This story began in KTB #110 and is quite an eye-opener. But this is only the tip of the top of the iceberg! The first part of this incredible story is the very long letter sent to us some years ago by DON ANGEL ALCAZAR de VELASCO (158-+-1985), Chief of the Spanish spy ring working for the Hitler Government during WW II DON ANGEL

After we have read this story from DON ANGEL, we will then publish what formerly (and CURRENT) SECRET files our SHARKHUNTERS ETAPPANDIENST agents have dug up; sometimes in the literal sense.

Remember, there are two things we ask you to keep in mind while reading this fascinating letter by DON ANGEL;

1) He was an ardent NAZI through the War & up to the time of his death. This is apparent from time to time in his letter so don't let it bother you;

2) There will be many twists & turns in this letter & some HARD facts in the following files after the letter - DO NOT FORM AN OPINION until you read all the amazing facts we will present on our INTELLIGENCE Page.

Part 3: Don Angel Alcazar de Velasco

"Entering this inner sanctum (Hitler's private office and apartments in the Führerbunker) was a complicated business. One had to have an express order, signed by the Führer himself personally to get in. This was examined by an SS Sergeant of the Führer's personal body guard before one could be admitted beyond the partitioned wall of the main conference corridor.

The fact that Oberbeil was an officer of the SS made no difference - only someone personally referred to in the Führer's signed order could pass. Having satisfied this guard, we went through into a passage where there was a large wooden table with some 15 or 18 chairs arranged around its sides. To the left three doors opened off the corridor.

The middle one was blocked by a huge SS guard. He too scrutinized our passes. He told us to sit down and wait, and disappeared into the room at his back. He came back a moment later and announced: 'The Führer will see you immediately.'

When I crossed the threshold of his map room, Adolf Hitler was sitting at his desk. He looked shrunken and indescribably aged. His light brown uniform jacket - the NAZI party dress he almost always wore - hung from his shoulders like a shroud. Such was the power and personality of this man that one always expected to see someone of giant proportions, but in this setting his smallness was emphasized by the size of the desk at which he sat. It was an enormous piece of furniture, littered with trays, each stacked with bundles of papers. Four telephones, all of them black, clustered within easy reach of his right hand. The walls to the left and right of the door were lined by slanting tables covered with maps.

Three high-ranking Wehrmacht officers were working on them, fixing brightly colored pins according to the instructions contained in military directives to which they referred from time to time. These men did not even glance up as Oberbeil and myself entered. Two chairs had been placed facing Hitler's desk and the Führer motioned me to sit down while Oberbeil remained standing just inside the door.

I studied Hitler - fascinated. His head did not seem to be fixed firmly on his shoulders but wobbled alarmingly as he talked. He appeared to have little control over its movement. His left arm, which rested on the side of his leather chair throughout the interview, did not move once the whole time I was there. But his right hand and arm trembled violently - the gray sagging pouches beneath his red-rimmed eyes told their own story. His whole appearance and the involuntary actions of his limbs betrayed his exhaustion. He was a man who had gone completely beyond the limits of normal endurance and it was only his iron self control, bolstered by daily doses of drugs, which made it possible for him to carry on.

But there was no denying the hypnotic power of his eyes. In an ashen gray face, his cold blue eyes, filmed with moisture, seemed to start out of his head. I found it difficult to tear my gaze away from his and it was his eyes far more than the quavering frail voice which held me motionless while he spoke. Like hundreds before me, I felt hypnotized.

As I sat down, Hitler reached forward and picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. He studied it for a moment, holding it close to his face in his right hand and then dropped it to the desk in front of him.

'I believe you know the agent who sent us this report.' he said. And without waiting for my confirmation, he continued, 'I would like to know how long he has been working for us and whether or not you consider his information reliable.' I guessed he must have been worried by this report, otherwise he would not have called me in, but his face showed no emotion as he put the question. 'This man has been with us many years, my Führer.' I replied, 'and I have absolute faith in his information.'

The message had been relayed to the bunker less than an hour before and I passed it on as a matter of urgency for Hitler's attention. I remembered the wording clearly. It read: 'The Americans have prepared a nuclear weapon and are ready to use it.'

I believe Hitler recognized that if the news were true, then Germany's long war might easily end in the most devastating possible manner. Our badly mauled forces were hardly able to cope with an enemy using conventional weapons. If the Americans decided - and according to this information, they were equipped to - to launch an atomic attack against us, we had no defense at all. Even though no one in the world yet knew for sure how horrible were the effects of a nuclear explosion, our scientists had assured us that the destructive power of such a device would make even our new weapons, the flying bombs and rockets, seem like nursery toys.

