Munich Signature (65 page)

“Your daughter and son-in-law saved my life,” Beneš said simply. “Could I do otherwise?”

Theo closed his eyes in thanks. Beneš had not betrayed them as he himself had been betrayed. Theo nodded, unable to speak. What was left to say? One signature in Munich had said clearly what was in the hearts of men and governments.
Peace in our time
, no matter what the cost.

Beneš looked over at the black horizon where his beloved Prague crouched in terror of what the daylight would bring. “And so this is the end of all we had hoped for,” Beneš whispered. It was finished.

***

Georg Wand hurried from the embassy. How appropriate it seemed to him that he would put an end to Elisa Murphy at a concert—just as she had effectively ended the life of Albert Sporer that night at the theatre in Prague.

He hailed a taxi, feeling exuberant that Himmler had been sensitive enough to leave this assignment to him. Yes. He had looked forward to this. The ending of the woman who had destroyed Sporer. Well, this was a night for happy endings. The Czechs were finished. The army marched through the Sudeten passes unopposed. Even Beneš was finished. It had not been as he and Sporer had planned it, but the little Czech president was finished all the same.

The lights of L’Opera were bright tonight. All of Paris was out, celebrating the fact that France would not have to go to war, after all. It would be much the same in London. And Hitler would return to Berlin as conqueror and prophet. He had won against the opposition of the High Command. They would not dare to question him now.

In the backseat of the taxi, Wand checked his revolver once again. A nervous habit, double-checking his weapon—one he had picked up from Sporer. He smiled. A glint of gold. He somehow felt the presence of Sporer with him tonight. Watching him. Applauding the time. The place. The method.

The line of vehicles was backed up. “Let me out here,” instructed Wand cheerfully. He paid the fare and tipped the man. He stepped out among the men and women in their evening clothes. He had not dressed for the occasion. Just street clothes. The clothing of an ordinary man.

He walked briskly toward the broad steps leading into L’Opera. He scanned the faces and the finery for some sign of his quarry. Elisa would meet him on the steps. She would meet John Murphy on the steps. He had seen the photograph of her at Hradcany Castle. A beautiful woman. He wondered if she would wear that same white dress? He imagined the red of her blood expanding on the fabric like a bright flower. A new ornament to adorn her.

So many people; so much noise. But she would be waiting for John Murphy. Or he would be waiting for her. Not eight-thirty yet. He could not have missed them.

He stopped on the edge of the steps and raised his pointed chin like a fox sniffing the air.

Yes. Framed in the center of the ornate entrance stood Elisa Linder. Lindheim. He must remember that this beautiful and treacherous creature was a Jewess. Should he wait for John Murphy? Yes, he would wait. He would finish them both at once.

She glittered in the dress. Her hair was polished gold. Strange that this was not an Aryan woman. She looked the part. He had a moment of regret that he could not have taken her somewhere private for the end, that he could not spend some time alone with her before, as he had done with Shelby Pence.

He put his foot on the bottom step and considered how easy it might be to press the gun into her side and quietly take her away from L’Opera. Yes. Perhaps that was the thing to do. The thought gave him pleasure. He took a step, and then—

He felt the press of a gun barrel in his back.

“Back up.” The voice of Thomas von Kleistmann. Wand’s eyes widened as the order was punctuated by yet one more jab with the gun. He stepped back. His fingers twitched, moving toward his pocket. Another painful jab. “I would not try it, Wand. Back up.”

Wand took a few more steps back into the shadow of the alley. Away from the crowd. “How did you get out?” he asked. “You will not get away with this.”

“I already have,” said Thomas, pulling the trigger.

There was no sound. Remarkable, those German-made silencers. Georg Wand expelled his breath, and the blood came after. No one heard the strangled squeak that came from his throat. He crumpled onto the ground, his head slapping hard against the pavement.

Thomas was a dozen yards away from him before blood began to pool on the sidewalk. And no one noticed.

Thomas walked from the front of L’Opera and stood for a moment at the entrance. He looked back at Elisa standing on the top step. She waved and smiled. But not at him. A tall, lanky man inched through the crowd and raised his arm to take her hand and pull her to him.
John Murphy. He certainly looks American
, thought Thomas with a smile. Amusing, Elisa in love with an American.

The sounds of the train rumbled behind him. One last look.
Elisa . . . Murphy!
And Thomas hurried down the steps to catch the train. The train for somewhere . . .

***

Hundreds of Americans died in the hurricane. Thousands of boats and homes were smashed in what the newspapers said was
The worst storm to hit New England in 100 years
. State by state, the list of damages ran into uncounted millions. Shipping was paralyzed in Boston Harbor. Train service was disrupted. Wind velocity on the Empire State Building was clocked at 120 miles an hour. Tidal waves ripped houses from their foundations and pushed them a quarter of a mile inland. Insurance companies called it an act of God.

There was so much destruction, so many suddenly homeless, that Americans barely noticed when Hitler marched into Czechoslovakia. And the sinking of the
Darien
? Ah well, a shame. But anyone could see that America had enough misery on its own without spending too much time considering the fate of those few hundred refugees.

A few small items appeared in newspapers describing the one man who had survived the carnage by clinging to a tiny casket. Some of the more literary of the journalists likened the survival of Shimon Feldstein to a scene from
Moby Dick
.

When he and his little coffin washed up on a littered beach, Shimon had wept and carried the casket himself on his broad shoulders. He had not let them take it away at the Red Cross station. He had ridden with it in the baggage compartment of the train up to New York, where, two weeks later, the State Department had reluctantly bowed to pressure, and agreed to give Ada-Marie Holbein her place on American soil.

