Munich Signature (10 page)

Canaris spoke quietly, choosing his words with care. Already every man in this room was a target for execution if their plans were even suspected. “Perhaps it is just as well we cannot make contact with Chamberlain and his weak cabinet. Could we be safe if we took them into our confidence?”

“No,” responded a quiet chorus of voices.

“Well, then,” Canaris said, “we must simply maintain contact with Churchill. Inform him of our hopes, even if we do not reveal all our plans. Thomas here has the man’s confidence. Perhaps we may gain some understanding of the mood in the British Parliament. And we may be able to present some facts to Churchill that will awaken the English to their own peril as well as the peril of Czechoslovakia.”

Canaris gazed around the room, meeting each man’s questions with his piercing gray eyes. “Churchill is a man of honor, as we in this room are men of honor. The British press may be rife with fools, but it is still a free press. The American press may also be crying for peace and the policy of appeasement, but there are some who are not afraid to speak openly.” He exhaled loudly and sat back. “Hitler believes himself to be the German god of Creation and of Destruction. As sane Christian officers, we have no duty but to stop this madness. It is indeed madness, gentlemen.”

***

President Beneš sat opposite Murphy in a large overstuffed chair that made the tiny man seem even smaller. He crossed his legs and leaned back as two brandy snifters were placed on the table between them.

Murphy was mentally filing away the details of the president’s office. Broad, burled walnut desk, so big it might easily serve as a bed. Dark oak-paneled walls that glowed with a reddish tint in the light of the chandelier. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books by Americans about American democracy. Next to the bookshelf, a montage of American presidents—Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln. In the center of that, a black-and-white photograph taken at the construction site of the Lincoln Memorial, the young Beneš standing before the statue of Lincoln.

As if reading Murphy’s thoughts,
Beneš
sipped his brandy thoughtfully and then remarked, “President Lincoln. A hero of mine. I went to school in America, you see. Learned everything one might learn about the history of your people. Fascinating. Something a young democracy like ours hopes to emulate.” He raised his eyebrows and looked back at the photograph. “Your President Lincoln was a brave man. Civil war is a tragic thing. And yet he was able to save your country.”

So this is it,
Murphy thought
. He brings up the issues tearing his own country apart by bringing up our Civil War. He is giving the American journalist the angle on the story.
It was a good angle, and Murphy let himself be led by Beneš.

“You came very near to imitating President Lincoln in the theatre,” Murphy commented.

“The comparisons have been drawn in the American press and elsewhere.” Beneš studied his brandy, swirled it once, and inhaled the aroma casually. “You submitted the story, did you not?”

Murphy shrugged slightly. “It seemed to fit.”

“It fits very well. Your American readership will see this?”

Even a blind man would see that the Czechs tottered on the brink of civil war. The racial Germans bordering Germany in the west shrieked for autonomy. Their leader Henlein was in direct contact with Hitler. The attempt of Albert Sporer to kill Beneš was simply one more incident in a long list that continued to grow daily. “America is well aware of what is happening here.”

“Aware, yes. The question is whether they care what happens in our faraway little democracy?”

Murphy could not answer that question. After all, his story about the assassination attempt did not make the headlines. The strikes at the Goodyear tire plant in Akron dominated the front page. Matters of domestic importance generally took the highest place on the publishers’ list of priorities. Even in Trump Publications, European issues were far down the line.

“What are your plans, Mr. President?” Murphy avoided expressing his opinion on the last question.

“Plans? We plan to stand firmly united as one nation, of course. The same plan your President Lincoln had for the United States.” He smiled.

This was no scoop. Merely platitudes. “More specifically, it is well known now that the Henleinists in the Sudetenland are being given instructions from Berlin. The Nazi Party is alive and well and growing within your borders—”

“As it is in the borders of your own nation,” Beneš replied without a trace of emotion.

