Vienna Prelude (58 page)

Canaris sat down heavily in his chair, as though the certainty of the events had drained him of energy. “This performance with the leader of Austria is intended to show Hitler’s power to the nations of the world, and also to those of us within the military who might seek to question his absolute control.” He ran a hand though his hair. “Other generals have been invited to the farce, but only those Hitler is sure of. The rest are low-ranking officers who will be easily impressed by bravado and bullying.”

Canaris sighed deeply. “If Schuschnigg is smart, he will not enter the Dragon’s Lair, but I think he is not smart enough. He still hopes that Hitler will leave Austria alone with a few concessions here and there. He does not see that such concessions are simply an appetizer for our beloved Führer. The main course is Austria.”

39

The Business Arrangement

The International News Service office was relieved that John Murphy was already in Vienna when the first big story of 1938 began to break. Eddie Griffith wired Murphy from Paris and ordered him to stay in Vienna and keep his eyes and ears open.

He was soon joined at the Sacher Hotel by Timmons and Johnson and Amanda and a myriad other European correspondents who sensed that something big was on the way to Vienna.

Murphy was relieved to have the company; soon his room in the Sacher took on the old atmosphere of the Adlon Hotel in Berlin. Bored reporters played cards and joked while Murphy simply spent hours staring out the window, hoping in spite of himself that he might catch a glimpse of a beautiful violinist hailing a cab in the rainy street below. He did not torment himself by driving by the Musikverein or walking in the neighborhood where her apartment was. And he allowed himself the privilege of properly hating her for playing him for a chump when she was really in love with someone else. Still he looked out the window and hoped.

It was eight days since Herr Hitler had taken over the complete control of the German armed forces.

“The guy is like Napoleon now,” said Johnson, dealing the cards. “And what we need is another British victory at Waterloo, or pretty soon there’ll be red flags flapping all over Vienna.”

“We aren’t waiting here for that,” Timmons replied, drawing each card. “It ain’t a question that it’s gonna happen; it’s a question of when and how.”

The phone rang and Murphy reached to pick it up. He had connections at the new government offices. He had paid his informant well to pass along any news; now, the young man’s breathless voice fairly crackled with excitement.

“Hitler has summoned Chancellor Schuschnigg to visit him in Berchtesgaden.”

This was going to be Murphy’s scoop. He wanted the story first, so he covered the importance of the conversation. “Yes. Four shirts to be laundered. Light starch . . .”

Johnson quipped, “I didn’t know Murphy had four shirts.”

The frantic voice on the other end of the telephone whispered. “The chancellor has been
ordered
to Berchtesgaden! Ordered as though he is a servant. Do you understand, Herr Murphy?”

“Yes. I understand.” The news sickened Murphy. The move had begun. “And he is coming?” Murphy asked and his voice still sounded like he was discussing laundry.

“Yes. He and Guido Schmidt, his foreign minister.
Gott!
For months we have been building Austrian defenses along our German border. But nothing is complete! Nothing! Only foundations.”

“When?” Murphy asked.

“They take the train to Salzburg tonight. Then they will be escorted up the mountain by sled and cross the German border to Berchtesgaden.” He dropped his voice even lower. “I cannot say more.”

“Right. Thank you.” Murphy hung up the phone and cocked his head toward the little group of his card-playing cronies. “You guys going to be here all night?” ae asked, picking up his coat and strolling toward the door.

“Prob’ly.” Timmons seemed engrossed by his hand.

“Where you going, Murphy?” Johnson scowled at his cards. “You going to scoop us?”

“Just going out for a little air. You guys have stunk up this place. Empty the ashtrays in the toilet, will you? And if you order room service, don’t put it on my bill.” It was a normal kind of exit—full of insults and instruction. Murphy figured they would not even notice he was gone until the game broke up about four o’clock the next morning. By then he would have the story.

