As we know, KTB #108 was quite late. This was due to intense research and communications with RADM CLOAK 'N DAGGER for many weeks. In fact, we used approximately one roll of FAX paper each week with incoming information.

Over the past many months, you have read 'teasers' about this important research, but we were not able to give details until we made sure we had all the material documented and in our opinion, real and accurate.

Over these past many months, we have read of strange-sounding things like 'BLACK BOATS' and 'FEUERLAND BASES' and 'BASIS NORD' and 'BLACK SHIPS' to name just a few. Your questions are about to be answered. All we ask is that you maintain an open mind through this entire series, then make your own decisions based on what you will read here. But wait until you have read ALL this information before forming your opinion.

This article will be presented in two distinct parts, over many months of our KTB Magazine. Be patient and please hold your questions until the final installment because questions raised in the early parts of this article will be answered later on with research.

About eight or nine years ago, I received a very long letter from DON ANGEL ALCAZAR DE VELASCO (158-+-1985) with many amazing claims. DON ANGEL was the Chief of the Spanish spy service working for the German government during the War years and he was an ardent NAZI, so please bear that in mind while reading his letter. When I first read his letter, I was amazed and in great disbelief, at things he stated as absolute fact. How could these things have taken place, I asked myself. Some were easy to verify, while others remained only shadows.........until the evaporation of the Soviet Union. RADM CLOAK 'N DAGGER began to dig, and found file after file that confirmed what ANGEL wrote to me - the FAX messages toward the end of 1994 were making and re-writing history as they came off the machine.

The first part of this article will be the very long letter from DON ANGEL ALCAZAR DE VELASCO and following the completion of his letter, we will present all the documentation from RADM CLOAK 'N DAGGER. You be the judge; you make your own decisions what is fact and what is speculation. What has this to do with U-Boats? That will become self-evident as the letter goes on. Remember - DO NOT FORM AN OPINION until you have read everything that will be reported in this section.

Now - turn the page and begin the most amazing story to come out of World War II!

DON ANGEL ALCAZAR DE VELASCO

This is the text of a letter from DON ANGEL ALCAZAR DE VELASCO (158-+-1985) to HARRY COOPER (1-LIFE-1983), sent about eight or nine years ago. You might wish to save these pages in booklet form for future reference.

Part 1: Don Angel Alcazar de Velasco

"January 1945, Germany was crumbling and the brains guiding this floundering Nazi war machine were flocking to Hitler's side in the subterranean stronghold under the Reich Chancellery in battle-scarred Berlin. I was one of those summoned to the German capital to serve on Hitler's staff in the terrible spring of 1945, and became the only non-German to actually work within the Führer's personal headquarters in the bunker.

I will describe for you the incredible days I spent in the Führerbunker, cut off from the outside world, as Adolf Hitler raged against his Generals, his armies, his own people - and the enemy who was then preparing the death thrust into the heart of the much-vaunted Thousand Year Reich.

We lived in the constant shadow of a deranged genius in a chaotic world of our own, out of which has grown a thousand theories and a mass of conflicting stories purporting to tell the fate of Hitler and the elite of the Nazi Party. But I was there and I can tell you the truth as I lived it, of those fantastic days.

I know the truth about the reported suicide of Hitler and Eva Braun. I shall tell you of my flight from Berlin under fire from the Russians and my final escape from Germany. And how, after my return to Spain, I assisted in the flight of Adolf Eichmann from Europe after finding him in a Swiss monastery two years after the war ended. Perhaps most important of all, I can now reveal the fate of Martin Bormann, that shadowy eminence who was Hitler's top Lieutenant in the halcyon days of the Nazi regime.

How do I know these things? Because I was chosen by the underground Party movement to escort Hitler's top deputy when he made his dramatic dash for freedom beneath the Atlantic in a U-Boat in May, 1946. Many years have passed since I first entered the service of the Nazis. They considered me one of their most trusted agents with access to their closely guarded plans for re-emergence as a world power.

I know the power of these men and their underground organization. I have seen the determination with which they plot their return to power, and have helped with the formation of secret action groups in two continents. They are well organized. The High Command still exists and meets each year in Western Germany, where they do not lack support.

This then, is my story. I had been head of the Nazi espionage ring in Spain throughout the War and as such, was one of their most trusted agents, but it was not until January of 1945 when British, American and Russian armies were smashing their way across the borders of the Fatherland, that I was called to the Führer's side.

