Scandal in the Secret City (20 page)

‘I guess I should be grateful that they are not lying to themselves.’

‘I imagine that’s some small comfort but I was – and still am – appalled. They said they had dual grounds for that decision: national security and community morale. I said that I didn’t think either made any sense.’

‘I suspect they didn’t take that well.’

Bishop grimaced. ‘Not at all. I had to endure a lecture about the security risks of allowing state authorities to come inside the fence to investigate what was a violation of the laws of Tennessee and about the likely loss of some workers and the loss of productivity by all the others if they no longer believed that the community was safe and crime-free.’

‘Do you think those arguments have any real merit?’

‘I think it’s all baseless, but I’d stopped arguing my point, just the same. In fact, I pretended to be in accord with their viewpoint. I knew I couldn’t change the attitudes in that room but hoped if they were convinced I was on their side, I could be more effective in assisting you.’

‘It could hurt your career if they knew that, Dr Bishop. Why are you willing to take the risk?’

‘I understand your skepticism,’ Bishop said with a nod. ‘In fact, I’d expect nothing less from someone with a scientific mind. But a young woman is dead. She was the same age as my daughter and she was murdered. She was a human with feelings and family and dreams …’ Choking on the last sentence, he paused to clear his throat and swallow before continuing, ‘And she was an American. If we have no interest in pursuing justice for her, then this whole war is a sham. I don’t know if they know who killed her and think he’s worthy of their protection or if they simply fear finding out the identity of the man who committed the crime because they are afraid of the answer.’

‘You got a better glimpse into their thought processes than I did,’ I said. ‘What do you think is the most likely scenario?’

‘I think it’s probably the latter. I believe that they are honorable men who feel they can wrestle with the theoretical without taking action, but couldn’t live with themselves if they knew who did it and did nothing about it.’

‘Seems as if they all believe the ends justify the means.’

‘I can’t argue with that – and I can’t subscribe to it, either. And looking at it from that perspective, I realize you are right about Mrs Bishop. I will ask her to try to verify the story about Dr Smith and the mumps – I’ll present it to her like a lark to chase down gossip. And I’ll see if I can get you anymore information about Ottinger. Let me know if you identify any other possible suspects.’

‘If we can eliminate both Ottinger and Schlater, we can move on to others. Do you know anything else about Schlater?’

‘Yesterday I learned that Dr Smith – please refer to him by that name rather than his real one – is hostile toward you. Mullins told us about him glaring at you in the lab and I asked why he’d do that. A couple of the men at the meeting laughed and one of them said, “She showed him up. He should have known the oil they were using would put impurities into the system but he missed it. He’ll never forgive her for that.” Then Crenshaw said that once Smith caught you spying on him, he started spreading the story that you were only able to figure out the problem with the oil because you’d stolen reports from his desk.’

‘I did not!’ That really angered me – that a fellow scientist would suggest I’d do such a thing was an outrage.

‘I never for a moment thought that you did – and no one else did either. The consensus is that Smith was trying to save face when he pushed to have you charged with treason. But don’t worry: they’re all laughing at him about that.’

Despite his assurances, it was unsettling to know that an accusation of work-related sabotage had been leveled at me. That kind of poison lingers in the back of people’s minds long after the suggestion has been dismissed, just waiting for a moment of doubt to cause its resurrection.

‘I think it’s probably wise if we don’t interact in the lab any more than we’ve done before – which hasn’t been much at all,’ Dr Bishop said. ‘I’ll pass along information through Ann.’

‘But I thought you didn’t want her involved.’

‘I didn’t when I didn’t know the nature of your problem. Now I do. I do not, however, want either her or my wife to have any more knowledge about the details than they need at any given time. I want to keep them in the dark, for the most part, until this issue is resolved.’

‘No problem, sir.’

‘Fine,’ he said with a shake of his head. He rose from his chair, offered his arm, and said, ‘Miss Clark, may I have the honor of escorting you to dinner? Fried chicken awaits and Mrs Bishop makes the best I’ve ever tasted.’

A
lthough the Calutron operation was now running smoothly, it still seemed to be a terribly inefficient process. I believed that there must be a better way to achieve the separation, something faster and more productive. At this rate how could we ever get the job done? The gaseous diffusion process developed by the Brits before we got into the war had shown real promise. Was that research still ongoing? Maybe this was what Ottinger was involved in at K-25? I certainly couldn’t ask anyone about it. Scientific inquiry had been blindfolded, gagged and bound; the natural exchange of scientific ideas throttled in its sleep.

It all circled back to the same old conundrum. The fissible material we produced was needed to build and use a bomb the likes of which the world has never seen, but if it were built, would we use it? The immediate death toll would be high but justifiable to end the war. But what additional damage would be done? Was it morally questionable to participate in this project or was it morally wrong to abstain from using my talents and knowledge to bring the war to an end in the belief, hope or desire that, in the end it would actually save lives?

