Los Alamos

19

The rain woke her. The blinds in Eisler’s old hospital room blew in with a small gust, then flapped back against the half-open window. There had been hail earlier, the nurse had told him, but the violent clouds had passed, leaving patches of evening drizzle. She stared at him for a minute, adjusting her eyes to the dim light, to any light. Her face, wrapped in bandages, moved faintly in a dreamy smile. Sitting on the bed, looking over her, he was all she could see.

“Where am I?” she said in a whisper, trying out her voice to see if it was still there.

“On the Hill. The infirmary.”

She tried to move and winced with pain. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Broken ribs. Dislocated shoulder. Leg fracture. Shock. Multiple lacerations. Some internal bleeding they’re watching.” He paused. “You’ll be all right.”

She smiled at the medical report. “I must look a sight.”

He felt her unbandaged hand. “Terrible.”

“Am I on drugs?”

“Painkillers.”

“So I’m not dreaming. This is all real.” She moved her eyes again, focusing. “Why do you have your clothes off?”

He was shirtless, his lower chest wrapped in white adhesive tape. “Oh, this,” he said, fingering the tape. “Hector.”

Her eyes clouded. “What happened to him?”

“He’s dead.”

“Dead,” she repeated, dismayed.

“I didn’t mean to hit him so hard,” he said slowly. “It must have been the angle.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, confused.

“I hit him with the statue,” he said, looking at her directly. “It was self-defense. That’s the way it makes sense. There won’t be any more questions. He knocked you over-do you remember that?” He waited for her nod. “He killed Karl.”

She watched him as he spoke, then closed her eyes. For a second he thought she had drifted back to sleep. “You got your man,” she said.

“We did.”

“So it’s finished?”

“Yes, finished.”

She opened her eyes. “Hannah?” she said, remembering.

“She was the contact. The end of Matthew’s chain.”

“But she never-at the ranch.”

“She didn’t know. She only knew Eisler.”

“All this time,” Emma said vaguely, lost in her thoughts. “I thought she was my—”

“She was. She liked you.”

“Then why?”

“You got in the way. Like Karl.”

“Like Karl,” she repeated, trembling.

“Get some sleep,” he said.

But she grabbed his hand more firmly. “No, don’t go. Stay. I don’t want to dream about it. I want to be awake.”

“You can be awake tomorrow. You’re really going to be all right, you know. You’re lucky.”

She smiled, her eyes closing again. “Yes, lucky.”

“Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Call Daniel. I want to see him.”

Connolly nodded. “They’re putting a call through. He’s at the site.”

“It’s finished now,” she said, not hearing him. “I can sort things out.”

He looked at her nervously. “What are you going to do?”

“When I saw him hitting you,” she said slowly, “I knew. So clear. Just like that. I killed him, didn’t I?”

He didn’t answer.

She opened her eyes. “Not the story. The truth.”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “I thought so. You see what that means? To kill for someone-If I felt that way, Daniel must know. Maybe all along. All those lies. Not his bed. But he knew.”

“He never said anything.”

“He was waiting for me. To see if it would pass. Like the others. This time he was waiting for me. It was all right, you see, until it was someone—”

He raised her hand to his lips. “I can talk to him.”

“No. Me. It’s time. When it’s so clear. We always think we have time for everything,” she said, her voice drifting.

“You’re not dying.”

“No. But look how fast. When did all this happen? This afternoon? One afternoon.”

“We’ll have lots of time.”

She raised her hand to the side of his face. “We’ll go dancing,” she said.

“I thought you were dead. In the car.”

She moved her hand along his cheek, soothing him.

“Marry me,” he said softly.

She smiled. “A proposal. Don’t you think I have enough husbands?”

“Not yet.”

“Everybody always wants to marry me,” she said dreamily. “Why is that, do you think?”

“You’re a nice girl.”

She looked at him as he kissed her hand. “Am I?”

“Hm. I’ll even ask your father.”

A faint smile. “He hates the Irish.”

“I’ll bring him around.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“Promise me?” she said seriously. “No lies. Not even little ones.”

