talk to the President-the President, if you please-about a demonstration for the Japanese. Blow up some little island somewhere and the emperor and the rest of the samurai will fall to their knees, begging for terms. And no one gets hurt.”
“It’s an idea.”
“Don’t be a fool. It’s already decided.” The answer, quick as whiplash, stung Connolly, as if he had been sent to the children’s table. Sometime during the technical crises and the drought regulations and the personal tantrums, Oppenheimer had been to Washington and watched while someone drew a target circle around a city. Already decided.
“You don’t think it would work,” Connolly said tentatively.
“They’re fanatics,” Oppenheimer said flatly. “If it’s a dud, we’d actually end up prolonging the war.”
“You don’t believe that-that it’s a dud.”
“I don’t know. Nobody does. Right now all we’ve got are numbers on paper. Numbers on paper. Yes?” he said to his secretary, who’d appeared in the door.
“General Groves on the line for you.”
Connolly made a sign question- Do you want me to go? — but Oppenheimer waved his hand dismissively and pointed to the chair.
“One minute,” he mumbled and picked up the phone, turning his body halfway to the left, creating the privacy of an imaginary booth. “General. Yes, thanks. It’s the lens castings-hairline cracks, even a few bubbles. I don’t know what the hell they thought they were doing. We’ve got accuracy to one thirtieth and we need one three-hundredth just to be safe. We’re going to need a few more days.” A burst of talk from the other end. “No, it’s not just a snag,” Oppenheimer said waspishly. “It’s a problem. I’ve got Kisty working on it now. He’s down there himself. He might make it, he might not.” Another burst. “I don’t think you understand. He’s working with dentist drills and tweezers and anything he can lay his hands on. Filling in the bubbles. Just to get one decent set of explosive lenses. Two more days.” His face, already drawn, seemed to grow even tighter as he listened to Groves’s reply. A dressing- down, Connolly guessed, or at least a frustrated sputtering. “I know we’ve moved it once already.” And then he didn’t speak again, staring out the window at the Tech Area as Groves went on. He’d clearly not expected an argument or he wouldn’t have asked Connolly to stay, and now he was stuck with an audience.
Connolly stood up and walked over to study the photos on the wall. With Lawrence at the Berkeley cyclotron. A group shot of the Tech Area division heads. Eisler looked straight at the camera, his eyes dreamy and benign.
Finally Oppenheimer was giving in. “Well, that’s that, then. We’ll do what we can. No, I understand. It’s a risk-you should know that. Yes, the sixteenth. You’ll be here, I assume.” And then he was putting down the receiver, still looking out the window.
“The President wants to tell the Russians at the meeting in Germany,” he said, partly to himself.
“But they already know.”
“They don’t know that we know they know,” he said, toying with it, a word game. “For that matter, what do they know? Only that we’re trying. He wants to tell them we’ve done it. At the meeting. Ready or not. So we’ll be ready.”
“Why at the meeting?”
Oppenheimer shrugged. “To give him some height at the table, I suppose.”
“But if they already know—”
Oppenheimer turned to face him. “The President doesn’t know that, remember? Nobody does. You know it, if you can prove it. Can you do that before they sit down at Potsdam?”
Connolly said nothing.
Oppenheimer smiled. “But they’re sitting down anyway. So there’s your deadline too.”
“It’s out of my hands at this point, you know.”
Oppenheimer nodded. “Mine too.” He turned to the papers on his desk. “And I still have a picnic to get to. They’ll want a speech. What is it now, a hundred and sixty-nine years? What do you do with a number like that? We were supposed to be having the test today, not eating watermelon and making speeches. History will have to wait a little. Today we deal with cookouts. That was the good general’s thought for today-no cookouts. The whole mesa’s dry as dust. A spark would do it. I suppose he’s got visions of the whole project going up in flames because of one Fourth of July hot dog. I have to say, the man thinks of everything. One minute international conferences, the next lemonade and egg salad. So. Now we’ve got campfire patrol.” He looked up, as if he’d noticed Connolly for the first time. “Anyway, what was it you wanted?”
“You wanted to see me.”
Oppenheimer looked puzzled for a moment, then, remembering, frowned. “Yes, right.” He lit another cigarette. “About this trip.”
“Thanks for the Pullman.”
Oppenheimer frowned again. “I know this is none of my business.”
“You want a report? I thought we agreed to keep you in the dark till we had something.”
“I don’t mean that,” Oppenheimer said quickly. “I thought this trip was work.”
“It was.”
“You didn’t tell me you were taking a lady. I hear you’re quite a dancer.”
“You’re right,” Connolly said evenly, “it’s none of your business.”
“It is when you’re carrying on with one of the scientists’ wives. That’s all we need right now-a jealous husband. I’m surprised at you.”
“The trip was work. She was part of it.”
Oppenheimer raised his eyebrows. “Is that the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Are you trying to tell me there’s nothing going on?”
“No,” Connolly said, meeting his stare. “I didn’t say that.”
“I see.” Oppenheimer put down the paper in his hand. “It wouldn’t be the first time, you know. Put people together and there’s always a certain amount of interest generated. You have to expect that. You have to expect trouble, too. He’s a good man.”
“I’ve met him.”
“And that didn’t deter you in the slightest.” Connolly paused. “No.”
Oppenheimer smiled. “At least you’re honest. I guess. May I ask what she’s got to do with all this?”
“If you ask, I’ll tell you, but I’d rather you didn’t ask. Not yet.”
Oppenheimer put out his cigarette. “I used to know everything that went on here. Looks like I wasn’t as well informed as I thought. Murder. Adultery. A vipers’ nest, it turns out. Cookouts.”
“You’re forgetting espionage.”
“Yes,” Oppenheimer said, looking at him, “how could I forget that?” He picked up the paper again. “Now what do I do with this? ‘Dereliction of duty. Misuse of government funds. Authorized travel for personal purposes. Sexual’-what do they call it?” He referred to the paper. “ ‘Sexual indiscretions with project personnel.’ Indiscretions.”
“Ignore it. You’re a busy man.”
“Not half as busy as you, it seems. I can’t ignore a security request. They want you out of here.”
“They’re just blowing smoke. Ignore them.”
“They won’t let up, you know.”
“You take your friends in security too seriously,” Connolly said, thinking of the young scientist and his meeting.
“My friends,” Oppenheimer said. “You seem to think they’re a joke. Did you know they refused to give me a clearance until Groves personally vouched for me? Me. Did you know they still investigate my old associates, my family? They’ve put my brother through hell.” He saw the look in Connolly’s eyes. “But you knew that. He was a member of the party at Stanford. Given that, we both must be disloyal. They keep my file active-they never close it. So I’ve learned to be a little sensitive about our friends. I try not to annoy them.”
Connolly got up. “The lady in question helped me make contact with someone I hope will lead to Karl’s killer. The money was mine. She shared my hotel room, but I was sleeping there anyway. Our friends in security think we were off on a toot and it’s just what I want them to think. You’re not buying any favors with them, you know. You’ll
