Munich Signature (7 page)

“The English will not lift a finger. The Führer is right.”

A slight smile crept across the lips of Canaris. “What have the English to do with this? This is our battle first.” He leaned forward and whispered with a frightening intensity, “Has the Führer made you believe that he is invincible also? Have you listened to the lie?”

“I have wished only to die now, as my father did.”

“Months ago I told you to put away hope for your life. I did not mean that you should abandon all hope.” Canaris seemed disappointed. “This is not the way any of us would have chosen to serve. But it is the only way left to us.” The little man stood slowly and turned to look at a wall decorated with yellowed photographs of battleships and submarines with rows of young sailors standing at attention. “Tonight Hitler will review the troops as they march before the Chancellery. I want you to come with me. To remind yourself why you must stay where you are.”

Thomas had been given an order. He saluted in acknowledgement, then lowered his eyes. There was an eagerness in the voice of Canaris that had not existed when they had met in Vienna. Could it be that the chief of German military intelligence had some new hope? Thomas did not question Canaris further. “These are the soldiers who were on the Czech border two weeks ago.”

Canaris put a finger to his lips and smiled. “No one is supposed to know that. Not the British. Not the French, not even the Führer.” He sniffed slightly and shrugged. “The question of the hour is, why are they back from the border? And how might we keep them from returning there?” he looked up at Thomas, who was a full twelve inches taller. “Instead of crossing into the Sudetenland to die with them,Thomas, you might consider how you can help to keep them right here on German soil, eh?”

4

Celebration in the Shadow of Darkness

Elisa’s gown was shimmering white silk adorned with tiny, hand-sewn sequin leaves flowing from her shoulder and her waist. Tonight as she held tightly to her husband’s arm and ascended the grand staircase to the ballroom, heads turned to watch her and eyes glanced in envy at the handsome American newsman who held her hand and leaned close to her. There was not a man in the vast hall who would not have willingly changed places with John Murphy that night.

To have such a woman at your side!

Murphy grinned slyly at Elisa and whispered, “That does it. Next time we go out I’m going to make you wear coveralls and an overcoat.”

“You don’t like my dress, Murphy?” She was smiling, aware that he was crazy about the dress. He had asked her to put it on and take it off again at least a half dozen times before tonight.

“Yeah. And I like what’s
in
it, too!” He grinned. “So does every other guy in the place.” He squeezed her hand when a Czech nobleman, complete with monocle and a chestful of meaningless ribbons, clicked his heels and bowed deeply as she passed.

Elisa nodded politely, then said softly to Murphy, “At least they aren’t tackling me and throwing me on the ground tonight.”

“Don’t think they wouldn’t like to.” Murphy drew her a little closer as they reached the top of the stairs.

A man in a powdered wig and a bright red uniform announced them to the crowd in the main ballroom: “Madame Eliiiissssaaaa Murphy and Monsieur Johhhhn Murphy!”

Heads turned in unison and a polite patter of applause broke out in the room. Murphy smiled and rocked on his toes nervously. He had covered these swank events a million times, it seemed, but he had never been the guy at the top of the stairs.

Elisa leaned in and said through her smile, “I’m not accustomed to this. Usually I’m just part of the band, you know.”

Murphy laughed out loud, relieved that she was feeling as out of place as he was. When President Beneš showed up, Murphy would be able to practice his craft a bit—ask a few questions and maybe scoop the rest of the guys. But for now, this crowd was just a bit too hoity-toity. Of course their upper-strata social standing did not keep the old geezers from clicking their heels and twirling their mustaches and gaping at Elisa like a bunch of love-struck teenagers.

“Let me know if any of these guys makes a pass,” he said in English. “You’ve got a husband who loves you, you know, and I’ve got a pretty good right cross.” He wagged his fist.

Elisa stood tiptoe and kissed him playfully on the chin. “You already proved as much when you captured Albert Sporer, darling. I don’t think any of these gentlemen would dare to try to get past you.”

