The Street Had No Name

Chapter 21

BERLIN, 1942

They were all there, all the members of the Nazi elite, with the Austrian at the head of the table. Von Triffel could see that he was drawn, exhausted, what’s more, from the smile on the face of the weasel Himmler, he had probably been brow beaten in the way that only that little bald monster could affect.

Himmler was such a simple man, a bit like a Doberman. He was predictable in that he was always going to bite. Von Triffel was content to let him run his course as the ruses he affected added further to the state that was Germany of the Reich. The axiom of profit being found where there was confusion was never more evident than at this time in this place. The Order was content with it all and had given Von Triffel license to do what he deemed fit. No matter what outcome, it was good for them, good for them all.

For a while now Himmler had designs beyond his station. There was no doubt in Von Triffel’s mind that he wanted the leadership, he knew he was responsible for at least one attempt on Hitler’s life and there were possibly more to come. Now, he was waging war on Hitler’s power base and he saw Von Triffel as an obstacle to overcome.

Unfortunately for Himmler, he understood about one hundredth of it all. Perhaps now, he would have a little more explained, although Von Triffel was not really interested in any of this carry-on. Truth be known, The Reich had almost outlived its usefulness and there were plans afoot to bring it all to an end anyway, he secretly enjoyed the role he play-acted for these peasants parading in their party suits and playing soldiers.

This afternoon though, he had little or no time for any of it; matters played on a far larger stage than this were holding his true interests. Thus, both his patience and mood were very short and woes betide any of them that stressed either.

The meeting had obviously been going for a while. The room was full of smoke and smelt of stale food and stale men. He noted that Himmler was in Von Triffel’s normal seat and the only one vacant was at the end of the long table, all others taken by the notaries. If the intent had not been so comically telegraphed Von Triffel may have found it annoying instead of amusing.

Now, he knew he would have to definitely take control of this. He turned to close the door and allowed a small smile to cross his face, hidden from the others in the room. When he turned back it had gone and was replaced by the normal serious countenance that was his trademark.

He took the seat and sat upright, his hands crossed in front resting on the red leather folder; watching the room, seeing the faces of the men, focusing on Himmler, the corner of his mouth twitching minutely as he noted the look of self-satisfaction on the smooth white face of the small man.

Himmler was a diminutive, diffident man who looked more like a humble bank clerk than Germany's police dictator. His pedantic demeanour and ‘exquisite courtesy’ fooled one English observer into stating that ‘nobody I met in Germany is more normal’. He was a curious mixture of bizarre, romantic fantasy and cold, conscienceless efficiency, juxtaposed more often than not. When one would expect fantasy one saw efficiency and vice versa.

Described as ‘a man of quiet unemotional gestures, a man without nerves’, in fact he suffered from psychosomatic illness, severe headaches and intestinal spasms. The story goes that he almost fainted at the sight of a hundred eastern Jews (including women) being shot on the Russian front. Subsequent to this experience, he ordered as a ‘more humane means’ of execution, the use of poison gas in specially constructed chambers disguised as shower rooms. The truth of the matter was that Von Triffel had hand chosen Heinrich Himmler to perform his part in the passion play as much as any other.

This failed chicken farmer, rescued from financial ruin in 1929 was, at Von Triffel’s behest, appointed head of Hitler's personal bodyguard, the black-shirted Schutzstaffel (SS). At that time the SS consisted of a rag-tag team of 200 men. Under his leadership, and with more than a little help from Von Triffel and The Order, subsequently became an all-embracing empire within the Nazi State.