When both Frade and Cronley were out of the airplane, the three men and the major walked closer. One of them produced credentials and announced, "Federal Bureau of Investigation. Let's see some identification."

"Major, I am Lieutenant Colonel Cletus Frade, U.S. Marine Corps-"

"I told you I wanted to see your identification," the FBI agent snapped, interrupting him.

". . . And I am on a mission cla.s.sified Top SecretLindbergh," Frade finished.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n you," the FBI agent said, "I said I want to see your identification."

"Major, if this civilian swears at me again, I'm going to punch him into next week," Frade said.

"On the ground. Get on your knees and then lay on your stomach!" the FBI agent ordered furiously.

Frade turned to the Air Force major. "I will show you my identification, Major."

"On the G.o.dd.a.m.ned ground, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!" the FBI agent barked.

The Air Force major, looking very uncomfortable, quickly walked past the FBI agents and saluted. Frade returned it.

"Sir, I'm Major Johansen, the a.s.sistant base provost marshal. May I see your identification?"

Frade produced it. The major examined it, and Frade, very carefully.

"The colonel is who he says he is," Johansen said. "Lieutenant Colonel Frade, U.S. Marine Corps."

"And the other one? Who is he?"

"Major Johansen," Frade said, "what I want you to do right now is call General Walter Bedell Smith-Frankfurt Military 1113-in the Farben Building-"

"I asked who this other man is," the FBI agent snapped. "It is a federal crime, a felony, to interfere with an agent of the FBI in the execution of his office. I am asking for the last time for the ident.i.ty of this young man. Specifically, are you James D. Cronley Junior?"

Jimmy snapped back: "What did this Cronley guy do, rob a bank?"

"Get on the phone now, Major," Frade said. "That is a direct order."

The major looked at him for a long moment, then said, "Yes, sir."

He signaled for one of the jeeps to come to them. When it had, he gestured for the driver to hand him the microphone of the shortwave radio behind the rear seat.

"This is Major Johansen," he said into it. "Get on the telephone and call Frankfurt Military . . ." He looked at Frade.

"One-one-one-three," Frade furnished.

"Tell them Colonel Frade, USMC, is calling for General Smith. Then stand by to relay both parts of the conversation if we can't hear him," the major ordered. He turned to Frade. "This shouldn't take long, sir."

Everyone heard whoever was on the other end of the shortwave net reply to Johansen, "Frankfurt Military 1113. Yes, sir."

"Thank you," Frade said.

"Office of the deputy commander, Sergeant Major King speaking, sir."

"Colonel Frade calling for General Smith," Major Johansen said.

"Hold one, please, Colonel," the sergeant major said.

The major handed Frade the microphone.

"Colonel," a new voice said. "This is General Porter. General Smith is en route with Admiral Souers to meet you at Rhine-Main. He may already be there. But is there something I can do for you?"

"Hold one, please, General," Frade said. He turned to the FBI agent. "Are you going to fold your tent and get the h.e.l.l out of here, or would you like me to tell General Porter what he can do for me?"

The FBI agent glared at Frade for a moment.

"You haven't heard the last of this, Colonel." He then gestured to the others to follow him.

"No, thank you, sir," Frade said. "Just checking. I'm at Rhine-Main."

"Have a nice flight, Colonel," General Porter said.

"Thank you, sir. Frade out."

The FBI agents got in one of the staff cars and it drove off.

Frade handed the microphone to the Air Force major.

"Thank you, Major."

"May I ask, sir, what that was all about?"

"You can ask, but I can't tell you," Frade said, smiling. "If I did, I'd have to kill you."

The major chuckled.

"On the other hand, you can tell me what the FBI told you about us. And that's not in the order of a suggestion."

"Sir, he said that they were investigating the exfiltration of n.a.z.is from Germany into Argentina."

"He told you we were suspected of exfiltrating n.a.z.is out of Germany? Into Argentina?"

"He implied that, Colonel."

"Cronley, show the major your credentials," Frade ordered.

Cronley did so.

"When I saw Twenty-three CIC on your vertical stabilizer," the major said, as he handed them back, "I cleverly deduced the CIC might somehow be involved in this. You're sure you can't tell me how?"

"I can tell you this much: What I am going to do is exfiltrate Admiral Sidney Souers, who is senior counselor to President Truman, out of Germany into Washington, D.C. He's been here conferring with General Eisenhower."

"Yes, sir, I know. We've had your airplane under heavy security since it arrived."

"I'd love to know how the FBI came up with that me-smuggling-n.a.z.is-out-of-Germany theory."

"No telling, Colonel. But it does make you wonder if the FBI is as perfect as they would have us all believe, doesn't it?" He paused. "I'm sorry about all this, Colonel."

"Forget it. You were just doing your job."

"Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"

"Two things. You can take me to my airplane and arrange for Cronley to top off the tanks in the Storch."

"Why don't I send for a fuel truck and then take you to your airplane in my car?"