Her words made Murphy feel like he had as a kid walking the picket fence in front of his girlfriend’s house. He was nuts about Elisa. She was Myrna Loy and he was William Powell. Gable and Lombard. Romeo and Juliet! He was convinced that nobody had ever been in love before them. Nobody had ever felt this terrific or been this happy! Elisa and Murphy had
invented
marriage, and woe to all those poor single swells who thought bachelorhood was something to hold on to. Of course, Murphy conceded, there was only
one
Elisa in the whole world, and it might be different being married if it wasn’t to her.

“They’re drooling.” Murphy laughed as he escorted Elisa to the dance floor. He wanted to thump his chest like Tarzan and yell,
She’s mine, fellas! You can all go home now!

“Murphy, behave,” Elisa said demurely as he took her in his arms and they swirled off to the melody of a Strauss waltz.

“You’re a good dancer,” Murphy commented over the music.

She accepted the compliment with a smug nod. “I have played this melody enough. It’s a treat to dance to it.”

“When we get to the States I’m going to take you to Radio City or the Algonquin to hear Benny Goodman. Maybe Glenn Miller. I’ll teach you to boogie-woogie!”

As she laughed at his strange comment, someone tapped him on the shoulder, cutting in. Murphy had not expected that. He reluctantly yielded his partner to a tall, bespectacled man dressed in the uniform of a colonel. Murphy’s delirious cloud of joy evaporated as the suave young officer swept Elisa off into the crowd on the dance floor. He looked impatiently at his wristwatch and wondered if thirty seconds was long enough to wait before he cut in again. He hesitated several seconds longer and then followed in the direction Elisa had disappeared. Thirty seconds was too long to wait.

Then the music stopped and the glittering crowd applauded and filtered from the dance floor to the sidelines. Murphy barely noticed the smiles of young ladies and matrons as he passed. He was too busy scanning the assembly for some sight of Elisa. Briefly he hoped that he would not spend the rest of his life so miserable out of her presence. They could still officially be considered newlyweds, however, so he allowed himself the luxury of missing her even after a few moments.
Especially with her in that dress.
Every other dame in the room was dressed in an old horse blanket compared to Elisa! As a matter of fact, every other woman in the room
looked
like an old nag compared to her.

Murphy still could not quite believe that Elisa was actually his wife. The thought of it made him grin all over again. He spotted her at a table next to a giant swan ice sculpture and noted the gaggle of gentlemen swarming around.

Sorry, boys; she’s taken.
He walked toward her nonchalantly as she raised her eyes to meet his. Some eager young buck was talking to her, but she was looking at Murphy. Smiling at Murphy. Drawing Murphy to her with a look that whispered that there was nobody in all the world for her but him. He winked at her and she winked back, a gesture that silenced the chatter of the man beside her. The man bowed slightly and backed away as Murphy approached.

“Missed you,” she said in English. “Nobody here has ever heard of boogie-woogie.” She raised her eyebrow slightly. “The lack of real culture here is astonishing, Mr. Murphy.”

He laughed loudly enough to receive a number of disapproving glances. “What do you say we blow this joint after the main course?”

Elisa exhaled in frustration. Murphy was constantly tossing out American phrases that were beyond her comprehension. “Blow this joint?” she asked.

“Scram. Skedaddle.”

“Oh. That explains everything.” She took his arm. “If my husband were here he would . . .
belt you
. . . for talking to me that way.”

“Very good, Elisa.” Murphy nodded and kissed her hand. “You’re a quick learner.”

“I have an excellent tutor.”

At that moment the trumpets erupted in a fanfare and the orchestra played the Czech national anthem. The slight form of President Beneš appeared at the top of the stairs. Bodyguards stood at a discreet but watchful distance. Beneš walked from handshake to handshake as the men surrounding him vigilantly scanned the outstretched hands and faces of the guests.

Murphy tugged Elisa forward to meet the president. The diminutive man’s eyes met his. Behind Beneš was the officer who had been wounded in the arm by the first shots that night at the theater. The dark shadow of memory was still on the face of Beneš as he reached for Murphy’s hand in firm greeting, and then bowed to kiss Elisa’s hand.

The music began again as Beneš straightened and gestured toward the guests. “Are you enjoying the celebration?” he asked kindly. “Our way of saying thank you. Also our way of letting the Nazis know we are still very much alive, yes?”