He grabbed a sausage sandwich at the train station and bought his ticket on the evening train to Salzburg. He had an hour still to wait when he spotted Elisa across the lobby. She carried a small suitcase and had two young boys in tow. He was sure that his mouth was hanging open when she looked his way and her eyes widened with surprise. She smiled and waved broadly. He shrugged as if to say,
Well, we meet again at last!
Then he sat down on the bench and began to pretend to read his newspaper. He hoped she would go away, but at any rate, he was determined not to let her see that she had any effect on him at all.

He heard the footsteps but did not look up. Her voice said with gentle amusement, “Can you read like that?”

He managed to focus his eyes on the newsprint. The paper was upside down. “Yes.” He didn’t miss a beat. “It comes from years of stealing other reporter’s stories. You stand over the typewriter, see, and read upside down—” He tossed the paper onto the floor. “Fancy meeting you here.”

The two boys eyed him suspiciously, but Elisa looked at him with relief, even
joy
. “I’m going to the Tyrol.”

“Forever?” His voice contained a hint of bitterness. “You having the wedding there? Bringing along the groomsmen? Or is one of these the actual lucky fellow himself?”

She looked momentarily hurt by his flippant questions. “These are my nephews . . . Helmut and Kurt.” They stuck out their hands; their brown eyes seemed serious and frightened, much too old for such youngsters.

“And I am John Murphy,” Murphy said with equal seriousness. Then he looked again at Elisa. “It’s been six weeks since you stood me up to get married. I thought you’d have kids of your own by now.” He was still cutting.

She smiled sadly, then looked away. “I tried to find you that night to explain.”

“I’ll bet you did.” He lapsed into English, and she also answered in English, cutting off their conversation from the boys.

“You had checked out.” She raised her chin in defiance to his challenge.

“You bet I did.” He felt angry all over again. “Did you find your angels? Wooden angels. Looked just like you, I thought. So where’s your husband?”

“I did not . . . it did not work out.”

He remembered the scene that had been silhouetted on the window shade. He suddenly wanted to hurt her as he had been hurt. “Did you write him a note too?” His eyes narrowed. “What have you got in your veins, Elisa? Not warm red blood. Ice water, maybe?”

The boys could not understand the words, but they recognized the anger in Murphy’s voice. They looked to Elisa with alarm. She put her hands protectively on their shoulders. “I . . . deserve this, Herr Murphy,” she said formally. “I know that.” She fought to control tears that threatened to brim in her eyes. “Perhaps one day, another time, we can talk.” She looked down at her two young charges apologetically. “I am sorry I bothered you.”

At that she turned and led the boys toward a bench at the far end of the terminal. Murphy stared bleakly after her, silently cursing himself for not showing her indifference instead of anger.
Next time,
he vowed,
I’ll act totally unconcerned. As if she had not torn my heart to shreds and left me staring at blank walls and mentally drawing her picture there.

Now he sat gazing miserably at the back of her head as she regained her composure and joked with her nephews as they waited for the train. They would be on his train, he knew, and the thought made him hope that he would have ample opportunity to act indifferent and cool. He had managed to remain in total control while German planes had bombed Madrid. Why was he trembling now? A return to Spain would be a welcome relief after this.

He stood and retrieved his newspaper, then wandered down toward the opposite end of the terminal, as far from Elisa as possible. He sat down facing away from her. He hoped she would look and see him
not
looking at her. For nearly an hour he remained rooted there, staring sightlessly at the same page of the newspaper. He had made certain that it was right side up this time. And as he stared, he asked her a thousand unspoken questions. And finally, in his mind, he came back to the reason he had come back to Vienna six weeks before.
Why are you still here? Don’t you see what’s coming? You still don’t believe me? Get out of here, Elisa, or you might end up like your father.

Of course he couldn’t say any of that to her. She was already completely past the shock of seeing him, if it had been a shock.
He
had certainly felt shocked. The encounter had meant nothing to her obviously. He turned and looked over his shoulder. She was laughing at something one of the boys had whispered to her. Her hair was shining; her eyes sparkled. She had already forgotten that Murphy was in the terminal.

