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Almost instantly there was a hiss on the line, telling Wallace that the executive assistant to the director of the Central Intelligence Directorate had said all he was going to say.

[ FOUR ]

The Stars and Stripes Facility

Pfungstadt, American Zone of Occupation,

Germany

1815 26 January 1946

Cronley, wearing pinks and greens with triangles, drove the 1942 Ford staff car—its bumper markings identified it as Vehicle 11 of the 711th MKRC—up to the unimposing white building and found an empty parking space right next to the main door. It was labeled: OFFICIAL VISITORS.

“God favors the virtuous,” he said to himself as he pulled into the parking spot.

He entered the building under a sign that was a blown-up facsimile of the Stars and Stripes logotype. In the lobby a large sign with an arrow pointing right read PRESS CLUB.

He followed it and when he went through the next open door he saw Janice Johansen and PFC Karl Wagner sitting at a table with an infantry captain and a man whose pinks and greens had a war correspondent’s patch sewn to its sleeve.

Cronley walked up to the table. Both the captain and the war correspondent did not seem pleased. Neither Janice nor Wagner seemed to recognize him.

“Miss Johansen?” Cronley said.

She nodded.

“My name is Fulmar,” Cronley said.

“The man from Quartermaster?” Janice asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re late.”

“Yes, ma’am. There were two Constabulary checkpoints on the autobahn from Frankfurt.”

Janice stood up.

“Duty calls,” she said. “I am forced to leave this charming company.”

“What’s the story, Janice?” the war correspondent asked.

“You’ll have to wait to read it in Stars and Stripes,” Janice said. “Karl, I’ll be back either tomorrow or the day after. I’ll call and let you know when.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wagner said.

Janice waved her hand as an indication Cronley should precede her out of the Press Club. He did so.

—

“How’d things go at Rhine-Main?” Janice asked as they turned north on the autobahn.

“There’s an envelope in the glove compartment. Have a look.”

The envelope contained a dozen 8×10-inch photographs of the Likharev family being shown the sights in Buenos Aires.

“Very nice. And obviously legitimate.”

“Meaning what?”