Stealing Trinity (24 page)

"Yes! Argentina!" Heinrich had been to Buenos Aires many years ago for a conference. It was a comfortable place. No dust. No wind.

"The military there will work with us," Rainer said as he took a seat on a nearby rock.

Heinrich watched the man. Even with his injured arm he moved languidly, like a strong cat. His eyes regularly checked the path that led back toward town, searchlights scanning for any possible threat. The Reich had chosen well, Heinrich decided. A dangerous man for a dangerous mission. And he would know what to do. Rainer would get him out of here. He said, "Have you seen the level of security in town? Army Security --G-2 they call it -- is very busy here."

"Yes, they are everywhere indeed. Which is why I brought you here using that note. But the G2s, as you call them, they are easily seen."

Heinrich looked at Rainer's shoulder. "You have been injured?"

The man shrugged dismissively. "A minor accident. It will heal soon."

Heinrich bent forward and put a hand on Rainer's good shoulder, wanting again to feel the strength of a compatriot. He could no longer hold back his most important question.

" When? When can we go? My work here is nearly complete. It is critical that we provide it to the Fatherland."

"Yes, our mission is most vital. The specific arrangements for the journey have been left to me." His eyes skimmed up to the horizon, yet this time it seemed more in contemplation than watchfulness. "But I must tell you, Karl, when I was given this assignment I was told little about your work. This was a protective measure for you, in the event that I might be -- intercepted. From here we will work together until arriving in Argentina, and it would be helpful for me to know something about this Manhattan Project."

It made sense to Heinrich. "Yes, you must know the importance of our mission." He organized his thoughts, beginning with his own story. He explained how the Jews had infiltrated the world of academe to spoil many great careers, including his own. He proudly covered his conversion to the National Socialist Party, and how easily the Americans had taken him into the center of their great secret. Finally, he took an instructional tone, a vestige of his days at the university.

"What do you know of physics and chemistry, Rainer?"

"I am an architect by training, so I have studied each at a basic level."

"An architect, yes! This is good. You see, the atom itself has structure and dimension. Have you ever heard of atomic fission?"

"I believe it involves splitting the atom."

"Precisely. And when this happens under specific conditions, a chain reaction can be initiated. Most importantly, huge amounts of energy can be released."

The student did not look impressed.

"Huge amounts," Heinrich reiterated, "with distinct military applications."

"So this process can bring about an explosion--a bomb of sorts?"

"A single weapon of this type can cause destruction an order of magnitude beyond anything ever imagined by mankind."

Rainer did not seem to appreciate the scope of what he was saying. He was distracted, again monitoring the pathways. It did not matter, Heinrich decided. Who could imagine such a thing as this bomb? He paused and regarded the blackened stick figures on the rock before him. It was strange, he thought, to be explaining the most fearsome weapon ever conceived while in the presence of such trivial, ancient testaments.

Rainer said, "Tell me, Karl, the information you have--what form is it in? Do you simply keep it in your head?"

"Ha!" Heinrich laughed. "God, no. I am on the Oversight Group, with access to all divisions of the project. There are thousands of pages--drawings, documents, and photographs. I keep it all in a suitcase in my room."

"A suitcase? Is this safe?"

Heinrich shrugged. "What else can I do? Each scientist has a personal safe in the laboratory, but one of the American wunderkind has made a hobby out of breaking into them."

"This is tolerated?"

"You must understand, the Army oversees this project, but it is run--or perhaps I should say overrun--by scientists. In any event, the Manhattan Project is nearly complete. The test will come soon. After this, I am to leave for the Pacific."

"The Pacific?"

"Yes. The gadget--thats what we've taken to calling it--if it actually works, the Americans will waste no time in using it against Japan. I have been assigned to personally accompany certain components to the field for final assembly. This journey is the best chance for me to disappear--after the delivery, on my return."

"When will you leave?"

"Immediately after Trinity."

Rainer was no longer gazing down the path. His interest had come full.

"Trinity is the code name of the test," Heinrich explained. "It will take place next week, south of here in the desert. From there, I will fly to Hawau and join a ship, the USS Indianapolis."