He was leaning over, brushing her lips, when the nurse came in. “Telephone,” she said, looking at him with disapproval. “She’s supposed to sleep.”

“You heard her,” he said to Emma, getting up from the bed.

“Don’t worry him,” she said. “Tell him I’m all right.”

“You are all right.”

He turned to go, but she stopped him. “One thing,” she said, her eyes bright now. “That place they go? Reno? Do you think they’ll do two at once?”

He laughed at her. “Use two judges.”

On the phone at the nurse’s station he was asked to verify that the call was an emergency before he was patched through. The connection was scratchy, as if the rain were on the line with them.

“This is Michael Connolly. We met at—”

“I know who you are,” the voice said coldly.

“Look, I’m sorry, but your wife has had an accident. A car accident. She’s all right, but she’s pretty banged up.” A silence. “You still there?”

“Yes. She is all right, you said?” His inflections were still European.

“She has a serious fracture. Shock.”

Another pause. “You were with her?”

“No,” Connolly said, surprised. “Not in the car.”

“Where is she?”

“Here on the Hill. In the infirmary. There wasn’t time to get her to Santa Fe. I thought you’d better know.”

“Thank you,” Pawlowski said politely. “May I talk to her?”

“She can’t come to the phone-she’s in bed. You can see her, though. Can you leave right away?”

“Leave? Tonight? But the test—”

“Sorry,” a voice interrupted. “This is the security officer. I have to remind you this is an open line.”

“Listen,” Connolly said, annoyed, “I’m security too. The man’s wife is in the hospital.”

“Sorry, sir. Orders. Have you finished?”

“No, we haven’t finished. Pawlowski, did you hear what I said?”

“Yes. But if she’s all right…,” he said, his voice drifting in the static. “It’s difficult, you see. I can’t leave here. Not tonight. It’s not permitted,” he finished stiffly.

“Permitted? It’s Emma. She’s in the hospital. Just tell Oppie—”

“I’m going to have to interrupt this call,” the other voice said. “The use of names is—”

“No, don’t. Please,” Connolly said. “Pawlowski, you still there?”

“Thank you for telling me. I’ll be there tomorrow. Tonight it’s impossible. I’m needed here.”

“That’s it?” Connolly said.

“I’m sure you will look after her,” Pawlowski said.

This time Connolly heard the edge. “What do you want me to tell her, then?” He paused. “Shall I give her your love?”

There was a silence, then he said, his voice cold again, “Yes, Mr. Connolly, give her my love.”

He was still holding the phone, disconcerted, when Mills appeared at the door.

“Something wrong?” Mills said, noticing his expression.

Connolly shook his head. “Just a bad connection,” he said, putting down the receiver.

“She going to be all right?”

Connolly nodded.

“What about you?” Mills said, indicating his taped chest.

“I’ll live,” he said absently. “You’re up late.”

For a moment neither of them spoke, then Mills moved further into the room. “Who’s Hector Ramirez?” he said finally.

“Is that his name? I didn’t know.” He looked up at Mills. “You’ve been busy.”

“I mean, who is he to you?”

“He killed Karl.”

Mills looked at him steadily. “Want to tell me why?”

“Later,” Connolly said, turning back to the hospital room. “That can wait.”

“Not for long,”

Connolly stopped, his eyes raised in question.

“Lot of curious people over at the office,” Mills said. “The switchboard’s been lighting up. Even the boys in Washington. Seems everybody wants to talk to you all of a sudden.”

Connolly paused. “I have to see Oppenheimer first.”

“Why is that, I wonder? Or is that something else I’m not supposed to know?” Connolly said nothing.

Mills shrugged. “Anyway, you’re not going to see him tonight. Everybody’s down at the site. Hadn’t you heard? All the cats are away.”

Connolly looked at him. “So all the rats got busy,” he said slowly. “You playing too? They send you over here?”