On January 15th, Hitler returned to Berlin from Bad Nauheim, where he had been directing the ill-fated Ardennes Offensive, the last drive of the smashed and demoralized Wehrmacht. After gambling away the remains of the once-invincible Panzer armies, the Führer retreated in a towering rage to the Führerbunker beneath the Reich Chancellery. It was in almost total defeat that Hitler, his enemies closing in from all sides, his defenses overrun and his armies outnumbered, returned to his blitzed and ruined capital.

On the day he returned, I had been working in SS Intelligence Headquarters, close to the old Reichstag. I had then been in Germany for seven months, directing the activities of certain foreign agents abroad.

The following day I was informed by SS Commander Willie Oberbeil - at that time, my immediate superior in the Intelligence Service - that we had been ordered to Hitler's bunker where we would be responsible for passing our agents' reports directly to the Führer himself.

Berlin

That night, Berlin was subjected to a heavy air raid, and smoke hung over the city as Oberbeil and myself picked our way through streets littered with rubble and broken glass to the Reich Chancellery.

This vast mausoleum-like building, which Hitler had designed himself with the purpose of overawing ambassadors and foreign heads of state who came to pay homage to him in his days of power, was now almost completely destroyed. All that remained was a blackened shell. The great marble walls had collapsed and the heavily carved doors and costly fittings were scattered about the floors in crazy disorder. At the head of the steps leading into the building, our passes were inspected by a steel-helmeted SS guard, who directed us to a part of the building that was still intact. Another guard ushered us down a narrow staircase leading to a small pantry. We found ourselves led down a second, steeper, flight of steps at the bottom of which was a thick steel door. This was the entrance to the bunker.

It was art of a steel and concrete bulkhead - airtight, watertight, and blast proof which when closed, effectively shut off the fifty-foot deep underground shelter from the outside world. Our passes were again inspected by a black uniformed SS Sergeant before we were allowed to pass through. The doorway was so narrow we were forced to pass through sideways.

We entered into a brightly lit, low roofed corridor with a second larger bulkhead midway along on our left. This door opened into the upper bunker which contained kitchens and servant's quarters. A central corridor, twelve feet wide, was furnished with tables and chairs, and was used as a dining room by the Führer's staff. At the far end of this corridor, a curved concrete stair descended to a second and larger bunker, where Hitler had his offices and command headquarters.

Oberbeil and I followed the armed guard to the foot of the stairs, which opened into another wide corridor, at the far right of which was a wooden partition and a door guarded by two more SS men. Beyond the door, I discovered, were Hitler's private apartments.

As we entered the Führerbunker, a slim, gray-suited man rose from the armchairs lining the walls of the corridor and came towards us. 'Good morning, gentlemen.' he said, in a piping, well-educated voice. I assumed Willie Oberbeil already knew him for, turning to me he continued, 'I am Colonel Wagner. I am in charge of SS Intelligence down here.' He clicked his heels, bowed, and with a thin smile said, 'You gentlemen are my staff.'

He led us through one of two doors leading off to the right into a small room, where two secretaries were busy typing. On the right, behind the door, a third typist was working in a small partitioned cubicle.

Finally, Wagner ushered us into our own office. This room had been ordered created by erecting a floor to ceiling partition at the far end of the typist's room. It had been put up following Hitler's decision to have a permanent intelligence staff operating within his defense headquarters. The concrete walls of the office had been sprayed with a watery gray paint which did nothing to lessen the dismal appearance of the room, which was cramped and airless. A brand new radio transmitter and receiver and a decoding machine had been set against the wall to the right and there was barely room to move between the desk, filing cabinets and chairs which had been crammed into the eight foot by ten foot cubicle.

I didn't relish the idea of spending long in this place. It was clear that, should we ever become shut up for any length of time, that the lack of space, the stuffy atmosphere, and the strain of working on top of one another would be intolerable. On top of this was the maddening throb which penetrated to every corner of the bunker. I had become aware of it the moment I had entered, but now, in this office, it was so intense that the wooden partition actually vibrated.

Wagner sensed my discomfort. "Do not let the noise upset you. What you hear is the diesel engine in the next room, on which we depend for our lights and air.'

In time, I got used to the noise and the cramped conditions and the ever-burning lights, but never the lack of fresh air.

