  from  its  planning 
stage he seemed to go  into  a  kind  of  internal 
frenzy,  which he would turn immediately on which-
ever delegate was close at hand.  He was, however,
blind to this particular shortcoming,  a blindness
aggravated by several years in which  he  had  got
away with it without attracting any comment, since
it was a common feature of those who rose  in  the 
SS heirarchy.
   His years in the SS  had civilized Neuheim to a 
degree.  His  pugilism  was  now less physical and 
more mental -  and thus more formidable than ever. 
His uniform was always immaculate.  He  also had a 
compulsive hatred of waste and dirt.
   Since Neuheim implicitly believed  that  anyone 
who was not above him on the SAS ladder came  into
that category,  he regarded most of the human race 
as sewage,  though  he had learnt that some sewage 
could be profitably recycled, since he hated waste 
even more than he hated dirt. The safe in his inn-
er office was already a miniature  museum  of  war 
booty, even though the war had only been going for
two months.

and who had been  staring  at  Schulz  as  though 
he found him an attractive morsel. Schumacher had 
taken a critical scrutiny  of  his  uniform  and, 
after negotiating  with  the  stores  clerk,  had
provided Schulz with the requisite  trimmings  of 
the SS, the badges and the flashes and emblems of
the black-terror brigade.
   When Schulz and Schumacher arrived on the sec-
ond floor,  the corporal left him standing in the
corridor  while he investigated the possibilities
of useful employment.  Minutes later, however, he 
was back, looking disgruntled.
   'All they need around here is typists. Most of
them are women,  though, and I prefer men,  don't 
you?'
   Schulz shook his head and said, 'Yes.'
   'I don't suppose you can type?' said Schumach-
er, looking at him doubtfully.
   Schulz nodded and said, 'No.'
   'Good,' said Schumacher.  'Then you'll be use-
ful. They could do with a male typist.' Schumach-
er,  like  all  corporals,  knew the advantage of 
having a minion.
   He escorted Schulz to an office on  which  the 
bane 'SS Captain Neuheim, Dept VIB'  was  painted 
in black and  gold,  colours  for  which,  Schulz 
noted, the SS seemed to have an inordinate fond-
ness. When they stepped into Neuheim's outer off-
ice, however, it was immediately obvious they had
arrived at the wrong moment.
   Inside, a blitzkrieg was in progress.

   Neuheim was livid.  In  front of him,  looking 
pale and  badly  shaken,  stood two General Staff 
officers,  who  began slowly and awkwardly to un-
buckle their tunics and  belts.  They  were  soon 
down to their underpants.
   'A  nice  little  game  you've  been  playing, 
haven't you?' Neuheim screamed as he paced up and
down, dwarfing everyone in the room. 'You thought
we didn't know about it, didn't you?'  He wheeled
round on them. 'Do you think we're idiots?'
   Outside Neuheim's inner sanctum,  Schulz could
make out the highly polished boots of the  offic-
ers from his low vantage point,  crouched against 
a radiator underneath the window.  Next  to  him,
Schumacher had slid behind a desk and was  doodl-
ing on a pile of forms,  as  though  he had heard 
Neuheim's outbursts a thousand times before.
   'We've been following every move you've made,'
Neuheim was saying.  'Your contact,  Muller,  was 
picked up a week ago  and  confessed  everything!
Your little plot to assassinate  the  Führer  and 
make peace with the British'  (Neiheum spat out 
the word 'British'  as though he had discovered a 
cockroach in his caviare) 'is known to us!  And
to the Führer!'
   At that moment a portly,  fleshy-looking capt-
ain, whose name Schulz later discovered was Kube, 
and who had been standing behind Neuheim,  passed
by the half-open door. Schulz caught a glimpse of
the Staff officers' underpants  and wondered idly
if they  were  the  brand  manufactured  by  Herr 
Krauss.