Mills shifted, leaning toward the desk. “They have a right to ask questions, Mike. The guy was a project employee, and he’s dead. That sets off a lot of bells. Van Drasek’s in a lather-what do you expect? And he’s got Lansdale jumping on him. You can practically hear him over the wire. They want to know what the hell’s going on.”

“So they sent you,” Connolly said. “You the advance party? What are you supposed to do, grill me? Or just keep me company till the big boys arrive? Christ. A little friendly visit. They pick on you for old times’ sake, or did you volunteer for the job?”

“Fuck you.”

The sharpness of it caught Connolly and he looked away, embarrassed. “Okay,” he said quietly. “So you didn’t volunteer. Look, I’m not ready for bedtime stories just yet. Not until I see Oppenheimer and Groves. Don’t ask why. There are reasons.”

Mills glanced at him, then looked toward Emma’s room, trying to work out his own puzzle. “Oppie’s not back until tomorrow night. I can’t stall that long. Don’t make this hard, okay? You’re supposed to be working with us.”

“Us?”

Mills hesitated. “Them.”

Connolly smiled. “Okay, then let’s make it easy. You got here and I was already gone. Nobody knows where.”

“Mike—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back by morning,” Connolly said. “Just give me one night. I need to see him. To square things.”

“It’s not up to me. You won’t get off the mesa, Mike. They have orders to stop you at the gate.”

“You’re kidding.”

Mills shook his head. “Remember New York? They’re still pissed off about that. They think you’re the slippery type.”

Connolly looked away, thinking. “Then we’ll use your car. You went after me. You figured I was going to the site to see my buddy Groves. Going over everybody’s head again. They won’t stop your car.”

“And where are you going to be-in the trunk?” Mills said sarcastically.

“Just the back,” Connolly said easily. “Having a rest. They’re not going to search your car. Besides, you’re in a hurry.” He lowered his voice. “Come on, Mills. Take a chance. For once.”

Mills colored, stung. “Why? More games,” he said, almost sneering.

“Just one more. A little war game. Don’t worry, you won’t get shot. Nobody gets hurt, in fact. That’s the point.”

“They’re not the enemy, Mike,” Mills said calmly.

“They’re not on your side either, you know.” Connolly paused. “Just help me finish the case.”

Mills stared at him. “Finish how? Another rewrite? Is that what we’re talking about? You going to rewrite this too?”

“If I have to.”

“For her sake?” Mills said, nodding toward Emma’s room.

Connolly ignored the gesture. “Everybody’s. It’s better this way.”

“How do you know? Just how do you decide what people ought to know?”

“I was trained in it, remember? It’s how I spent the war.”

“Yeah. I thought you gave all that up.”

“Almost. Anyway, I won’t have to do it much longer. The war’s over. Everybody will rewrite it now. Pretty soon nobody will know what happened.” He moved again toward the door. “Meanwhile, I could use a ride. Just a ride.”

They were still staring at each other, not saying anything, when the nurse came back. She hesitated at the door, afraid of interrupting, then went over to the desk. “She’s asking for you,” she said to Connolly. “Two minutes. I’ve given her another shot.”

Mills broke the stare and wearily, as if he had lost an argument with himself, turned to the nurse. “You on night duty?”

She nodded.

“No other visitors. That’s G-2 orders. You understand?”

She raised her eyebrows but nodded again, a good soldier.

“Thanks,” Connolly said to him.

“She doesn’t talk to anyone until I get back,” Mills said to the nurse, ignoring Connolly. “I mean, not anyone.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Her husband might show up,” Connolly said.

The nurse looked at Mills. “I thought he was her husband.”

“Him?” Mills smiled. “No, he’s working with us.”

When he went back into the room, she seemed to be sleeping, and he stood there for a minute watching her, the sheet barely moving with her breathing. He thought of her at Costello’s, listening to the revisionist stories, somebody else’s Berlin.

“Is he all right?” she said, her eyes still closed. “Did you tell him not to worry?”

For a moment, still distracted, he didn’t know what she meant.

“Daniel,” he said finally. “Yes.”

“He’s coming?”