"So we must arrange for an escape during this journey."

"Yes." Heinrich looked at his watch and frowned. "I must return soon. The bus back to The Hill leaves in twenty minutes."

"All right," Rainer said. "Get the details of your travel plans-- tell me exactly where this ship is going."

"I'll do what I can, but everything is kept most secret."

"Find out as much as possible. When can we meet again?"

"I do not think we should meet here, in Santa Fe. The risk is too high."

"Agreed. Do you have any ideas?"

Heinrich though for a moment, then smiled. "Yes." He explained the plan.

"It should work," Rainer said. He then paused. "There is something else, Karl."

"What?"

"We have hinted of this project to the Argentine military. It is possible they will lend some support. But we must have details to convince them, some kind of hard information to prove the value of what we possess."

"My information is priceless! No one, not even Oppenheimer himself, the director of the project, could hold such a comprehensive body of information. And we must be careful. What if the Argentines try to take it for themselves?"

Rainer turned up the palm of his good hand. "My thoughts as well, Karl. But we need help at the moment. We must trust the new leaders of the Reich. They are good men, Karl, strong. They need only a sample--a few detailed documents to prove the worth of what you possess."

Heinrich hesitated.

Rainer said, "By your own plan it will take a month or more for us to reach Argentina. In that time we can set much into motion."

"You can send it securely?"

"Yes. Of that I'm sure."

"All right. I will give you enough to raise everyone's appetite. I'll include it with the rest, as we discussed."

"Good."

Rainer went over the details of the plan once more for good measure, adding in a contingency should something go wrong. Heinrich tried to listen, but his thoughts were already drifting to the hero's welcome he would receive in Buenos Aires. He imagined addressing the leaders of the new order. For what I give you now, I have one inviolate demand--then a proper pause before the grand punch line--a schnitzel and a proper beer! He could hear the laughter now.

Rainer stopped talking. He sauntered toward Heinrich, seeming taller now, more imposing.

"Until we meet again, Karl." He offered his hand.

Heinrich backed away one step, stiffened, and snapped his palm up in a Nazi salute. "Long live the Reich!"

Rainer stood back, almost looking surprised. But then, with the most serious face Heinrich had seen, he responded in kind. "Long live the Reich."

Heinrich trundled away down the path, confident that the spy would disappear as magically as he had appeared. That's what men like Rainer did. Heinrich was giddy, and the swirl of dirt that came spinning across the path--the locals called them dust devils--did nothing to dampen his mood. Soon he would be free of this place, free of the life of deception that had grown so tiresome. And soon he would be recognized for his genius. Karl Heinrich--the father of Germany's atomic age.

From the shelter of the pinons, Braun watched the pudgy scientist waddle away down the path. So this, he thought, is Die Wespe. Hardly a figure to cast fear. Still, Braun would not underestimate the man. Whatever his shortcomings, he must be a top-notch physicist to gain involvement in this American project. Heinrich was no fool. But then neither were Hitler, Himmler, and the rest.

He traced one of the petroglyphs, a delicate deer-like figure, with his finger. He was glad he'd thought things through carefully before the meeting. With the war in Europe over, Braun had anticipated three possibilities. First, that Karl Heinrich might have wanted to get out, a reluctant spy or perhaps a conscientious scientist who only wanted to return home, perhaps to a family. But he now knew that there was no family. The man had asked about no one except Hitler, which led to option two--a hardened Nazi who would go to any length for the nonexistent Reich. Here Braun had been ready, his answers sure, confident, and swallowed whole. And he was thankful that the last contingency had not proven the case--that Wespe was of Braun's own mind.

He moved slowly through bristly vegetation to the place where he would wait for nightfall. The gully, or "wash" as they called them here, was a mile outside town. Again, Braun found himself living outside, exposed to the heat and cold, hunger pulling constantly. The recent weeks had been an exercise in extremes. He had slept on fine linens at Harrold House and on rocks in the open. He had taken an exquisite Chablis in Waterford crystal and brown water in a rusty cup. It all started five years ago, when the pleasurable sins of Paris had given way to the brutal sins of Stalingrad.