“They must be quite certain of that after finding the Czech Army waiting at the border, Mr. President,” Murphy said in grim acknowledgement of the recent crisis. “You are the one nation in Europe that has faced down Herr Hitler and won.”

“I regret that our military action on the frontier forced us to delay this party for so long.” Beneš turned and addressed Elisa. “If I had been aware that you were so
very
beautiful, we would have abandoned everything else to offer you our hospitality.”

Elisa smiled in thanks. “Hitler has declared that he never intended to invade the Czech frontier,” she said quietly. “But my brother Wilhelm is a pilot. He saw the German divisions. You must be quite proud that you have faced the dragon and he has backed down.”

Beneš did not seem to hear her words. His face clouded for a moment. “The dragon is still a dragon, Mrs. Murphy,” he replied with a frown as the orchestra played the “Blue Danube” waltz. Then, catching himself, he extended his hand to her. “Would you honor me with this dance?”

Murphy stepped back as Elisa danced away with the president of Czechoslovakia. This was one dance Murphy would not attempt to cut in on.

“A beautiful woman, your wife.” The wounded officer, arm in a sling, smiled admiringly toward Elisa and the president. Elisa stood several inches taller than the diminutive Beneš, and this disparity in height made her stand out all the more. “He dances with his savior,” said the officer.

“How is your arm?” Murphy was not really interested in talking to the man, but felt cornered.

“A slight wound. Grazed the bone. Only my arm, and not our lives.” Now the officer clicked his heels and bowed slightly. “I would shake your hand in gratitude for that, but as you can see—”

Murphy cleared his throat self-consciously. “Sporer was only one man. Your army stood up to the Reich, and Hitler backed down. That is quite an accomplishment.”

The officer gave a short, bitter laugh and slid the fingers of his good hand beneath the red sash of his uniform in a pose that made him look like Napoleon. “Not such an accomplishment, John Murphy. Hitler still has his eye on our frontier in the mountains of the Sudetenland. He will not attempt to cross our border if we let him know we will fight for our line of defense.” He shook his head. “No. Herr Hitler will attempt to win our Sudetenland by using men like Albert Sporer. By stirring up riots with the aid of his Nazi stooges. Then, with the performance of such fellows for the whole world to see, he will claim that the Sudetenland people have wanted to belong to the Reich all along. Only when he has convinced the world of that will he dare to march.”

“No one will buy that,” Murphy said, but he did not believe his own assertion.

“Oh? Did the world not believe it about Austria? How many Austrians voted for the Anschluss according to Hitler? Ninety-nine percent, they say. Of course there was only one name on the ballot. Only one choice, and that was ‘
ja
’!”

“Most intelligent people know the truth.”

“The problem is not in knowing the truth. It is in acting on it, Herr Murphy.” He grinned. “At least we have one Nazi criminal where he belongs. Albert Sporer is imprisoned below us, you know.”

Murphy looked at his feet and the polished parquet dance floor. “Just like the devil.”

“Chained in the dungeon of Hradcany Castle. Beneath the lights and the music of the very men he might have murdered. Fitting, I think.”

With that, the officer snapped his fingers and summoned a waiter. With a sweep of his hand, he motioned toward a round table, tiered like a cake and laden with pastries. “I would like you to carry an eclair down to the dungeon,” he told the startled waiter. “Yes. To the lowest level.”

“The dungeon, Colonel?” The waiter squeaked and then glanced at Murphy to see if the colonel had gone mad. Murphy shrugged his amusement at the strange order.

“Take it to the guard with my instructions that it is to be given to Albert Sporer. Sporer is to be told of the celebration we have here tonight in honor of the defeat of the Führer’s plan. The president of the Czech democracy is dancing at this moment with the woman who stopped the assassin.”

“Yes, Colonel.” The waiter scurried away to find a particularly large and tasty eclair.

Murphy nodded in appreciation as the music stopped. “A fine sort of mental torture, Colonel,” he complimented. “Of course, if you were in a dungeon in Berlin, I can assure you that the Nazis would send you something besides an eclair.”

“When one has a devil in the dungeon, it seems appropriate to remind him that there are still free men walking about. Do you not agree? A taste of democracy for the tyrants and assassins.”