He looked at her, hesitating. “Of course,” he lied. “I have to go pick him up. There’s no other transport.”

“Oh, so far?” she said, looking at him now. “You shouldn’t be driving.”

“I’ll take Mills. Don’t worry,” he said, leaning over. “I thought you were asleep. You should be.”

“I was thinking about something. Hannah. You know she had no family?”

“No, I didn’t know,” he said, wondering where she was going.

“What will happen to the ranch? We could buy it. Do you have any money? I have some. Would it bother you? That it was hers?”

“Not if you get rid of the corn paintings.”

The nurse came into the room. “You really will have to go now. She needs to sleep.”

“Okay. You hear?” he said to Emma. “You’re going to sleep whether you like it or not.”

“It’s an idea, don’t you think? It’s beautiful land.”

“Beautiful,” he said.

She looked up, catching his tone. “You don’t like it?”

“Emma, what would I do on a ranch?”

“You could ride.”

“Me? We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

She smiled at him. “Have you ever proposed to anyone before?”

“No.”

“No. I thought so. You don’t know the form. You’re supposed to agree with everything. ‘Whatever you say, darling.’ You see? Like that. ‘I’ll do whatever you want.’ ”

He took her hand, stroking it with his. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

It was pitch dark all the way to Trinity, the night sky obscured by black clouds. After Albuquerque it rained off and on, brief shows of lightning followed by bursts of rain that puddled the road.

“They’ll call it off if this keeps up,” Mills said, leaning forward to see through the windshield. “The rain’ll spread the radioactive particles. A good wind could blow stuff all the way to Amarillo. They won’t risk that.” Connolly looked at him, surprised at the technical lesson. Mills shrugged. “You hear things.”

Connolly had dozed for hours, his chest aching dully, but as they neared the site he became alert, jumpy with the tension of the thunderstorms.

“What happened to the gun?” Mills asked, pretending to be casual.

“It’s in the wreck. The police’ll recover it. I don’t know in what shape.”

“You use it?”

“No. I didn’t get the chance.”

“So the Mex killed Karl?”

Connolly nodded. “I still don’t know with what. Maybe with his hands,” he said, feeling his sore neck.

“Why?” Mills said quietly.

Connolly thought for a minute. “Jealousy, near as I can make out. Karl was meeting the girlfriend. The guy went into a rage when he caught them.”

“That why she ran?”

“She was hysterical. She didn’t know what she was doing. Maybe she thought we’d nail her for starting the whole thing.”

“Kind of a love triangle.”

“I guess.”

“And the business with the pants-that was just to make us look in the opposite direction, huh?”

“It did, too.”

“How about the turquoise?”

Connolly hesitated. “That’s still a mystery. Maybe she was generous to her friends. Older woman. I don’t know. She took that one with her.”

Mills was quiet for a while. He turned off the main highway onto the road to the site. “You used to be a better rewrite man than that,” he said finally.

“I can’t help it. That’s the way it happened.”

“What about all those security files I pulled? They know about that.”

“The files? That was—” Connolly paused, smiling to himself. “That was just a red herring.”

Mills started to respond, then stopped, seeing the roadblock ahead. MPs in jeeps and trucks were stretched across the road for what looked to be miles on either side, a human security fence. “Christ,” he said, pulling up. A flashlight shone into the car.

“Sorry. You’ll have to turn back. This road is closed.”

“Jimmy,” Mills said, recognizing the guard, “it’s me, Mills. We have to get to base camp.”

“Not tonight you don’t. Not even a snake gets through here tonight.”

“Jimmy.”

“You see this ass? It’s not in a sling yet.”

“You have a radio?” Connolly asked suddenly.

The soldier looked at him suspiciously, then nodded.

“Radio ahead. Tell Oppenheimer that Connolly’s got a message for him.” The soldier hesitated, peering at him. “Do it.”

He went over to his jeep, and they could see him operating the bulky field phone, then nodding. “Okay,” he said, leaning into Mills’s window, looking only at him. “Who the hell is he, anyway?”

