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“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 goddamned ground, goddamn 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 assistant 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 identity 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 hell 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.”