   'And don't think we don't  know  there's  more 
behind you!  The whole higher command of the army 
is riddled with traitors!  The  army's not worthy 
of the Führer's trust!  We'll clean it out, out!'
   To Schulz's  ears,  untutored  in  the  subtle 
nuances of SS hysteria, the voice could well have
belonged to the Führer himself.  The significance
of what was being said escaped him for  the  time 
being,  but  he  did manage to catch a glimpse of 
the owner of the voice in the  form  of  a  black 
patch on a deadly white face,  scarred  down  one  
cheek, a cigarette holder clenched menacingly be-
tween his teeth,  as  Neuheim passed by the half-
open door. Schumacher at once busied himself with
the pencil. Then the switchboard buzzed and Schu-
macher put through  the  call.  SS  Captain  Kube 
picked up the 'phone on Neuheim's desk.
   'Yes, Oberstgruppenführer,  he's here,  just a 
minute.'
   His voice was less hysterical, but more deadly 
than Neuheim's. It oozed jovial charm. He covered 
the mouthpiece and turned to Neuheim.
   'Heydrich.'
   Neuheim took the 'phone.
   'My  dear  Reinhardt ...'  said  Neuheim,  his 
voice instantly transformed from high  rage  into 
low qheedling. 'Yes, I've  got  them  both  here. 
They're supposed to meet the two British officers
tomorrow morning in a café at Wilma - that's just
across the Dutch border.'
   A silence followed.  Heydrich was obviously in 
the driver's seat.
   'Of  course,  Reinhardt,'  Neuheim  continued. 
'Don't  worry,  I'll  have  those  Britishers  in 
Berlin by tomorrow night.  Goodbye.'
   Schumacher swivelled his eyes from  the  files 
of paper on his desk and looked down  at  Schulz, 
smiling a secret smile. Schulz stared back at him
blankly.  Apparently everything in the outer off-
ice came to  a  halt  when  Neuheim  performed  a 
cross-examination.
   'Have you met those British officers  before?'
he began again.
   'No,' said one of the underpanted officers.
   'But they're waiting for  you?  To  bring  the 
peace proposals?'
   'Yes.'
   'What are their names?'
   There was no reply. Neuheim slapped him across
the face, but he still did not answer.
   'Colonel  Clyde  Withers  and  Major  Harrison 
Smith!'  Neuheim  shouted.  'I  know their names! 
They both work for the  British  Secret  Service! 
How are you to identify yourselves?'
   There was a long pause. Then the first officer
spoke again.
   'By a phrase.'
   'And what exactly is  the  phrase?'  Neuheim's 
voice had become almost  gentle,  simmering  with 
sarcasm.
   '"The war could be over by  Christmas",  Capt-
ain.'

which they had removed,  realized that they would 
be going through the  pockets  in  the  lift.  It 
seemed to Schulz as if the whole war had been en-
acted in miniature in  that  first  meeting  with 
Neuheim.
   'My dear Neuheim,  Holland is a neutral  coun-
try,'  Schulz  could  hear  Kube  saying  in  his 
treacle-smooth voice.  'How does he suggest we do 
it without creating a diplomatic incident?'
   'Oh,  let the diplomats worry about the incid-
ents,'  replied Neuheim,  closing the door to his 
inner office. Schulz could only hear their muffl-
ed voices now,  as Schumacher stood up to stretch
himself.
   'Well,  Schulz,'  he  said.  'You've come at a
good moment.'
   'A good moment?'
   'It's  always  a  good moment when Neuheim has  
something on the go.  It keeps his mind away from 
the office.'
   Schulz wished there was some way he could back
out, but he had heard the soft thump of a  black-
jack as the guards had taken the two officers out 
of the lift and he felt a chill go down his spine
as it occurred to him that nobody walked  out  of 
the back door of the SS building.
