Oppenheimer had pulled strings for a Pullman, an oasis of privilege on the crowded train, but even so the trip was hot and dusty. After the high New Mexican plateau, they went down into the flat bottomland of America, where the heat was oppressive, a furnace of hot air that left grit on the skin as it blew through the car, drying sweat and scattering paper. A group of servicemen, rowdy and insistent, had taken over the club car, and their singing as they crossed the empty plains had the disruptive sound of a brawl. Chattanooga Choo-Choo, Connolly thought irritably. Maybe the musicians who had written the happy train songs had been drunk in the club car too, seeing the dingy interiors glow with a boozy shine. Dinner was chewy lamb chops and canned peas, slapped down by harried waiters with an eye to the line already forming at the door for the next sitting. They drank cold beer and went to bed, exhausted without being tired, waiting for the clicking of the rails to lull them to sleep. Instead Connolly lay on top of the hot sheets, squirming in the dark, and finally dreamed of Eisler standing at the blackboard, studying his fate.
The next day was better. Emma sat leafing through magazines, her skirt hiked up around her thighs to catch the breeze. The landscape was green now and moist, and Connolly watched it lazily, ignoring the magazine in his lap. A GI’s account of Okinawa, filtered through another Connolly at OWI for the right polish. No incontinence and night fears. Wounds to the abdomen, never lower. No one was ever hit in the genitals. Corpses in photographs were whole. Connolly had heard stories of loose body parts being removed from the ground so that the picture could be shot. But that had been before, when morale had been an issue. Now there was a new brutality to the layouts. GIs stared out from the slick pages, glazed and slack-jawed, stunned by the fanaticism of the enemy. The hills were pockmarked with thousands of hand-dug caves. Even at the end, the war meant to go on and on. There was still time for the gadget. Outside the window, farms and wooded hills slipped by, sleepy and unknowing.
A quick thunderstorm sent streaks of rain along the dining car windows during lunch, blocking the view. Emma, preoccupied, picked at her chicken salad, too listless to look out.
“You all right?” Connolly said.
She nodded.
“You’re not sorry you came?”
“I was sorry before I came. Now I’m curious.”
“About Matthew?”
She nodded again. “What’s he like, do you think? Do you know, actually? Did they tell you?”
“An address. He works in Union Square. He still does some kind of work for the party. I don’t know what.”
“Do you mind? About him, I mean.”
“I haven’t seen him yet,” he said lightly. “Is he good-looking?”
“He was. Maybe he just seemed that way because the comrades were so dreary.” She caught his look. “Yes, he’s good-looking. Fair. Thin-he never ate. Cheese and a biscuit, that would do. He liked-You don’t really want to know all this, do you?”
“No.”
“No,” she agreed. “Anyway, that was then. People change.” She turned her fork, thinking. “If he’s still working for the party, why is he allowed to stay?”
“It’s not illegal.”
“But they keep an eye out.”
“I guess.”
“Do they know about me?”
“No, you don’t exist.”
“I like that. Like riding on trains, isn’t it? No one knows who you are. You’re just a ticket. I’ve always liked that. Even now. I shouldn’t, I know, but I’m rather enjoying this.”
“You don’t look as if you’re enjoying it.”
“I am, though. In a way. Watching you get all cross in the heat. Nobody to bother us. Not even having to talk.”
“Not a care in the world.”
She looked up at him. “All right, not exactly.”
“We’re not exactly alone, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t look-no, really, don’t look. Why do people always turn when you say that? When you get a chance, the guy two tables behind you in the paisley tie.”
“What am I supposed to do, drop a fork?” she said, teasing. “I haven’t done that since school. Are you serious about this?”
“You might look for a waiter. If you want some more iced tea.”
“You are serious.” She waited for a minute, then turned to look, her eyes resting only for a moment on the other table.
“What, the man with the ice cream?” she said as she turned back. “You’re joking.”
“No. He’s tailing us.”
“How do you know?”
“Did you see his hat? They always put their hats where they can get them in a hurry. It’s practically a calling card.”
“Rubbish.”
“He hasn’t looked at you once.”
“Maybe I’m not his type.”
“Not that way. He hasn’t looked at you at all.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fine. All the better. You’ll act naturally, which is what we want.”
“Not now, I won’t,” she said, putting down her fork. “Why all the mystery, anyway? It’s ridiculous. Isn’t he one of yours?”
“I hope so.”
“Then why—”
“Army Intelligence doesn’t like me very much. Somebody comes in from the outside, they have to think something’s going on. They hate being left out. So they watch. It’s what they do.”
“But can’t you have him called off?”
“Then they’d know something was going on. Right now I’m just a bad boy taking advantage of some privileges they wish they had. They have no idea what we’re doing.”
“Except the obvious.”
He smiled. “Except the obvious.”
“Then why did you say you hoped it was them?”
“Well, there’s another possibility. We still don’t know who’s on the Hill. Karl was in intelligence and he’s dead. This guy may be one of ours, but I don’t recognize him. So I hope it’s just somebody Lansdale’s brought in to play house detective. Otherwise, we could have a problem. Either way, I don’t want him around when you see Matthew. That could ruin everything.”
Emma thought for a minute, stirring with her long iced tea spoon. “You’re right. I’m not enjoying this. Not anymore. It’s not much fun, is it, everybody lying to everybody. I wish you hadn’t told me. Why did you?”
“You’d have to know sometime. We have to lose him. I can’t do that alone.”
“Why bother? You’d just be looking for the next. At least he’s the devil you know.”
“We can’t do this with an audience. Whoever he is. One of ours. One of theirs. Maybe both at the same time. We can’t take the chance. Matthew has to believe you, or this won’t work at all.”
“And what if he’s just a man with a hat?”
“Then he won’t mind. Look, nobody knows about Matthew. It’s the one chance we have of protecting him.”
“Unless it works,” Emma said, turning her head to the window. “The rain’s stopped. Now it’s just steaming.”
“I said I’d do what I could,” Connolly said. “Why don’t we take this one step at a time?”
