conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Prussian Blue about John, Brady, CIA with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: John Brady is a toughish, high-profile journalist/author whose life starts to go wrong when he tries to do a biography on the director of the CIA. A fast-moving story ensues, involving admirals, filmstars, lawyers, arrests, mysterious bits of paper, and a painting entitled "Prussian Blue".
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first three paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Prussian Blue
  The woman sat down heavily in a cloud of Guerlain and despair, and lit another cigarette. I helped myself to the one she was still smoking and which was lying in a large salt-crystal ashtray, puffed it thoughtfully, and smiled a painful smile.
  While Korsch kept her talking I went up the narrow stairs and took a look around. The house was like a smaller version of the Berghof, only without the resident dwarf Alberich. The hallway was lined with several historic maps of the old Bavarian Rhenish Palatinate, an area of southwestern Germany that bordered the Saarland, and framed photographs of cave formations and what looked like salt mines and interesting geological formations. Opening a couple of the plain wooden doors I found small, comfortable rooms with the mattresses rolled up like pastry, and several prints of Alpine hikers. It was probably a nice, clean place to stay in the summer; any happy wanderer would have slept well and after a good German breakfast prepared by Frau Diesbach they'd think they'd done well choosing it—especially if they managed to catch a glimpse or two of her ample bosom.
  I opened a closet and on a shelf behind some blankets I found several boxes of the same red Brenneke slugs that had been used to kill Udo Ambros. Leaning against a thickly papered wall in a corner of the chilly master bedroom was a Walloon sword as long as a ski pole, which almost made me glad we'd not got there earlier. A white cat was lying on the brass bed and he stared at me with bright blue eyes that were as sharp as the sword and full of a cat's questions, which meant the answers were no more important than the time of day, the taste of fresh snow, or the shape of a cloud formation above the Kehlstein. There are times when I think it would be good to be a cat, even in that part of the world, at least as long as you stayed away from Hitler and the Landlerwald. Some of the drawers in the bedroom chest were empty and still open and, lying on the carpet, were a cuff link, a collar stud, and a 7.62 mm Parabellum cartridge; clearly someone with a Luger pistol had left in quite a hurry.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I pointed to a trail of wet footprints on the dry red sand that covered the ground near the cave entrance and led into the silent darkness.
  Zander took a tentative step farther into the cave entrance, lifted his long thin nose a little higher, and sniffed quietly, like an experienced perfumer from Treu & Nuglisch. The air inside the Schlossberg Caves was warm and dry and carried the scent of something sweet and aromatic. "What is it?" he asked.
  I lit a cigarette; our previous talk about Hutier tactics had left me feeling on edge, as if I'd been about to go over the top of the trench on a midnight wire-cutting mission in no-man's-land. My hand was shaking a little as I held the lighter up to my cigarette and sucked in the volatile, hot hydrocarbon gases I needed to calm my fraying nerves. I was always better at physics than philosophy.
  I slipped the flashlight into my coat pocket, took out my gun, worked the slide to put a round in the breech, and eased off the hammer. "Just in case he's not open to reason."
  I nodded. "All right. You stay here and guard the entrance." I pointed at the dark tunnel in front of me. It looked like the entrance to Helheim.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I pointed to a trail of wet footprints on the dry red sand that covered the ground near the cave entrance and led into the silent darkness.
  Zander took a tentative step farther into the cave entrance, lifted his long thin nose a little higher, and sniffed quietly, like an experienced perfumer from Treu & Nuglisch. The air inside the Schlossberg Caves was warm and dry and carried the scent of something sweet and aromatic. "What is it?" he asked.
  I lit a cigarette; our previous talk about Hutier tactics had left me feeling on edge, as if I'd been about to go over the top of the trench on a midnight wire-cutting mission in no-man's-land. My hand was shaking a little as I held the lighter up to my cigarette and sucked in the volatile, hot hydrocarbon gases I needed to calm my fraying nerves. I was always better at physics than philosophy.
  I slipped the flashlight into my coat pocket, took out my gun, worked the slide to put a round in the breech, and eased off the hammer. "Just in case he's not open to reason."
  I nodded. "All right. You stay here and guard the entrance." I pointed at the dark tunnel in front of me.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When Adolf Hitler, Ludendorff, and more than two thousand SA men had marched to this spot from the Bürgerbräukeller some two kilometers away, they encountered a blockade made up of a hundred and thirty policemen armed with rifles. The standoff that took place ended when one of those guns—history doesn't tell us to which side it belonged—was fired, after which there was a lot of shooting on both sides. Four policemen and sixteen Nazis were killed. By all accounts Göring was struck by a bullet in the groin, while some of the men standing beside Adolf Hitler were killed outright, so perhaps it was hardly surprising he thought he had been picked by God to lead the country. Had he, I wondered, ever really believed that what he was doing was right? Or was it that he had been possessed by a misplaced and overriding devotion to pan-Germanism, which is to say he was infected with too much Germany as an idea, in inverse proportion to no Germany at all, which was the situation that existed until the unification that followed the conclusion of the Franco-Prussian war of 1871? It was of course unfortunate that the outcome at the Feldherrenhalle had not produced an alternative result. History would certainly have been very different. But I could hardly argue with the blockade or the decision to shoot, only the marksmanship.
  Following **Heydrich's** assassination in June 1942, **Ernst Kaltenbrunner** became the chief of the RSHA, which comprised Kripo, the Gestapo, and the SD, in January 1943; he was tried as a war criminal at Nuremberg and hanged in October 1946.
  The fate of **Arthur** and **Freda Kannenberg** , who were the house managers at the Berghof, is unknown.
  The tea house at the **Kehlstein** exists to this day and is a popular visitor attraction, as is the excellent **Hotel Kempinski** in Obersalzberg, which is built on the site of Herman Göring's house. The ruins of both the Berghof and Bormann's house are still visible. The Türken Inn continues in business as a hotel and may be visited throughout the year. The Villa Bechstein no longer exists, but Albert Speer's house is still there and was sold recently to a private buyer for several million euros.
  I am grateful for the help of Marie-Caroline Aubert, Michael Barson, Ann Binney, Robert Birnbaum, Robert Bookman, Paul Borchers, Lynn Cannici, J. B. Dickey, Martin Diesbach, Gail DiRe, Abby Fenneweld, Karen Fink, Jeremy Garber, Ed Goldberg, Margaret Halton, Tom Hanks, David Harper, Ivan Held, Sabina Held, Kristen Holland, Millie Hoskins, Elizabeth Jordan, Ian Kern, Caradoc King, John Kwiatkowski, Vick Mickunas, Simon Sebag Montefiore, Christine Pepe, Barbara Peters, Mark Pryor, Jon Rinquist, Christoph Rüter, Anne Saller, Alexis Sattler, Stephen Simou, Matthew Snyder, Becky Stewart, Bruce Vinokaur, Thomas Wickersham, Chandra Wohleber, Jane Wood, and, above all, Marian Wood, as always.