   He remained squatting against the radiator and
looked at Schumacher for instructions.  Presently 
the buzzer went inside the inner office and Schu-
macher jumped and disappeared  after  it.  A  few 
moments later he stuck his head out of  the  door 
and beckoned Schulz to come in.  Neuheim,  Schulz
later discovered, liked everyone to report to him 
once a day.  This  was Schulz's moment to report, 
and first impressions with Neuheim  were  import-
ant.
   'What the hell  is  that?'  said  Neuheim,  as 
Schulz appeared before him. In a uniform that was
several sizes too large for  him,  Schulz  looked 
bizarre and ridiculous.
   'Private Gerhardt Otto  Schulz  reporting  for 
duty, Herr  Hauptsturmführer,'  said  Schumacher.
'Schulz is  your  new  private  and  confidential 
clerk.'
   Schulz flapped one of the sail-like sleeves in 
a salute.
   'Heil Hitler!' he said. It seemed a reasonable 
thing to say. Schumacher's  announcement  was  as 
much news to Schulz as  it  was  to  Neuheim  but 
there was very little he could do about  it,  now 
that he was staring into that meaty  nose.  Above 
it the black patch glistened while his  good  eye
screwed itself up like an enraged marble. Neuheim
had a dangerous quality about him  -  Schulz felt 
it instantly. There was no doubting that he was a
powerhouse of energy.
   'Is this some kind of joke?' Neuheim said fin-
ally. 
   Schumacher, who had been almost soporific only
five minutes earlier, was now almost manic,  like 
an advocate before a judge who was about to  dis-
appear down a moving staircase.
   'Certainly not,  sir!  Private Schulz has been 
drafted here.  All  the  documents  arrived  this 
morning.'
   If Schulz was ever going to say anything,  now 
was the time.
   'There may have been some mistake,  Herr Capt-
ain,'  he  interjected.  'I  had an interview for 
Postal Censorship. This isn't Postal Censorship.'
   'Postal Censorship?' Neuheim barked. 'Of cour-
se this isn't Postal censorship - what is he bab-
bling about?'
   Schumacher's voice became low  and  confident-
ial.  'From time to time,' he said, 'suitable ap-
plicants are passed on to use from Postal Censor-
ship. Herr Captain.  Private  Schulz  has  had  a
technical education  and  speaks  five  languages 
fluently.'
   As far as Schulz was concerned the first  part 
of  this  was  a  complete  fabrication,  but  he 
couldn't help being impressed by the  sheer  con-
viction with which  Schumacher  spoke.  He  never 
hesitated and every word came out with the absol-
ute ring of truth.  And,  as Schulz was to learn, 
you could never hesitate with  Neuheim.  He  only 
responded to an immediate stimulus,  like a well-
trained dog. Schumacher seemed to have him tamed.
   'Including English?'  Captain Kube had emerged 
from behind a filing cabinet.
   'Including English, Serbo-Croat, Dutch, Danish
and Romanian,' Schumacher reeled off,  determined 
to prove that it was  impossible  for  Schulz  to 
have entered the SS building by mistake. 'He also
has a prison record, Herr Captain.'
   Kube looked impressed. 'What for?'
   'Fraud, mein herr,'  said Schumacher deferent-
ially as if this were the cherry on the cake.
   'Fraud?' said Kube. 'He could be useful, Neuh-
eim.'
   By now Schulz was getting desperate. 'But it's
all wrong, sir.  I shouldn't be here at all.  I'm 
supposed'
   'Shut up, damn you,' snarled Neuheim, 'or I'll
have you shot!  Who do you think you are.  We de-
cide who comes into the SS and  who  leaves!  Get 
him out of here and for  God's  sake  get  him  a
tailor!'
   'Yes sir,' Schumacher said.
   'Just a minute,'  said  Neuheim,  changing his  
mind. 'Speaks English and Dutch, you say?'
   'Yes, Herr Captain.'
   'I'll take him with me,'  said  Neuheim.  'get 
him a suit of clothes,  a false passport and some
traveller's cheques.  I  want  him ready to leave 
for the Dutch border tonight.'