and Oppenheimer almost languid, the dark cloth of his suit hanging in folds over his gaunt frame. He had refused to speak, ceding his place to Weber as a gesture to the emigre community, and only Connolly was aware that it was a deft evasion, the maneuver of one practiced in compromise.
The speakers said the expected. Eisler’s contribution to science. His contribution to the project. His concern for humanity and the arts. His generosity. His ethical standards. Connolly looked around the room at the hundreds of people in varying stages of grief; Eisler had betrayed all of them. What if they knew? Weber broke down in the middle of his speech, weakened by genuine sentiment, and some people in the audience cried. Eisler was science at its best, the pure inquiry, the search for truth. He even-here Connolly, restless, almost rose to leave-died for it. Connolly thought that the hypocrisy of eulogies was a final mercy to the survivors. If people knew the truth, would there ever be kings? Tyrants were always praised for their love of the people, politicians for their vision, artists for their selflessness. Now Los Alamos had its own martyr, the one they needed, and he did them more honor than most. He had died for science. But Oppenheimer sat on the stage, his legs crossed, and did not speak.
Afterward Connolly walked with Oppenheimer and Groves out toward S Site, an inspection team of three.
“A little hot for a walk, isn’t it?” Groves said, wiping the back of his neck, his uniform already showing splotches of dampness.
“Connolly tells me people listen in my office. Bugs. I know you’d never allow that,” Oppenheimer said, mischievous, “but you know what the intelligence unit is like. Better to indulge them. Interfere with a delusional and they go stark raving. Or so I’m told. Why don’t you take off your jacket?”
Groves, choosing comfort over dignity, flung it over his shoulder and held it with his forefinger. Without the camouflage of the jacket, his stomach strained at his shirt buttons, spilling over his belt.
“You pick one heck of a time to make jokes. We’ve got a real mess on our hands here. I always said this would happen.”
“Yes, you did,” Oppenheimer replied.
“Foreigners and—”
“Would you feel any better if he came from Ohio?”
“All right,” Groves said. “Make your point.”
“These pesky foreigners are making your gadget, so don’t let’s start down that road again. It could have been anybody.”
“Well, you would think that,” he said, backing off but not mollified. “How’s the timetable? Still on track?”
Oppenheimer nodded. “Just. Five minutes’ leeway, give or take a minute. We can’t afford any time off,” he said, directly to Groves.
“That’s why I’m here,” Groves said. “So let’s get started. First, assess the damage. How bad is it? What do they know? Can they make a bomb?”
“No,” said Oppenheimer thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. Eisler was a theoretical physicist. He knew the plans for the implosion bomb. That’s a plus for them. But he can’t build their reactor for them. He didn’t know the purity requirements. He couldn’t alloy plutonium. It’s a complicated metallurgy-five different phases and five different densities. He had nothing to do with that. So, yes, they know, but they don’t know how. They will, though, you know. Sometime.”
“Not on my watch,” Groves said. “How about all those coffee klatches you like to have? Wouldn’t he hear about the alloy requirements there?”
“Yes.” Oppenheimer sighed. “I didn’t say he didn’t know about them. He just wouldn’t know in any meaningful detail.”
“He wouldn’t have to know if he just passed them plans.”
“No. He only had access to theoretical. His own papers.”
“He could steal them.”
“He didn’t. He told me. Yes,” he said, responding to Groves’s questioning look, “I believe him. He was a traitor, but he wasn’t a thief.”
“That’s some difference.”
“At any rate, he didn’t give them that. I don’t mean to minimize what’s happened here. He passed valuable information. We don’t know how valuable because we don’t know where they were starting from. But they need more than what Eisler gave them to actually make a bomb. It’s almost a certainty they don’t have one yet. Of course, the point is they know we do.”
“Wonderful,” Groves said.
“Yes, it’s awkward. Politically.”
“Awkward,” Groves said, almost snorting.
“Not telling them. Of course, if that’s the main concern, we could simply tell them now.”
Groves stared at him as if he had missed the point of a joke. “That’s the kind of thing you say that keeps me up at night.” Then he dropped it and kept walking, forcing them to flank him in a kind of brooding convoy. “What gets me is how easy it all was,” he said finally. “This place is like a sieve. A man walks out, hands over some papers, and that’s it. We wouldn’t even know about it now if they hadn’t killed someone. It shouldn’t be that easy. At least we can plug up a few holes. I want you to cancel all leaves. Nobody goes out anymore.”
“Isn’t it a little late for that? The horse is already out of the barn.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Connolly said.
Oppenheimer looked at him in surprise. “You do?” he said, displeased.
“What’s on your mind?” Groves said. They both stopped and turned to him.
“It doesn’t end with him.”
“Go on,” Groves said.
“Eisler only had a piece. But what if he wasn’t the only one? What if there are others? The Russians must want all this pretty badly. Why stop at Eisler?”
“How many of us do you suspect?” Oppenheimer said. “Ten? All?”
Groves, who had paled even in the sun, shook his head. “He’s right. The Reds could have people planted all over the Hill. All over.”
“But we don’t know,” Connolly said. “And we’re not going to. Not this way. There’s no point looking on the Hill. We have to find out who Eisler met.”
“You said there was one here,” Groves said.
“Well, I think there is. It still doesn’t make sense, but somebody drove Karl’s car up here. Eisler’s contact? No. Why meet off the Hill in the first place? There has to be an outside guy. But somebody drove the car and then walked in through the west gate. Which means—”
“There were two,” Oppenheimer said quietly.
“Exactly. I don’t know how or why, but it’s the only way the logistics work.”
“Then find them,” Groves said.
“That’s not so easy. The trail really did die with Eisler. We’ve got to find the outside guy. If there’s someone else on the Hill, he’s the key.”
Oppenheimer stopped to light a cigarette. “What makes you say that?” he said thoughtfully, as if he were looking at a math problem. “Why would he know anyone else? If everyone was working in isolation?”
“I’m guessing,” Connolly said, “but the odds are good that the outside contact was the only mailman. The more people you have running around on the outside, the more chances you have of someone getting caught. Why spread the risk? He’s not essential, like the scientists. He’s just collecting the rent. You lose him, you replace him. But you don’t lose him, because he’s the pro. The tricky part is getting the stuff to him-you’ve got to rely on, well, people like Eisler. You don’t know what they’re going to do if they get excited. So you keep it simple and you keep them in the dark. But once you’ve got the information, you want someone who really knows what he’s doing.”
“And he’s not the one on the Hill?” Groves said.
“No, he couldn’t be. My guess is he’s nowhere near the Hill. Maybe Santa Fe or Albuquerque, but you’re always taking a chance with somebody in place. More likely he breezes into town-a businessman or a tourist, he met Eisler as a tourist-collects the rent, and then clears out till the next time.”
“All the way to Moscow,” Groves said.
Connolly shrugged. “Somewhere.”
“Well, that’s just fine,” Groves said. “Now what are we supposed to do?”