Mills grinned at him, putting the car in gear. “Better watch that ass.” He pulled the car around the jeep and headed into the flat waste of desert. “You sure you know what you’re doing? Using his name like that?” he said to Connolly.

“We’re through, aren’t we?”

“I mean, this is probably the most important night of his life. He might be a little high-strung.”

“We’re through,” Connolly said again.

In the distance they could see the camp lights and, beyond, a single tower in the middle of the desert, held in the beams of giant searchlights. The base camp at Trinity had grown. Barracks and tents had sprouted around the original buildings, and the air hummed with the sounds of makeshift generators and voices pouring out of the mess. Cars and jeeps were scattered at angles to the buildings. The rain had stopped, but small puddles from the last storm still caught the reflected light. Connolly heard what sounded like the croaking of frogs.

It was nearly four in the morning, but the mess was in full swing, dishing out powdered eggs and coffee, flat squares of French toast. Soldiers sat at tables, playing cards and reading with the studied waiting of people in a bus terminal. This time there were civilians too, men in suits and ties and wire-rimmed glasses, dressed to watch history. Connolly recognized Bush and Conant mingled with the scientists from the Hill. The gang’s all here, he thought.

When Oppenheimer saw him, he detached himself from the crowd and walked over. In a room of nervous people, he seemed to be vibrating with tension, his cigarette hand moving to his mouth in tiny jerks. Connolly had seen him jittery before; now he seemed close to breakdown.

“What the devil is it?” he said quickly.

“I’m sorry. I had to use your name to get in. I need to see you.” He glanced around the crowded room. “Alone.”

“Now? You want to see me now?”

A hand on his shoulder interrupted him. Groves, looking even heavier than usual, a bulging mass of khaki, turned him half around, stopping him. Connolly was struck again by their odd disparity. “Meteorology says it’s clearing. Another hour.” Then, seeing Connolly, “What are you doing here?”

“After five-thirty there’s too much light,” Oppenheimer said. “The cameras—”

“They said an hour,” Groves said, calming him. “Something wrong?” he said to Connolly.

“Yes, what is it?” Oppenheimer said impatiently.

Connolly looked at both of them, waiting for him. But it was impossible now. There were two stories, not one. Why had he thought Oppenheimer would be alone? “I have to see Pawlowski,” he said, improvising.

Oppenheimer stared at him, amazed. “You’ve got a hell of a nerve coming here at a time like this. With personal problems,” he said, almost spitting the p’s.

“His wife’s in the hospital.”

“What are you, her nurse?”

“Actually, I need to see you too, but that can wait.”

“It can.”

“We got the guy. It’s over.”

“Congratulations,” Oppenheimer snapped. “Now get the hell out of here.” Then, controlling himself, “Pawlowski’s at S 10,000-that’s the control bunker for the gadget. You can get him after the test.” He looked at his watch. “If there’s a test. We’ve already postponed it once. Thirty-mile-an-hour winds. Thirty. Anything more than ten and—”

“They said an hour,” Groves said again, reassuring. Then, to Connolly, “I don’t understand. You found—”

“Yes, Mr. Connolly’s solved his case,” Oppenheimer said dismissively, lighting another cigarette. “He seems to think this is a swell time to make a report.” He spoke the slang word as if it were foreign. “If it’s really an hour, we’d better get Kisty away from that tower. We have to clear all personnel at least an hour beforehand.” Groves looked puzzled. “In case a vehicle breaks down and they have to walk. They’d need an hour. It’s six miles to the bunker.”

“And no one guards the gadget?” Groves said.

“No. We’ll give your saboteurs a fighting chance.” He checked his watch again. “They’d better hurry.”

Groves glanced at him, unamused, then back at Connolly, uncomfortable with an audience. “Let’s get out to S 10,000, then,” he said calmly to Oppenheimer. “There’s nothing more we can do here anyway. We’ve got the brass all taken care of.” He gestured toward the Washington visitors. “You get the driver, and I’ll be right along.” He looked at Oppenheimer. “The weather’s going to be fine.”