***

It was a private ceremony. A homecoming. Shimon, his right arm in a cast, stood with his left arm around Leah. His forehead was creased in an unyielding grief. Murphy and Elisa held hands as they stood behind the chairs where Bubbe Rosenfelt sat with Mr. Trump. Nieces and nephews were there, as well as Bubbe’s sister. A big family. And yet, ramrod straight, Bubbe Rosenfelt seemed alone today.

Charles held the cello upright like a companion. Louis cradled Elisa’s violin in his arms. At a signal from the rabbi, Elisa and Leah stepped forward and took their instruments.

Shimon bowed slightly toward Bubbe Rosenfelt and said through a half-choked voice, “
Beethoven’s Fifth. Andante con moto
. We . . . will not . . . forget!” He raised his good arm and Elisa and Leah played together once more. Only two instruments when there had been so many. It was not nearly so fine as it had been the day the
Darien
Symphony Orchestra had played for the Prince of Israel. “Blessed is he that cometh!”

“
I WAS A STRANGER, AND YE TOOK ME NOT IN . . . ”

Digging Deeper into

MUNICH SIGNATURE

1938 was a dark year for all of Europe, especially Germany, Austria, and Czechoslovakia. John Murphy described it well: “Wrong has become right, and the world is turned upside down” (p. 71). All because one man had the tenacious ability to rally others around his vision. Others had considered this former transient and failed artist too weak and unimportant to bother with . . . and thus didn’t take the steps they should have. Then, after Adolf Hitler’s rise to power, it was, to every good person’s horror, truly too late.

After a quick look at today’s headlines, there is no doubt that Murphy’s words could also be used to describe our contemporary culture. But is all lost? Certainly not! However, we must realize that apathy is the glove into which evil slips its hand (see p. 381). Apathy sees people in terms of categories, rather than seeing each one as “a person, a face, an individual with hopes and fears and a certain number of years to live on this earth, and then an eternity to face.” Those on the coffin ship
Darien
“were not numbers or statistics—they were living, breathing, hurting, hoping souls” (p. 381).

Yet, in the midst of evil, good is still revealed. The picture of one dead child and her grieving mother and father transcends all considerations of race and religion and moves a nation to raise a public outcry on behalf of the refugees (see pp. 284-285). Those aboard the
Darien
sing a creative version of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5.
Baby Israel is born. Anna Lindheim sets aside her own personal comfort to feed and house hungry refugees in Prague. The Wattenbargers risk the safety of their entire family when they choose to protect and aid those who are fleeing from the evil clutches of the Nazi regime. And because of people like Anna and the Wattenbargers, numerous children—like Louis and Charles Kronenberger—are saved.

What a ringing testimony these courageous souls are to the classic writer Edward Everett Hale’s words:

And that takes us to you, dear reader. You are “only one,” but you are noticed. We prayed for you as we wrote this book and continue to pray as we receive your letters and hear your soul cries. No doubt you have myriad life questions of your own. And you may wonder, at times, if anything you do is making a difference. Following are some questions designed to take you deeper into the answers to these questions. You may wish to delve into them on your own or share them with a friend or a discussion group.

We hope
Munich Signature
will encourage you in your search for answers to your daily dilemmas and life situations. But most of all, we pray that you will “discover the Truth through fiction.” For we are convinced that if you seek diligently, you will find the One who holds all the answers to the universe (1 Chronicles 28:9).

Bodie
&
Brock Thoene

1. When have you, like Tikki, longed for home and love (see pp. xii-xiii)?

2. Is there someone you wish you could measure up to? Who, and why?

3. How well do you know your parents? their stories? their hearts? Do you long to know a parent better—or to know him or her at all? Why or why not? How do your parents and their stories help form who you are?

4. Imagine you are sitting in a church service. All of a sudden, you hear voices outside shout, “Get out!” Then the windows of the church shatter . . . and rain down in a million pieces. How would you respond?

5. How can you tell if someone is who they say they are or a wolf in sheep’s clothing (see p. 10)? What criteria do you use to judge someone’s soul and actions?

6. Have you ever been rescued or shielded by a “gracious hand” (p. 14), as Shimon was? When? Recall the story and the “hand” that helped you.

7. “Months ago I told you to put away hope for your life. I did not mean that you should abandon all hope,” Admiral Canaris tells Thomas von Kleistmann (p. 28). What is the difference between the two? For you, what cause would be worth dying for?

8. “The problem is not in knowing the truth. It is in acting on it,” a wounded colonel tells Murphy (p. 33). Would you agree? Why or why not?

9. Ephesians 6:11-13 says:

Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.

Have you ever felt like you were part of “a handful of mere men” (p. 39) fighting against evil? When? Explain the situation.

10. “America is well aware of what is happening here.”

“Aware, yes. The question is whether they care what happens in our faraway little democracy” (conversation between Murphy and President Beneš, president of Czechoslovakia, p. 48).

How aware are you of events that happen in the U.S. today? events that happen around the world? Which do you consider to be more important, and why?

11. “There is a hope that heals and also a hope that can destroy you if you hold too tightly to it,” says Anna wisely (p. 58). When in your life have you experienced these two kinds of hope?

12. “We must be strong for the sake of the children. . . . We must teach them to live now, but also to see their lives through . . . hundred-year glasses. . . . Such a point of view somehow makes each moment, each action, each prayer seem much more important, I think. Especially in such dark times as these” (Anna, p. 60). If you adopted this point of view, how would your life change? Give some specifics. How can you help those younger than you to see the future through a long-range perspective?