The question was just who he was.
First things first. Josef Hamm, the ranking Gestapo agent, ordered that the Hungarian railway police be “requested” to station a railway policeman to watch the car. If there was one thing known for sure, it was that, whoever the high official was, he would not be at all pleased to return to his car and find that someone had taken a key or a coin and run it along the fenders and doors. There had been a good deal of that, lately. A number of Hungarians took offense at the Hungarian-German alliance generally, and at the large—and growing—presence of German troops and SS in Budapest specifically, and expressed their displeasure in small, nasty ways.
Then Hamm called the security officer at the German embassy and asked whom the car belonged to.
“It probably belongs to von Heurten-Mitnitz,” the security officer said. “That would explain the SD sticker, and he’s the type to have an Admiral.”
“Who’s von Heurten-Mitnitz?”
“Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz,” the security officer said. “He’s the new first secretary.”
“How does he rate an SD sticker?”
“Because when he’s bored with wearing striped pants, he can wear the uniform of a Brigadeführer SS-SD,” the security officer said. “You could say that von Heurten-Mitnitz is a very influential man. His brother is a great friend of the Führer. If you’d like, I can check the license plate number by teletype with Berlin.”
“How long would that take?”
“Thirty, forty minutes,” the security officer said.
“I’ll call you back in an hour,” Josef Hamm said. “Thank you, Karl.”
When he called back, Hamm was told that von Heurten-Mitnitz did not own the Admiral. It was owned by Standartenführer (Colonel) Johann Müller, of the SS-SD.
“Do you think he knows von Heurten-Mitnitz is driving it?”
“I think if it was stolen, Josef,” the security officer said sarcastically, “they probably would have said something. Müller is with the Führer at Wolf’s Lair. Nobody takes a personal car there. So maybe he loaned it to von Heurten-Mitnitz.”
“Have you seen this von Heurten-Mitnitz? What’s he look like?”
“Tall, thin, sharp-featured. Classy dresser. If you’re thinking, Josef, of asking von Heurten-Mitnitz what he’s doing with Müller’s car, I wouldn’t.”
“I’m thinking of finding the new First Secretary when he comes back and telling him that if he will be so good, when he leaves his car at the station, as to tell us, we will do our very best to make sure some Hungarian doesn’t piss on his engine or write a dirty word on the hood with a pocketknife.”
The security officer chuckled. “You’re learning, Josef,” he said, and then hung up.
Josef Hamm and two of his men were waiting at the end of the platform when the 1705 from Vienna pulled in. The two men positioned themselves at opposite ends of the three first-class cars, and, when one of them spotted a “tall, sharp-featured, classy dresser” getting off, he signaled to Josef Hamm by taking off his hat and waving it over his head, as if waving at someone who had come to meet him at the train.
Hamm saw that Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz was indeed a classy dresser. He wore a gray Homburg and an overcoat with a fur collar. With him were three people, an Obersturmführer-SS and a man and woman who looked like father and daughter.
When they had almost reached the police checkpoint at the end of the platform, Hamm walked around it and up to von Heurten-Mitnitz.
“Heil Hitler!” Hamm said, giving a quick, straight-armed salute. Von Heurten-Mitnitz made a casual wave in return.
“Herr Brigadeführer von Heurten-Mitnitz?” Hamm asked.
“Yes,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said, but did not smile.
“Josef Hamm at your service, Herr Brigadeführer,” he said. “I have the honor to command the Railway Detachment, Gestapo District Budapest.”
“What can I do for you, Herr Hamm?” von Heurten-Mitnitz asked, obviously annoyed to be detained.
“First, let me get you past the checkpoint,” Hamm said.
“This officer and these people are with me,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
The young SS officer raised his hand in a sloppy salute.
“Make way for the Brigadeführer and his party!” Hamm called out as he led them to and past the checkpoint.
“Very kind of you,” von Heurten-Mitnitz mumbled. “Now, what’s on your mind?”
“Herr Brigadeführer,” Hamm began, “if you would be so kind as to notify one of my men whenever you park your car here at the station—”
“Why would I want to do that?” von Heurten-Mitnitz interrupted.
“—then I can make sure that no one bothers it while you are gone.”
Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz looked at Hamm without speaking, but a raised eyebrow asked, What the