No one in the room spoke for a moment.
“Mr. President,” Graham said finally. “Your friend has just been talking about heavy water.” His voice was tense with anger.
“I heard you would be here, Alex,” the President said, ignoring the outburst entirely. He paused to take a cigarette from a gold case and fit it into an eight-inch-long silver holder. Dennis, the man who had entered the room holding a revolver at his side, quickly produced a cigarette lighter.
Roosevelt took a puff and exhaled thoughtfully.
“As I was saying, Alex, I heard you were paying Putzi a visit, but I didn’t hear anything about these gentlemen.”
He waved the cigarette holder like a pointer at Frade, Fogger, and Fischer, who had all, without thinking about it, come to attention. Then the cigarette holder pointed at Frogger.
“May I ask who you are, sir?”
Frogger grew even more stiffly erect. He bowed and clicked his heels.
“Oberstleutnant Frogger, Wilhelm, Excellency!” he barked.
“In whose presence Hanfstaengl has been—” Graham began, only to be shut off by Roosevelt’s extended palm.
Roosevelt’s cigarette holder was now aimed at Frade.
“Before anyone tells me, let me guess. You’re Cletus Frade.”
“Yes, I am, Mr. President.”
“I’m pleased that you finally have found time to come to Washington,” Roosevelt said. He turned to Frogger. “Mr. Frade is an interesting man, Colonel. At one time, he was a distinguished fighter pilot. Now he’s an intelligence officer who knows the names of the German officers who are planning to—how do I put this?—permanently and irrevocably remove Chancellor Hitler from office. Information he refuses to share with me, as difficult to believe as that may be.”
He paused and looked at Frade for a long moment.
FDR then went on: “And I have no idea, Colonel, why he’s brought you here to see my old friend Hanfstaengl. I’m not at all sure he’d tell me if I asked. But I do know that he would not have done so unless he thought it was rather important.”
He took another pull at his cigarette, then looked at Frogger as he slowly exhaled the smoke through his nostrils.
“The reason, Mr. Frogger, that I don’t insist that Frade share everything he knows with me is that he enjoys my absolute confidence. You might wish to keep that in mind in your dealings with him.”
The President kept his eyes locked with Frogger’s for a long moment, then swiveled the wheelchair to face Hanfstaengl.
“This would seem to be a poor time for a visit, Putzi, wouldn’t it? I’ll come back another time.” He paused, then said, “Good evening, gentlemen,” and swiveled his wheelchair around so that he faced the door.
The Secret Service agent was just able to get to the door and open it as Roosevelt rolled up to it. And then the President was through it and gone.
A long moment later, Frade said without thinking, “Jesus H. Christ!”
“Is it true, Mr. Frade?” Frogger asked. “That you know the names of those officers who plan to . . . remove . . . der Führer?”
“If it were true, why the hell should I tell you?”
“If it was not true, you would have said it was, to elicit my support,” Frogger said.
Frade just looked at him.
“Mr. Frade,” Frogger said after a moment, “does the name Oberstleutnant Claus Graf von Stauffenberg mean anything to you?”
Frade didn’t reply.
“Perhaps you’re not as good an intelligence officer as your President Roosevelt seems to think you are, Mr. Frade. The look in your eyes answered my question.”
They locked eyes.