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Building T-209 had been erected in four days just over a year before. Sitting on concrete blocks, it was a one-story frame structure containing a living room, a kitchen, and two bedrooms.

In each of the bedrooms, a curtained-off cubicle held a sink, a toilet, and a cement-floored shower. The furniture was what was prescribed in an Army Regulation titled “Colonels Through Major Generals, Temporary Bachelor Accommodations, Furnishings For.”

That is to say, the single beds in the bedrooms were marginally larger and had more comfortable mattresses than the “Cots, Steel w/mattress” provided for officers of lower rank. And the living room held a simple, if comfortable, cloth-upholstered couch, two matching armchairs, and a coffee table. There was a refrigerator and a stove and a kitchen table with two chairs in the kitchen. Officers of lesser rank had none of these creature comforts.

A very large fan on a pole had been placed in the open kitchen door so that it blew toward the open living room door. It didn’t cool the cottage much against the stifling heat of Mississippi in August, but it was much better than nothing.

Colonel J. Stanton Ludlow, Sr., Corps of Military Police—a tall, gray-haired fifty-six-year-old; a “Retread,” having served in World War One—entered Building T-209. He was trailed by a serious-looking lieutenant, a wiry twenty-two-year-old with closely cropped black hair.

They found six men in the living room, three of them in uniform.

The officers in uniform rose and came to attention in respect to the presence of the Camp Clinton commander. Two of them, a lieutenant and a major, wore MP brassards and the other accoutrements of military policemen, including holstered Model 1911A1 .45 ACP pistols, on their khaki shirts-and-trousers uniforms. The third wore short khaki pants and a khaki tunic ont

o which had been pinned and sewn the insignia of an oberstleutnant—lieutenant colonel—of the Afrikakorps.

The third was of course Oberstleutnant Wilhelm Frogger, who had been captured when General Hans-Jürgen von Arnim had surrendered the Afrikakorps, and who was the sole surviving son of Wilhelm and Else Frogger.

“At ease,” Colonel Ludlow ordered, and turned to the eldest of the three civilians, who was sitting in one of the armchairs. He was wearing a sweat-soaked shirt. He had his sleeves rolled up and his tie pulled down. Gaily striped suspenders held up his pants.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Colonel,” Colonel A. F. Graham, USMCR, said.

“What can I do for you, Colonel?” Colonel Ludlow said, and looked at the two other men in the room, both of whom were wearing sort of a uniform of knit polo shirts, khaki slacks, and aviator’s sunglasses as they leaned against the wall and held bottles of Coca-Cola.

“I don’t mean to offend,” Colonel Ludlow said to the taller of the two, “but has anyone ever told you that you look like Howard Hughes?”

“I’ve heard that before,” Hughes said.

“Hughes is much better-looking, Colonel,” the man beside him—Major Cletus Frade, USMCR—said. “And isn’t going bald.”

Colonel Graham flashed Frade an impatient look, then pushed himself out of the armchair.

“With the caveat that the classification is Top Secret, Colonel,” Graham said, “would you please take a look at this?”

He handed Ludlow a four-by-five-inch envelope.

“Didn’t you show me this when you first came?” Colonel Ludlow asked as he opened the envelope.

“What I showed you when I came was my authorization to see Colonel Frogger,” Graham said. “This is somewhat different.”

Ludlow read the document:

Ludlow’s face showed his surprise as he looked at Colonel Graham.

“This is a blank check for anything, Colonel,” Ludlow said.

“Yes, it is,” Graham said. “I have to ask about your lieutenant. Do you want him to participate in what I’m going to need, or would you rather I have Major Frade take him into the kitchen, tell him what certainly will happen to him if he breathes a word of this to anyone for the rest of his life, and send him away?”

Ludlow considered that for a moment.

“Colonel Graham, this is Lieutenant Mark Dalton. I trust him. The question is whether he wants to become further involved with what’s going on here.” Ludlow looked to the wiry lieutenant. “Dalton?”

“You may show him that note,” Graham said.

Ludlow handed the note to Dalton, who read it.

“In or out, Lieutenant?” Graham asked.

“In, sir,” Lieutenant Dalton said.