Regrettably, those answers would not be apparent until the war was over and the damage done. But if the Germans developed this awesome new weapon first, there were no doubts in my mind that they would use it. Before the Allies had even heard of their success, the new bomb would fall on Britain or the United States – maybe both at the same time. If that happened, all questions of morality would be moot and I could never forgive myself for not doing more.

I worked hard for the next two days, keeping focused on my work while I waited for more information from Dr Bishop. On Friday morning, it finally came.

Ann walked up to me in the lab and in a normal tone of voice she said, ‘The answer to the first question is confirmed. The answer to the second question is “nothing more pointing in either direction at this time”.’ Then she whispered, ‘Libby, does that make any sense to you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said, knowing now that Wilhelm Schlater really was sick with mumps on Christmas Day and incapable of murdering Ruth’s sister and that Dr Ottinger remained a possibility as a suspect.

‘You’ve got to tell me, Libby. What are the questions? What are you and Dad up to?’

‘You’ll have to ask your dad.’

‘Oh, I did. All he said was that if I cared about you, I need to do exactly as he told me. Then he made me repeat the message twice to make sure I had it down. What’s going on, Libby?’

‘Ann, I promised your dad …’

‘What good is friendship if some silly promise to some old guy can get in the way of it?’ Ann said and flounced out of the lab and down the hall.

Her words hurt. I wanted to answer Ann’s questions but knew that would be selfish. It would ease my mind but it would put Ann at risk. I crossed my fingers and sent up a little prayer that the damage to our friendship would only be short-term.

It was after eight that night when I was finally able to leave work behind. Arriving at home, I found a letter from Ruth.

Dear Libby,

I was glad to hear things are going well for you and you are making friends. I miss you and hope someday we’ll see each other again – maybe after the war, just like everything else. Ha Ha Ha!

Things are a bit rough here at home. Besides everything else, Mama worries every day about Hank. She’s so afraid he won’t come home alive after the war. She says that she couldn’t bear to become a Gold Star mother and have to put on a brave face every day.

I would like to ask you to do me a favor. Could you go see Sally at the guest house? She used to work with Irene on the second shift. She sent Mama the nicest letter but Mama has not been able to answer it. Every time she sits down to try, she starts crying and the ink starts running all over the place. Anyhow, could you tell her that her letter meant a whole lot to Mama and she’ll write back to her just as soon as she can?

Thank you, Libby. You are the best friend ever.

Your pal,

Ruthie

It was all so sad. I went into the kitchen to fry up a piece of spam and warm up a can of beans. Poor Ruthie. Poor Mrs Nance. When I flipped the spam over to fry the other side, it hit me. Ruth must have written and rewritten that letter to make sure she hadn’t said anything to catch the attention of the censors. She must have concealed a message.

I slid the spam and a spoonful of beans on a plate, grabbed the letter and sat down at the table to read it again while I ate. The only thing that stood out the second time though was that Ruth wanted me to speak to Sally. And it could be important. Second shift was from two in the afternoon until ten at night. If I hurried, I could catch Sally before she left for the day – if she’d worked that day. If not, it would all be a waste of time.

I gulped down the rest of my meal and raced over to the guest house. When I walked up to the reception desk, there were two women behind the counter and I had no idea which one – or if either one – was Sally. The shorter of the two had her blonde hair swept up in an elaborate style as if she hoped the piled-up locks would make her appear taller. The other woman wore a more simple hairstyle sporting short bangs and hair on the sides that flipped up at her shoulders. Both of them were engaged in conversations with people who appeared to be guests.

The first woman free was the short blonde. Approaching her, I said, ‘Hello, I’m looking for Sally.’

The tall brunette turned towards me, holding an index finger up in the air. The blonde said, ‘Are you sure I can’t help you?’

‘Yes. I have a message from a friend for Sally.’

As the people walked away, the brunette walked over and said, ‘How can I help you?’

‘I got a letter from Ruth Nance this week …’

‘Oh dear, how is she doing?’

‘I think she’s doing all right, considering. She wanted me to let you know that her mother really appreciated your letter and wanted to write one to you. But then every time she started, she’d cry all over the paper and couldn’t go on.’

‘Oh, poor thing. I certainly didn’t expect a letter back. I know how it is. My mom is a Gold Star mother.’

‘Oh, so sorry to hear that. I lost a cousin in Pearl Harbor.’

‘You know then. Well, anyway, it doesn’t matter how you lose a child, it’s awful. I don’t think I could bear it. I know we’re supposed to want to get married and have babies but that always comes with the risk of losing them. I don’t know if I’m strong enough. My mom tells me I’ll feel different when the war is over. I doubt it. Between now and then, I imagine a lot more of our boys will die. Listen, I’ve got to get back to work.’

‘Say, are you working Sunday? If not, I’d love to have you over for Sunday dinner. It might only be spam or canned salmon, but I’ll try to find something else at the market.’

‘You have your own place?’

‘Yes, I do. It’s a flattop.’

‘Spiffy. I haven’t seen the inside of one of those. I’d love to come over Sunday – even if it is spam.’

