Office of the Commanding General U.S. Army Air Forces Establishment Canoas Air Base Pôrto Alegre, Brazil 1400 22 July 1943
“Yes, sir,” a portly, middle-aged USAAF master sergeant wearing aircrew wings said to his intercom box, then looked somewhat disapprovingly at Frade. “The general will see you now, Señor Frade.”
“Thank you,” Frade said, and, motioning Fischer to come with him, walked through the door to the office of Brigadier General J. B. Wallace, U.S. Army Air Forces.
Wallace was sitting behind a highly polished desk. It held a leather-bound green blotter, a telephone, a pen holder, a sign reading
“Thank you for seeing me, General,” Frade said politely.
Wallace nodded but did not reply.
“General, I’m going to need some assistance,” Frade said.
“Is that so?” General Wallace asked in his somewhat nasal tone.
“Yes, sir. The first thing—”
“Forgive me,
Frade took a leather folder from his trousers pocket and laid it on the general’s desk. It was his set of the credentials that Colonel Graham had issued to everyone on Team Turtle on 5 July. His identified him as the OSS regional commander.
“Those credentials do, sir. And you are advised that those credentials are classified Top Secret, and you are not permitted to disclose to any of your subordinates that I have shown them to you.”
The general picked up the folder and began to examine it.
“And my
“You may inform your superiors, in the grade of major general or above, that I presented them to you, but not the circumstances under which I have done so. Any questions you or they may have about the credentials or me should be directed to the Office of Strategic Services in Washington.”
General Wallace tried to stare Frade down. He failed.
The general examined the credentials again, this time very carefully. Finally, he raised his eyes to Frade.
“Frankly, I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Very few people have, sir.”
“What is it you want me to do, Mr. Frade?”
“I want you to fly Mr. Fischer to Rio de Janeiro as soon as possible so that he can catch the next Pan American Airways flight to the United States.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” General Wallace said.
“I want him escorted, very discreetly, of course, by armed officers—one of whom should be at least a major—who will stay with him until they see the Pan American plane take off.”
“That can be arranged. And what else?”
“I need to send a small package by officer courier to Washington,” Frade said. “I thought perhaps one of your pilots flying up there—a major or more senior officer?”
“Again, that should be no problem to arrange. Am I permitted to ask what’s in the package?”
Frade did not answer immediately. Instead he gestured to Fischer.
“Let me have one of those cassettes, Len.”
When Fischer had handed him one, Frade held it up for General Wallace to see.
“This is also classified Top Secret,” he said.
“I understand,” General Wallace said seriously.
“I will need three large manila envelopes—better make it four, right, Mr. Fischer? You’re the expert here.”
“Four would be better,” Fischer agreed.
“And a grease pencil and Scotch tape. The wider the better.”
“Sergeant!” General Wallace raised his voice.
The portly master sergeant appeared at the door.
“Mr. Frade will require four large manila envelopes, Sergeant, some Scotch tape, and what else was there, Mr. Frade?”
“A grease pencil, black, please, Sergeant,” Frade said. “And if you have some of the two-inch-wide Scotch tape?”
“Yes, sir,” the master sergeant said. “Right away.”
Frade used the grease pencil to write
Then he repeated that operation twice, creating a thick roll of envelopes and tape. He put the roll into the fourth envelope, then on that outer envelope wrote
“Do you think that’ll do it, Mr. Fischer?”
“I think that should do it,” Fischer said. “General, you don’t happen to have a courier’s briefcase we could use, do you?”
“I don’t know what a courier’s briefcase is,” General Wallace said.
“They have sort of a stainless-steel wire and handcuff arrangement,” Fischer said, “so the briefcase can be attached to the courier.”