He turned back around just as the announcer called boarding for the train to Salzburg. He rose slowly and grabbed his little satchel without even glancing at her. Maybe he would manage to walk by her on the train. Unless she had a private compartment, and then he would not see her at all. He squashed his hat onto his head, fighting the urge to follow her as she boarded. And then he hesitated and turned. He had lost the battle. He saw her look at the tickets and then start for the third car from the rear. Walking quickly toward her, he climbed onto the front of the car just as she helped the smallest of the boys onto the rear. He brushed aside the conductor who insisted he show his ticket number. Then he waited just inside the train as the first boy appeared at the opposite end of the corridor, followed by the second child, and finally Elisa. Her eyes caught Murphy’s and held them for just an instant. Just as she had held his soul when the guitar music had played in the cellar café. He managed a nonchalant shrug, an unconcerned who-cares shrug. The light in her eyes flickered and he saw that he had hurt her. He was glad he had hurt her, and then he was sorry.

“You in this carriage?” he asked.

She nodded and then disappeared into compartment 3-E. He made a note, then waited until an elderly gentleman approached the same compartment and checked his ticket.

“
Bitte,
mein Herr.” Murphy put his hand on the old man’s arm. “Are you in 3-E?”

The man nodded and smiled, “
Ja
.”

“I am in number 8-C. I have been separated from my family. Wife and two boys.” His voice was a whisper. “Would you trade tickets and allow me to make it worth your while?” He pulled out five American dollars.

The old man nodded, snatched the bill away, handed Murphy his ticket while taking his, then tottered down the hall.

Murphy fixed a scowl on his face and opened the door to 3-E. Elisa looked up with surprise and then turned her eyes away uncomfortably. She seemed to be thinking,
How can this be?
Murphy was instantly sorry that he had traded tickets with the old man.

“Look,” he said, “I know it’s odd that we are thrown together like this. Maybe I can get another seat assignment once everybody is on board. Anyway, I’m only going to Salzburg.” He did not sit down in the empty seat across from her.

“No.” Her voice was a whisper. There really were tears in her eyes now. “I was hoping . . . please.” She smiled and moved a package out of the aisle. “Do sit down, Herr Murphy. That is, unless you
want
to change seats.”

“Maybe later.” He sat down with seeming reluctance. He would not show her how he felt. He would not let her see what she had done. But, he decided, he would ask her all the questions he had thought of in the last hour. “So, you’re finally getting out of Vienna?”

“Only temporarily.” She looked at the floor, at his shoes. He wished he had shined them.

“You don’t mean you’re coming back here?” He was alarmed.

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

“And then when are you leaving again?”

“I’m not running away, if that’s what you’re asking.” She again lapsed into English.”

“Why not?”

“A million little reasons, Murphy.” She looked at the children, then back to him.

He sat back and crossed his arms as he studied the boys and then looked into her eyes. “Your nephews?” he asked.

She shook her heard in a solemn no, and suddenly he understood. “What are you involved with?” he said, scarcely able to believe that this was the same, unaware young woman he had fallen in love with. She had not believed him then; she had not seen the dangers in the bad alleyways of Vienna.

“Rudy Dorbransky was a dear friend of mine,” she said, as though that offered every explanation.

“He’s dead,” Murphy replied in a clipped voice.

“Murdered.”

“I thought as much.”

“Nazis.”

“And your little trip has something to do with that?”

She nodded. Her gaze cut a swath into his heart. “You are an American, Herr Murphy.” She bit her lip and stared into the distance, as though looking for the proper way to say what she needed to say. “Americans have connections that most of us do not have. Your country is neutral, and you can move with more freedom than . . . others.”

“Get to the point.”

“I have been thinking about you.”

He sensed that her thoughts had not been personal or romantic. Again he drew his reserve up like a shield. He must not let her see what he was feeling. “I haven’t given you another thought,” he lied.

Again the hurt flashed in her eyes, but she controlled it quickly. “I did not expect that you would.” She frowned. “But once you made me an offer. It was quite gallant. Not romantic, you said, but a matter of safety.”

“You want to go to America?” he asked, feeling relief.

“No.” The answer was absolute. “I want an American passport.”