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
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
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