"FBI," snapped the man who was obviously the leader of the group. "Are you sure you're Philip Merriwether? We'll be taking your fingerprints shortly, so it won't do you any good to lie."
"Certainly I'm me!" Phil snapped, irritated. "What makes you think I'm not?"
"Never mind," said the Federal agent.
The truth was that Merriwether no longer looked like the lackluster character he had been a few weeks before. His eyes had a sparkle to them, his body had more springiness. He looked more alive. He was no longer the colorless man he had been.
"Nothing unusual in the room, sir," said one of the men who had been searching.
"Okay," said the leader to Merriwether, "put on your clothes. You're coming with us."
"You can't arrest me!" Phil said. "I haven't done anything. What is the charge?"
"Espionage," said the FBI man without blinking an eyelid.
They put him in a big, powerful Cadillac and drove him through the streets of Washington to an office building near the Capitol. Most of the city was asleep, but this building was ablaze with light. The FBI men parked the car and led Phil into the building. They were greeted by a reception committee the like of which Phil had never seen before.
Two generals, including the Chief of Staff, a couple of admirals, an Air Force general, and a half dozen important-looking civilians, one of whom Phil recognized as the Secretary of Defense himself!