Oppenheimer, hearing the polite dismissal, smiled. “Okay,” he said, then turned to Connolly. “I’ll send Pawlowski back after the test. No one leaves there now. As long as you’re here, you might as well go up to Compania Hill with the rest of the visitors. Get one of the men to take you. You should be safe there-it’s far enough away-in case our calculations are wrong. Of course, that’s a relative thing, isn’t it? If we’re really off, Enrico thinks it’s possible to ignite the atmosphere. A chain reaction there—”

“That kind of talk is just out of line,” Groves said, annoyed. “I told him.”

“Yes. He told me you told him. I think he might have been joking, you know.”

“Some joke.”

Oppenheimer turned to Connolly. “I’ll send him back. I’m sorry if I’ve been rude. I still say you picked one hell of a time.”

Groves watched him walk out the door. “He hasn’t slept in two days,” Groves said. “We’re all keyed up. This rain didn’t help any.” He brushed his uniform, and Connolly noticed for the first time that it was covered in damp patches.

“I didn’t mean to bother him.”

“Well, bother me. I’ve got the time. This darn waiting’s the worst part. Nothing to do but go over the same thing, over and over. What’s this about solving the case?”

“Eisler was meeting a man called Hector Ramirez,” Connolly began his new story. “Spanish. Maybe Mexican-we don’t know yet. Big guy. Laborer. He even managed to get himself a job on the Hill-construction or maintenance, I guess. Anyway, not a scientist. Eisler appears to have been his only contact, so he may have been trying to scout out some new business.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“I killed him.” Connolly felt the bandage on his forehead. “A fight. His head got in the way of some scrap metal.”

“You’re sure it was him?”

“Absolutely. That’s why the fight. He tried to kill me.”

“He tell you anything? Who his friends were? Who he passed—”

Connolly shook his head.

“Wonderful.”

“He’s dead,” Connolly said steadily. “It ends with him.”

Groves sighed. “Now what?”

“Now I’m going to need a story to tell the papers. It was a public fight. I’d say a woman, probably. They’re used to that here. Every Saturday night there’s some kind of trouble like that. Police chief in Santa Fe is a friend of mine. I can fix it with him. But you’ll have to call your boys off. Your friend Lansdale’s already got the net out for me. So give him a call and tell him to keep his hands to himself. I’m a direct report, remember?”

Groves peered at him. “You telling me a story too?”

“General, I’m working for you.”

“You’re working for your country, mister.”

“And both of you are going to get what you wanted all along. You had a security leak and now it’s plugged and nobody ever has to know. Just you and whoever else you want to tell. If it were me, I’d keep it to myself. The guy who did it is dead, and the guy who helped him is dead. And nobody knows why they’re dead. Not even their bosses. Your case is closed. Now all you have to do is seal it.”

Groves looked at him, turning this over. “They’ll try again.”

“Maybe. Make them work for it. I’d say we’ve been lucky. Did you really think you could control a project like this? Thousands of people? They know something, but they don’t know everything. And they don’t know that you know. A poker player would kill for that. That’s what they’re doing in Germany right now, isn’t it? Playing poker? And you’re giving our guy signals.”

“No, Mr. Connolly,” Groves said, looking at his watch. “In about an hour, I’m going to give him the ace.”

Connolly hesitated. “Then he won’t need anything else.”

Groves looked at him. “Such as?”

“A petty crime. That’s all this turned out to be, a crime. Nothing else. Not enough to bother people about.”

“Let me understand you—”

“Nothing else happened. Not Eisler. Not New York. None of it.”

“Why?”

“I think it might be best. For the project.”

“For the project.”

“Yes,” Connolly said, looking directly at him. “Nobody needs to raise any questions now. Not when they have the ace.” He paused. “You won your hand.” Groves stared at him. “They can turn on you too. You give them a spy case and they’ll take the project away from you.”

Groves stood still. “I’ve always played things by the book, Mr. Connolly.”

Connolly looked away. “I assume you want a report?”

“What do you intend to say?”

“General, I’m writing it for you. What do you want it to say?”