Braun wondered what would come of it all. Was the Manhattan Project really something valuable? The little scientist was sure, but Braun remembered from his time at Harvard how full the highbrow intellectuals could be of themselves. A new weapon? It sounded fantastic. How much power could be found in splitting a few atoms? Time, perhaps, would tell.

Chapter 30.

Lydia sat in the dark surrounded by a mass of people. They were laughing at the antics of Abbot and Costello on the big screen. The smell of popcorn and candy sweetened the air, further sugar to coat the bitter reality that was the world outside.

Alice Van DeMeer sat next to her, dressed properly for the matinee in a conservative skirt and modest flats. Alice had called with the invitation at noon, but Lydia was sure it had been arranged by her mother, who'd been coming up with diversions all week. Shopping trips, excursions to the beach -- anything to get Lydia s mind off the indelicate fact that she was now a widow at the age of twenty-five. Alice was two years younger, properly reared, and single. A perfect companion in Mothers eyes, Lydia supposed. And, of course, Alice was still full of that joie de vivre so common in young women not encumbered by the weight of dead husbands on the bottom of the ocean.

The movie had started thirty minutes earlier, but Lydia stared blankly. Any positive leanings in her mood had been ruined by the newsreels. The first had been about the battle in the Pacific, smiling young soldiers, boys jousting and ribbing one another lightheartedly before throwing themselves onto another death trap of a beach. But it was the second news clip that had imprinted so awfully in her mind. Footage of more American boys, these liberating a concentration camp -- dead bodies stacked like cordwood, skeletal figures whose very shapes seemed to defy biology. It played over and over in her head, like a terrible song whose lyrics couldn't be pried away.

A roar of laughter erupted in the theater. Alice Van DeMeer doubled over in a very unrefined guffaw. Lydia could take no more. She jumped up and shoved rudely past ten sets of legs to reach the aisle. When she burst onto the street the brightness took her gaze down. It was just as well--she didn't want oncomers to see the tears streaming down her face.

Lydia walked quickly, though she doubted Alice would try to catch up. The whole affair had been awkward, Alice trying to be cheery and Lydia in a supremely dark mood. More importantly, she thought, the entire afternoon had been a waste. Another day of idleness, nothing done to help.

Lydia gathered herself as she walked. She passed a WAC, a smartly uniformed brunette of the Women's Army Corps. Why couldn't I have done that? Lydia thought. She could have been a nurse or a messenger. She could have gone to work in a factory building trucks or airplanes. Her mother would have been apoplectic. But Edward would have permitted it. Kind Edward would have seen how important it was to her. Instead, she had played tennis and gone to parties. She had learned how to drive, taking joyrides with no concern for the rations of fuel and rubber. While the world had suffered, she had gone to tea.

The afternoon heat bore down as Lydia walked home, fitting the ideas that were simmering in her head. Self-pity turned to self-loathing as she succumbed to the painful facts. She had let Alex seduce her, and the rest had followed directly.

As awful as it was, this realization brought great clarity. She had failed Edward. That was done. If there was any redemption to be had, it would be in helping to find Alex. And that would never happen until she finally took control of her life.

When Lydia arrived at Harrold House she was hot in sweat. Her mother was the first to see her.

"Where have you been, dear? Alice called to say that you'd left the matinee in a state."

"Where is Father?" she demanded.

"Lydia, I don t like that tone of voice. There's nothing respectable about being--"

"Where is he?" Lydia shouted.

Her mother stood back. She pointed toward the back lawn.

Lydia strode out to find her father seated in a chair at the bottom of the lawn, a cold drink in one hand, a newspaper in his lap. He seemed to be staring at the dock, where Mystic bobbed gently against her lines. Lydia stomped to a halt at his side. I must be a sight, she thought. She hoped her eyes were not puffy, evidence of her breakdown. She had to be strong.

Her father did not look up, but instead kept looking at the boat. His thumb and forefinger cupped his chin in contemplation. "I'm going to sell her," he murmured.