I walked home, tired but cheerful. I had expected that any friend of Irene’s would be a bit shallow but Sally seemed quite nice and actually capable of thinking for herself. My first dinner guest besides Ruth – how exciting. I’d have to get to the market before it opened to have any chance to get any fresh meat at all – that would make me late to work, but it was a Saturday, Charlie wouldn’t come down on me too hard.

The next morning, I arrived at Towncenter forty-five minutes before the doors of the market opened and already there were at least two dozen people ahead of me in line. I was afraid that all the meat would be gone before I got to the counter but I stood in place hoping my patience would be rewarded.

I heard someone shout my name. Looking around, I saw Mrs Bishop near the front. ‘Young lady, you get up here with me right now. Where did you get off to? Don’t dawdle, Libby.’

I edged my way to the front, expecting someone to make an angry remark but most of them just smiled and shook their heads. They must have assumed that I was Mrs Bishop’s daughter and she was scolding me for being disobedient. What a brilliant strategy. Was it the first time she’d used this particular subterfuge? She was obviously good at it. I’d been underestimating Ann’s mother.

When I joined her, I said, ‘Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. I just got distracted.’

‘Don’t let it happen again, Libby. It’s difficult enough shopping without having to keep up with you.’ She slid a hand into mine and gave it a squeeze.

I was able to buy two lamb chops – small but so welcome. I grabbed a couple of potatoes and a can of peas and went through the check-out and waited for Mrs Bishop to finish her shopping. We walked out of the store together and once we turned a corner, Mrs Bishop said, ‘I was surprised to see you here. I thought you’d be at work.’

‘I should be but I really needed to get to the market before all the meat was gone. Thank you very much for helping me.’

‘Sometime you can return the favor if you get a chance.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Thanks again. I need to get this food home and get to work. See you soon.’

‘Just one more thing, Libby.’

‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘You and my husband are dealing with some sort of problem …?’

‘Oh, Mrs Bishop I’m sorry, but I can’t—’

‘I know you can’t tell me anything about that, dear. I was just curious about where you meet to discuss the problem – besides the office and our home.’

‘No place else, Mrs Bishop.’ What kind of question was that?

‘Are you sure? Not even once or twice? Did you talk at your little flattop or anyplace else?’

What was going on here? ‘Absolutely not, Mrs Bishop. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, someone told me that you were at Joe’s the other night with a bunch of scientists and I thought my husband might be one of them.’

‘I was at Joe’s but your husband wasn’t there.’

An indecipherable look passed over her face. She sighed, her expression softened and she smiled. ‘Ah, I was just worried about the two of you. Well, I’d better let you get on to work.’ She turned and walked away.

I puzzled over the odd line of questioning as I hurried home, caught the bus and raced to Y-12. No matter which way I looked at Mrs Bishop’s question, it still did not make much sense. With all my rushing, I was a bit out of breath by the time I got inside and suddenly, there he was, Wilhelm Schlater, walking straight at me. I tucked my head down and walked past him, hurrying to my work space as if it were a refuge from the war, seeking anonymity and shelter.

His footsteps faltered as they passed me. Then I felt a firm hand grasping my shoulder and spinning me around.

‘Vat are you doing here?’

I was too terrified to speak – all that came out of my mouth was an inarticulate gurgle.

‘Get out of here!’ he shouted.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Charlie said. ‘I would appreciate it if you would keep your hands off of my staff.’

‘I vas assured she would be gone. Immediately. You know this to be true. You vere there. You heard them say so. I vill report this. But I vant her out of this lab now.’ Schlater grabbed my upper arm and pulled.

Charlie in turn grabbed Schlater’s arm and said, ‘You unhand that young lady or I will call security.’

‘Oh, ya, go right ahead. You know she should not be here. You know it.’

‘You’re wrong, Dr Smith. The decision was changed.’

‘I don’t belief you.’

‘Dr Smith, I suggest you discuss this matter with Lieutenant Colonel Crenshaw.’

‘Ach, I vill. You’d better belief I vill,’ Schlater said, shoving my arm away with force, causing it to swing wide and hit Charlie. ‘Und I vill be back here with soldiers to take her away.’ He spun around and walked off, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he marched away.

‘Are you OK, Libby?’

‘No damage done.’

‘I would have thought someone would have spoken to him about the change of plans. In fact, I was told not to let you know that there had been an order to send you home – but now you do.’

‘Thank you for coming to my rescue, Charlie, but if Schlater hadn’t confronted me, would you ever have told me?’

‘I couldn’t, Libby. You know how it is. I am happy about the outcome, but I could not influence it. I did try.’

‘Sure, well, let me get to work.’ Some people will follow rules and orders, under any circumstances. No matter how unfair, how unjust, the rules were paramount. Now, in this time of war, that attitude seemed to spread to nearly everyone. It seems, I could trust someone like Charlie in a black and white situation, such as this one, but if there was a grey area, it was clear I’d be on my own.