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Rhine-Main USAF Base

Frankfurt am Main, Hesse

American Zone of Occupation, Germany

1100 3 November 1945

“Rhine-Main Ground Control, Army Seven-Oh-Seven,” Cronley said into his microphone. “Request taxi instruction to parking location of South American Airways Lockheed Constellation tail number Double-Zero-Five. If you can’t see me, I am a Storch aircraft on taxiway sixteen left.”

There was no reply, just sixty seconds of hiss. Finally, Cronley called again. “Rhine-Main, Army Seven-Oh-Seven. Do you read me?”

“Army Seven-Zero-Seven, hold one,” Ground Control replied.

“They seem to have lost your airplane,” Cronley said to Frade.

“What the hell?” Frade replied.

“Army Seven-Zero-Seven, Rhine-Main Ground. Be advised South American Airways Double-Zero-Five is parked in a secure area and you are not, repeat not, authorized to enter secure area.”

“Rhine-Main Ground, Army Seven-Oh-Seven. Be advised I have the captain of South American Double-Zero-Five aboard. What do I tell him?”

“What the hell?” Frade asked again.

There was another sixty seconds of nothing but hiss before Rhine-Main replied: “Army Seven-Zero-Seven, Rhine-Main Ground. Hold in present position. A Follow me will meet you.”

“Seven-Oh-Seven understands hold for Follow me.”

The Follow me—a jeep painted in a yellow-and-black checkerboard pattern, with a large sign reading FOLLOW ME mounted on its rear—came racing onto the taxiway ninety seconds later. It was accompanied by two Military Police jeeps, each holding four military policemen. The Follow me turned and backed up to the nose of the Storch. The MP jeeps began to take up positions on either side of the Storch. When they had done so, the Follow me started to move.

“What the hell’s going on, Clete?”

“Whatever it is, Jimmy, I don’t like it.”

The Follow me led them away from the terminal, and finally to a remote airfield compass rose. Three staff cars were parked on the grass beside the rose.

An MP captain carrying an electric bullhorn walked onto the compass rose.

“Pilot, shut down your engine and exit the aircraft!” he ordered.

“Why do I think we’re under arrest?” Jimmy said.

—

When he had shut down the Storch and was starting to climb down from the aircraft, three men in civilian suits and snap-brim hats and an Air Force major got out of the staff cars.

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 classified Top Secret–Lindbergh,” Frade finished.

“God damn 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.