The comment threw Murphy off a bit. “Yes, well—”

“We were deep in negotiations with Henlein when we heard that the German Army was poised at our doorstep ready to strike. Even though we had met nearly every demand of Heinlein’s Nazi Party—virtual autonomy for the Sudetenland, independent elections of racially German officials, and so on.” He waved his hand. “Even though we offered him what he wanted, he broke off the talks. You must ask yourself why, Mr. Murphy. And then you must answer the question for your readers so they might understand what is happening here.”

He paused and sipped his brandy again. Then he continued slowly and deliberately, as though he were explaining the matter to a child. “Henlein and his cronies have been ordered by Berlin to ask for more than we could ever give them. And yet we are prepared to give them anything they ask for. We do not wish a civil war in Czechoslovakia, you see. Still, they have broken off talks. They want the flag of the Reich to fly from the spires of Hradcany. They wish to give Herr Hitler any excuse to march against us. If Hitler takes the fortifications in our Sudetenland, it is only a matter of time before he is here. In Prague. In this office.”

Again Murphy repeated the question, “What are your plans?”

President Beneš
leaned forward, his eyes fierce with determination. “To fight them, of course. Britain and France will stand by their treaty with us. They must, or the war they so dread will begin here!” His fist was clenched as he spoke. Here was a man with his back against a very high stone wall, and he had no choice but to fight. Murphy stored every look on the face of Beneš, memorized every nuance in his words.

“Do you believe it will come to that?”

Beneš smiled slightly as he considered his own doubts. “Honestly? No. The Germans cannot desire war. They seek to take our country without firing a shot. The Great Powers and the League of Nations will not allow this to happen. They are not so foolish. Certainly they are not.”

“Hitler says he never intended to invade two weeks ago—”

“Hmmm. Yes. He did say that.” Beneš raised his eyebrow in a way that expressed his amusement at the story. “I read it in the papers also.”

“Would you Czechs fight Germany alone?”

“Yes.” The answer was unequivocal. “We would have no choice. But surely we have shown our determination already.”

“And your ultimate plan for the Sudetenland?”

“We will continue to negotiate with those of our citizens who have racial grievances. Let me put it to you this way: suppose in your own tragic Civil War that the North and the South had managed to come to full agreement? Suppose the president accepted the demands of the Southern states? Yet even with those demands met, the British had supplied the South with arms and men, and had stirred up small segments of society to riot against the government. What would be the motives of the British to have done such a thing?”

Murphy searched his mind for the details of history that might have encouraged such policy from the English. “Forty years before they had lost the war of 1812 to us. Before that they lost the Colonies. Perhaps . . . they might have wished to regain their hold in the South?” Murphy enjoyed such games. Again he was being led by Beneš, who was playing
what if
in order to demonstrate his own precarious position.

“Yes. And so it is with the government of Hitler. Henlein’s followers believe they are negotiating for more independence in our Sudeten territory. They are accepting funds from the Führer, who will chew them up and spit them out.” Beneš sighed. “Hitler cares nothing for the Germans who live in Czechoslovakia.” He shook his head. “They will be devoured like the rest of us. Hitler wishes to take our land. Has he not written it? Why do they not read what he has written on the matter? From here he will progress to the east—if he has his way. But he will not, Mr. Murphy.” The old confidence returned. “We will master this problem, and it will stop here.”

Murphy believed the little man. It was easy to understand why he held the respect and confidence of his people. It was also simple to see why Hitler so desperately wanted Beneš
dead. “These are things I will relay to the States,” Murphy promised as he ran through a dozen more questions he wanted to ask. “And now, would you—”

Beneš silenced him with an upraised finger. “And now, Mr. Murphy, we must talk about you for a moment before we end our little chat, yes?” The eyes showed a gentle concern that flattered Murphy in spite of the fact that he wanted to continue the political discussion.

“Me?”

“A little information we have picked up.” Beneš
raised his hand to the silent assistant who stood a few paces away. The man laid a file folder in the hand of the president and then with a bow, stepped back. “Here is your
scoop
. . . did you call it?”