There were at least two other large bunkers beneath the Chancellery and a series of smaller ancillary shelters, used as dormitories by the bunker personnel. Willie Oberbeil and myself were assigned to one of these cement-walled dormitories, which we shared with sixteen others. It was about fifteen feet below the Chancellery cellars, immediately above the main bunker.

The 'Lager'

We nick-named this depressing tomb the 'LAGER', the German word for camp. The lager was badly ventilated and all eighteen of us who slept there were constantly complaining about the claustrophobic effect it had on us.

This unnatural life would have been unbearable had we not been occupied by working 16 hours a day. Living like moles, not knowing day from night, and in the bunker itself, subjected twenty four hours a day, to the unblinking glare of harsh electric lights - one lived an automatic routine.

The absurdity of this existence was illustrated by a little pantomime devised by Hitler to regiment our lives. Each day at noon, a uniformed guard would enter our office, snap rigidly to attention and formally announce: 'Today is the 23rd of February.' or whatever the date happened to be. Then he would salute, turn sharply around and stamp out. It was laughable - or would have been if laughter, like every other normal show of emotion had not been a stranger in that place.

The bunker resembled a giant ant-heap and at times, the hurried coming and going of messengers, officials, officers and their staffs made it difficult to move about inside. There was a universal lack of space. The High Command, with its staff of many hundreds pressed together in this labyrinth of burrows had, with the usual lack of foresight, failed to provide adequately for such elementary human needs as space to move and breath.

Many nights I woke on my bunk bed in the lager, half suffocating, and groping my way, afraid, to the roofless Chancellery above. I sucked in great lungfulls of cold night air and longed for the cool breezes of my native Spain. It seemed a lifetime ago that I had last seen my home.

Six Months Ago

It had been six months since I had left Madrid where, for four years, I had organized the activities of a German espionage ring, unhindered either by the Spanish government or the many Allied agents operating in my neutral country.

But in June of 1944, I narrowly escaped death at the hands of British and American secret service agents in Madrid, who were attempting to abduct me to England for interrogation.

I had been betrayed by a certain Conrado Blanco, a man whom I had called my friend. He telephoned me in the middle of the night and said that he had a group of highly important men waiting for me at his house.

The door of Banco's house was ajar when I arrived, and all was silent. I found him in his study. He seemed slightly embarrassed. In that instant, my long experience made me sense that something was wrong. My fears were confirmed by a quiet English voice from behind me.

'How good of you to come, Mr. Velasco.'

I spun around and there behind me, with a smile on his face, was my old foe, the English secret service agent John Fulton. He was joined by two other men I knew to be Allied agents - one American and the other Canadian. Outwardly friendly, they offered me a glass of whiskey which I took. It was while we stood drinking that Fulton announced that he would be taking me back to England. My only comfort was the .32 revolver I had slipped into my jacket pocket before leaving my home."

This letter will be continued in KTB #111 next month. Please remember - do not try to reach any conclusions until you have read the entire letter from ANGEL as well as all the supporting documentation, which we received here in the closing months of 1994 from RADM CLOAK 'N DAGGER. Some things in the letter seem absolutely impossible - until you read the documentation that RADM CLOAK 'N DAGGER has dug out of a formerly Soviet archive. You will be astounded by the facts, rest assured of that.

What has this to do with submarines? The first clue was already in this letter.

More Don Angel Alcazar de Velasco

Part 1: Berlin 1945 and Hitler's Bunker (#110)
Part 2: From Spain 1944 to Berlin 1945 (#111)
Part 3: Meeting Hitler (#112)
Part 4: Meeting Bormann (#113)
Part 5: Final Days of April 1945 (#114)
Part 6: Hitler Alive? Leaving Berlin (#115)
Part 7: Hitler Arrives at Bavarian Redoubt (#116)
Part 8: Escape to Switzerland and Spain (#117)
Part 9: Martin Bormann Arrives in Spain (#118)
Part 10: Martin Bormann in Spain 1946 (#119)
Part 11: Martin Bormann Leaves Spain (#120)
Part 12: Martin Bormann and Hitler (#121)
Part 13: U-Boat Trip to Argentina (#122)
Part 14: South America and Hitler, 1952 (#123)
Part 15: Martin Bormann, 1957 (#124)
Part 16: Home to Madrid (#125)