Since his return to Berlin, Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz had avoided von Ribbentrop. As indeed von Ribbentrop had avoided von Heurten-Mitnitz until it became apparent that von Heurten-Mitnitz would not be blamed for the American invasion of Morocco.
When he was asked to lunch with von Ribbentrop, von Heurten-Mitnitz’s first thought had to do with the report of French perfidy in Morocco.
That was not any closer to completion than it ever had been.
But that question could have been asked over the phone. I Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz had no idea what would emerge when he presented himself to von Ribbentrop’s receptionist at twenty minutes after one.
The receptionist told him that the Reichsminister was tied up and offered him a chair, coffee, and a magazine.
At I, 25, the door burst open and General Ernst Kaltenbrunner, head of the SS, trailed by an aide, marched into the reception room, nodded curtly at von Ribbentrop’s receptionist, shoved open the ceiling-high doors to von Ribbentrop’s office, and went inside.
Kaltenbrunner, physically, was an imposing man. He was six feet eight inches tall, with weight to match, and his cheek bore a prominent scar from a saber slash.
His aide set down beside von Heurten-Mitnitz, glanced at him curiously, and then picked up a magazine.
Two minutes later, an officer in black SS uniform appeared in von Ribbentrop’s door.
“The Herr Reichsminister will receive you now, Herr von Heurtenmitnitz, ” he said.
Neither von Ribbentrop nor Kaltenbrunner was in von Ribbentrop’s office. The SS officer led von Heurten-Mitnitz to von Ribbentrop’s private dining room, a long, narrow room overlooking the interior garden. Its view was not unlike the one from von Heurten-Mitnitz’s off fice, two floors above and a hundred feet south.
“My dear Helmut, “von Ribbentrop said, turning to von Heurten-Mitnitz.
“I’m so glad you were free.” He walked to him and offered his hand.
He was an average-size man, with most of his brown hair, but there was a pallor to his skin that did not look healthy. His grip was firm, but that seemed an affectation.
“It was very good of you to ask me,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
“You know the General, of course.” In fact, von Heurten-Mitnitz had never been formally introduced to Kaltenbrunner.
“Good to see you again, General, “von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
Kaltenbrunner crushed von Heurten-Mitnitz’s hand in his massive, scarred hand.
“I always come when invited,” Kaltenbrunner said. “Ribbentrop has the best chef in Berlin.” The long, polished mahogany table would have accommodated twenty people, but only three places had been set. Crisp, starched white place mats had been laid at one end. And there were long-stemmed crystal glasses, an impressive battery of sterling silverware with a swastika embossed on the handles, and elaborately folded napkins stood up on large, white, gold rimmed plates Five hundred yards from here, von Heurten-Mitnitz thought, as well as all over Germany, people are going hungry.
A tall, good-looking SS trooper, with starched white jacket replacing his uniform tunic, walked over and offered a tray holding three cut-crystal glasses.
“An aperitif is always in order, I think, “von Ribbentrop said.
“In this case, I asked for Slivovitz”–Hungarian pear brandy. “Under the circumstances, I thought it appropriate.” Well, that explains it.
I am to be ordered to the embassy in Budapest Because I’ve hinted I want to be assigned there? Or because my brother has suggested it? Or simply because I am a minister who has lost his portfolio and there is an appropriate vacancy in Budapest?
But why the private luncheon? And what does Kaltenbrunner have to do with it?
They each took a glass.
“The Fuhrer,” Kaltenbrunner intoned solemnly, and von Heurten-Mitnitz and von Ribbentrop parroted the toast.
“I’ve been telling the general,” von Ribbentrop said, “about the report you’ve been preparing for the Fuhrer. Coming along with it, are you?” Ah, the report Is that just a loose end to be tied up before I go?
Or is it the reason I am going?
“I’m beginning to see the end,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
“Then we’ll move you at a propitious moment,” von Ribbentrop said, and then interrupted himself. “Why don’t we sit down?”
“That report sounds like one of Goebbels’s anger-events,” Kaltenbrunner said. An “anger-event” was a German coinage of Kaltenbrunner’s own devising.