Murphy sat forward in his chair. He was quite satisfied with the information he was being given. What could be more of a scoop than a personal interview with the president of the beleaguered little nation? “I appreciate—”

Again, the wave of a hand silenced him. Now the eyes of the president became troubled as he silently skimmed the file. Several minutes passed. At last, Beneš looked up. “You speak several languages quite well. Do you read our language also, Mr. Murphy?”

“Not fluently,” he answered apologetically.

“Then I shall interpret this for you, my friend.” Another long, searching look. “We have it on good authority that your lives are in great danger here in Prague.”

“Our lives?”

“You and your wife. Beautiful woman,” he added. “But beauty is of little value to the Gestapo and the SS. Both of you will be killed if you stay in Prague. Our agents send a warning that you must not return to Germany or Austria for any reason.”

“We had not intended to do that.”

“Wise. The Gestapo has an order that you are to be arrested as spies and executed summarily. I would imagine that the execution would include elements of torture in order to make you tell where you got your information about the attempt on my life.”

Murphy frowned and nodded slowly. So it was official in the German circles. American citizenship made little difference in such a matter. Men and women, regardless of nationality, had simply disappeared without a trace in the Reich. Someone would certainly raise a stink about it, but that would not do them a bit of good after the deed was accomplished. “Okay.” Murphy swallowed hard as he momentarily reverted to speaking English. “We expected this.”

“Perhaps you have not expected that even here the order stands.”

“Here in Prague?” Murphy repeated.

“If the president of a country is not safe, then what protection do you imagine you might have here? There are agents of the Gestapo and Hitler’s SS in every capital in Europe now. Mr. Murphy, I would recommend that you take your lovely wife and leave Europe—soon.”

“We had been planning to go back to the States. Eventually.”

“Soon.” Beneš repeated the word with urgency. He tapped the file. “And once your wife is safe, her family as well. You must arrange for their immigration as soon as possible. Have you not heard of the German law of the blood? When one family member transgresses against the will of the Führer, then all members of the family are held responsible.”

“Theo and Anna.” Murphy said their names absently.

“Yes. And their sons.”

“You know about them as well?”

“Dear Mr. Murphy, there is little we do not know. And I assure you, although it is difficult to admit, our intelligence service is not even half as thorough as the Nazi Gestapo. Himmler has done an excellent and ruthless job in his gathering of information. Some areas of information are incomplete. There are still men working for us who are in the midst of their operation, but the bottom line is this—you risked your lives to save mine. Your lives are still at risk. The risk to you grows more extreme each hour you remain here in Prague. The Nazi regime is built on ruthless terror and . . . vengeance. You and Elisa are a target now.”

“You are certain? We are in danger now?” Murphy had been so happy that even the slightest thought of danger had not entered his mind. Now these words made him want to hurry down the hallway and wrap his arm protectively around Elisa’s waist. The thought of losing her . . .

“Do not doubt what I tell you. We have stationed guards around the Lindheim home. You will not see them, but be assured they are watching carefully. Two men have been arrested near the place in the last week.”

“Arrested? But why?”

“We are handling the matter quietly. But it is well you remain vigilant in the time you remain here—which must not be much longer, I pray, for your sake.”

Murphy absorbed the blows like a punch-drunk prize fighter. “I will contact my publisher.”

“We have taken the liberty of doing that for you.”

“What?”

“One of our American agents has spoken face-to-face with Mr. Trump on the matter.”

“Well . . .” Murphy was speechless. Should he thank President Beneš for such dreadful news? “I don’t know quite what to say.”

“Good-bye seems to be the most sensible thing to say, Mr. Murphy. I cannot say that it has been pleasant meeting you; however, it has, I trust, been most enlightening to both of us.”

Murphy hesitated. “Most enlightening. But I . . . I don’t want Elisa to know about . . . about the fact that we might be . . . some sort of target.”

The president pressed his lips together. “I had assumed as much. That is why I met with you alone.”

“Her family . . . her father . . . well, you obviously know the details.”