Hitler revealed no clue to his thoughts, but he studied the report again for a full minute before he asked: 'You are quite sure that if this information had not been correct, then our agent would not have transmitted?' 'Yes, absolutely, my Führer.' I replied.

Until that moment, his speech had been slow and without emotion - the hesitant throaty voice of an exhausted man. But now, having thought a few moments longer, he seemed to come to a decision. His manner changed abruptly. Staring wildly at me, his eyes bulging horribly from their sockets, he rasped: 'You will contact this man immediately. Find out the date of the first full scale tests and the place where they will occur.'

His voice rising with each word he went on: 'I want to know how many of these devices the enemy possesses. How am I expected to make decisions without knowing the facts?'

As he spoke, the fingers of his right hand beat a sharp tattoo on the desk top.

I tried to answer calmly, but my heart was beating so hard against my ribs that I thought he must surely detect my fear of him. 'I am not sure how soon I can get this information.' I told him. 'I realize the urgency, my Führer, but even so it might take our agent several weeks to procure this kind of information.' .....I feared I might have provoked him into one of hit fits of screaming and abuse.....

Even as I spoke, I wondered if I might have provoked him into one of his fits of screaming and abuse, which were the horror of anyone called in to see him. But I was fortunate. Hitler stopped his finger tapping abruptly as if making an effort to control himself. When he answered, his voice had sunk to its former low pitched level. 'I appreciate the difficulties in carrying out my order, Herr Gomez.' he said flatly. 'But I cannot stress too highly the importance of receiving this information quickly. I am sure our friends in America will realize this too.'

He nodded and became absorbed in other documents on his deck. I felt a tap on my shoulder and half turning in my chair, saw Oberbeil standing beside me. He beckoned and walked towards the door. I stood up, saluted the bowed figure behind the desk, received a slight jerk of his right hand in acknowledgment - the interview was over. I turned on my heel and followed Oberbeil into the corridor.

I left that office with mixed emotions; frightened and for the first time, unsure of my leader. I was at the same time, filled with such a great feeling of affection and loyalty as not to know which of my emotions to trust. What was it about this man, I thought, which made otherwise strong willed men follow him blindly. I think it was the power of his eyes. There was something uncanny about them. He could inspire confidence in his followers and turn enemies into friends merely, it seemed, by looking at them.

He was not tall, of muscular build, or even handsome. Although he could, when he chose, be charming, he was for the most part unnecessarily rude to those around him and was possessed of a cruel streak and delighted in wanton destruction when he thought it necessary - which was often.

Yet when it came to his own self-destruction, Hitler failed, as only a handful of people, including myself, know.

I was glad to get out of his office without inadvertently rousing him to one of his screaming tantrums, which was always liable to erupt - with little provocation. I have known brave men utterly demolished by one of these maniac diatribes, though I have never witnessed one myself.

But I shall never forget the day when Colonel SS Rudolf Wagner, my Intelligence Chief in the Bunker, staggered into our office, pale and shaking, after attending one of the Führer's stormy conferences.

Wagner's face was grey with shock. He leaned on the half open door, his eyes closed - 'God help us all.' he gasped. 'Hitler is mad. We are in the hands of a homicidal maniac.' The man standing before me sobbed out the words over and over again and then sank, tears streaming down his cheeks, into a chair in front of my desk. Colonel SS Wagner, Chief of the Intelligence Department in the Berlin Bunker, had just returned from one of Hitler's daily conferences.

It was March, 1945. I had been in the Führerbunker beneath the Berlin Reich Chancellery for just eight weeks, having been forced to flee my native Spain. In my own country, I had been Chief of the NAZI espionage ring, but left hurriedly when enemy agents tried to kidnap me. In the eight weeks I'd been in the Reich Capital, I had been reduced to a shadow of my former self, my nerves in shreds, irritable and jumpy. The ceaseless pounding of bombs on the city fifty feet above our heads, the fear that the rapidly advancing Russian Army might, at any moment, over-run us, and the knowledge that I was closeted in the bunker with a madman had undermined my physical and mental health to such an extent that I was no longer able even to sleep.

Wagner was in even worse shape. Looking at him now, slumped across my desk with his head buried in his hands, I knew that he had reached his limit. I glanced across at Willy Oberbeil, the SS Commander who was the third member of our team. The sight of Wagner had obviously upset him, and he crouched over his desk, nervously biting the backs of his knuckles. Our eyes met for a moment before he glanced away.

I waited, sick and embarrassed, until Wagner pulled himself together sufficiently to tell us what had happened in the Führer's conference. Puffing nervously on the cigarette I had lit for him, Wagner told us simply, 'Hitler has ordered the complete destruction of Germany and the German people. He claims the nation has proved itself weak and therefore does not deserve to survive.'

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)