"How about having the Follow me lead Cronley and his Storch to the Connie?" Frade asked. "That way I will have to take my suitcase out of the airplane just once instead of unloading it into your car, et cetera?"

"Done," the major said. "I'll have the fuel truck meet us at your Constellation."

"I will go in the Storch," Frade said. "Even with a Follow me to lead him, Cronley-he learned to fly last week-would probably get lost between here and there in your great big airport."

The major laughed out loud.

"Colonel, thanks for not being sore about this. The FBI came into my office, waving their credentials. And, frankly, I've heard the rumors about n.a.z.is escaping to South America. I just . . ."

"I probably would have reacted the same way."

"That's very good of you, sir."

"I will mention what happened to General Smith," Frade said. He turned to Cronley. "All right, Special Agent Cronley. Into the airplane, and please remember to engage your brain before starting the engine."

The major laughed out loud again.

"I'll follow you over there," he said.

- "What was that comedy routine all about?" Cronley asked, as he taxied the Storch across the airfield. "You sounded like a combination of Jack Benny and Will Rogers."

"Pay attention, Jimmy," Frade snapped, his tone making clear that he was deadly serious. "The d.a.m.ned FBI showing up here poses a greater threat to what we're doing-on several fronts-than the people the NKGB has turned. High on this list is the distinct possibility that when Mattingly hears about it-and we have to a.s.sume he will-he will immediately shift into Cover His a.s.s mode and decide to throw you to the wolves. And I won't be here to protect you."

"You think he may already have done that? How come the FBI was here in the first place?"

"I don't know. They may have just put the SAA Connie under surveillance to see if I was going to sneak n.a.z.is onto it. That doesn't make a h.e.l.l of a lot of sense, because I'd be a fool to do that with Admiral Souers aboard. But on the other hand, the FBI does a lot of things that don't make sense."

"They asked, specifically, if I was James D. Cronley Junior."

"Well, they've been looking for you since you were in Washington. Maybe they spotted you at the Schlosshotel Kronberg or the Vier Jahreszeiten. Anyway, they know you're here. They regard you as the weakest link in the fence we've built around Operation Ost. And they really want to know about that. J. Edgar Hoover would really like to have that on Truman. And it would be almost as good-maybe better-for them to find out this renegade operation of the President is holding an NKGB officer they haven't told Army G-2 they have. And are taking him, or have taken him, to Argentina."

"Understood."

"Yeah, I think you do."

"Practically, what can happen? Say I can't manage to dodge them? Say they show up at Kloster Grnau? I kept Colonel Schumann out of there, and he had, arguably, a right to know what's going on in there. They don't. What are they going to do? Complain to whom? Mattingly would have to tell them that what's going on there is none of their business. Otherwise, he would be the guy who blew Operation Ost and that would be the same thing as betraying the President."

"Okay. But they don't know that, Jimmy. What they know is that there is a twenty-two-year-old junior Army officer who they think knows all about Operation Ost. With reason, they feel all they have to do is wave their FBI credentials in his face, he'll p.i.s.s his pants, then tell them anything they want to know."

"You don't think what happened just now might make them wonder about that?"

"You mean your wisea.s.s crack? 'What did this Cronley guy do, rob a bank?'"

"Yeah."

"That was clever, but all it really did was make that FBI guy decide, 'Okay, I can't deal with this wisea.s.s now. I'll have to wait until Frade is gone. No problem. All things come to he who waits.'"

"I'm not going to blow Operation Ost, Clete."

"Don't underestimate the FBI. They're not stupid, and right now they're under a lot of pressure-if not from Hoover himself, then from Clyde Whatsisname, his deputy-to find out whatever they can about Operation Ost. You're going to have to be very careful."

"Clyde Whatsisname?"

"Hoover's deputy director. Admiral Souers told me he's the guy in charge of the private files-usually detailed reports of s.e.xual escapades-Hoover uses to hold over people, especially politicians." He paused and chuckled. "Jimmy, please tell me you're not f.u.c.king somebody you shouldn't be f.u.c.king. That would be all we need right now. The Federal Blackmail Inst.i.tution would love to have something like that on you."

Jimmy laughed, because he knew that was the reaction Clete expected.

But I am f.u.c.king somebody I shouldn't be f.u.c.king.

And I can't afford to have-what did Clete call it?-the Federal Blackmail Inst.i.tution catch me doing it.

Okay. Auf Wiedersehen, Rachel! Affair over!

You go back to the colonel and the kiddies.

And I try to start thinking with my head instead of my d.i.c.k.

It never should have started. What the h.e.l.l was I thinking?

Then he repeated: "I'm not going to blow Operation Ost."

"I wish I was as confident about that as you are."

"What do you want me to do, say it again? Okay. I'm not going to blow Operation Ost."

"When was the last time you saw a grown man pout?"

"What?"

"Pout. You know, stick your lip out and look sad so everybody feels sorry for you."

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about now?"

"Enrico," Clete said. He pointed.