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The man dropped to his knees. The first man carefully took a small leather folder from his breast pocket and slowly offered it to Frade.

Frade examined it carefully, then tossed it to Stein.

“Secret Service, huh? What the hell are you doing in Germany? I thought what you people did was chase counterfeiters.”

“We are on a special mission for Secretary of the Treasury Morgenthau,” the first special agent said.

“Looking for German counterfeiters?” Frade asked incredulously.

“Looking for German Nazis,” the man said.

“Well, they shouldn’t be hard to find,” Frade said. “There’s a bunch of them in Germany.”

“These credentials appear bona fide, Commander,” Stein said.

“Show them to von Wachtstein,” Clete ordered.

“Commander?” the man on his knees asked.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to ask questions,” Frade said, and then asked, “Are you armed?”

“Yes, of course we’re armed,” the first special agent said.

“Well, then, very slowly, take whatever you’re carrying from its holster, lay it on the floor, and then step away.”

“For God’s sake, Colonel Frade, I just showed you proof that we’re special agents of the United States Secret Service!” the first man said.

He had regained some—but by no means all—of his composure.

“Weapons on the ground, please,” Frade ordered. “When you’ve done that, we’ll see if we can make some sense of this.”

Each special agent produced a Smith & Wesson revolver and laid it on the floor, then backed away from it. The special agent on his knees did so with more than a little difficulty—it is difficult to back up when one is on one’s knees—but finally managed to put six feet between him and his pistol.

Frade then made an imperial gesture, allowing him to stand.

“Pick up their weapons, Stein,” Frade ordered, and then, in Spanish, ordered Enrico to take the Secret Service men to his room.

Enrico gestured with the shotgun.

When Frade saw on their faces that neither Special Service agent understood Spanish, he made the translation.

“I just told him to take you to my room,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to come across this happy scene. Through the door and up the steps.”

Frade sat on his bed and motioned for the Secret Service agents to stand against the wall.

“All right, Colonel Frade,” the Secret Service agent who had spoken first and had now recovered his composure said. “Don’t you think this charade has now gone far enough?”

Frade smiled at him.

“We know all about you, Colonel . . .”

Somehow, I don’t think so.

“. . . including, for example, the half million dollars you brought to Germany with you.”

Well, I don’t think you got that information from anybody else in the OSS except good ol’ Colonel Richmond C. Flowers, USA.

That sonofabitch!