Groves still didn’t move, letting the crowded mess buzz around them. “Paper’s a funny thing,” he said finally, shifting his leg. “I’ll want another briefing. Before we decide.”

Connolly nodded.

“Officially, you were brought here to investigate a murder. Nothing else.”

Connolly nodded again. “We had a break there too, by the way. Our Spanish friend liked to beat up queers. We had another case, right on the Hill. The victim identified him. I can get him to testify if it’s necessary, though to tell you the truth, I’d like to keep him out of it. You know how nervous it makes the guys in G-2-they start looking at everybody in the showers, just in case. Anyway, there’s your link to Bruner, if you want to play that angle. Eisler doesn’t have to come into it at all.”

Groves took a piece of candy out of his pocket and looked at it thoughtfully as he crinkled the wrapper. “Nice and tidy, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s not often things end up being so neat.”

“Almost never.”

“But that’s the way it is,” he said, a question.

“And the way everybody wants it to be,” Connolly said, looking at him coolly. “Isn’t it what you asked for the first time we met?”

“I never thought you’d do it.”

“I was lucky. Maybe we’re both lucky.”

Groves looked up at him. “Why do I always feel I’m making a bargain with you?”

“Because you’re about to make one. I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” he said guardedly.

“I said before that no one knows about this except you. But there is one other person. Me. In fact, I’m the only one who’s public at all. I killed a man. I’m going to have to explain that. And I’m going to have to make everybody believe just what we want them to believe-what happened to Bruner, what happened to Ramirez, all of it.”

“But you said—”

“And I’ll do it. I’m good at it. The Manhattan Project is the best-kept secret of the war. Maybe ever. Nothing ever happened. You and Oppenheimer can take a bow. You deserve it. But the war’s never going to end for you. Not now. Maybe you like it that way. But I want out.”

Groves looked at him, puzzled. “Are you asking for a discharge?”

Connolly smiled. “I’m not in the army, General.”

“Well?”

“But I do have a file now. I want you to close it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that. Lose me somewhere. You’ve been spying on me ever since this started. You didn’t think I could do it, but you couldn’t trust me not to. So somebody had to watch. But then you couldn’t trust them either, so you got them watching each other. You’ve got your own chain reaction going, and it’s not going to stop now. You watching Oppenheimer too?”

“That’s enough,” Groves said, angry.

“Your pal. How else could it be? They’d love to get their hands on him, wouldn’t they? That would be quite a catch.”

“There’s no reason to believe—”

“Of course there isn’t. But they’ll hound him anyway. Well, that’s between you and him. Just don’t hound me. You close that file and I close this one. Neat and tidy, like you say.” He paused. “And one other. A woman. She almost died today-yesterday. I think you owe her.”

Groves raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t ask why. Just close her file too. They’ll be interested in her, and she doesn’t need any more trouble. Erase us both.”

“Like that.”

“You can do it. I trust you.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you’re good at keeping secrets. Look at this,” Connolly said, spreading his hand toward the room. “A whole city. This one’s just a little secret.”

“Mr. Connolly,” Groves said with exaggerated patience, “this is a military project. That means there are going to be procedures—”

“Yeah, I know, you play it by the book. But the book stinks. It’s going to eat you up. Not me.”

Groves squinted a little. “Anybody would think you had something to hide.”

Connolly looked up at him. “Don’t even be tempted. You put those goons on me again, or the lady-The papers would have a field day with this story. Any way I want to tell it. Believe me. I know.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, I’m asking you for a favor. Let us out of the war.”

Groves paused, then looked at his watch again. “I don’t have time to argue with you.” Then, looking directly at him, “You’re sure you’ve told me everything?”

Connolly nodded. “You can close the file.”

A loudspeaker interrupted with the weather report, jolting the room into activity.

“You’d better get up to the hill if you want to see anything,” Groves said. “I don’t make deals, Mr. Connolly. I can’t.”

“Your word is good enough for me.”

“I haven’t given it.”

Connolly nodded again. “By the way, what’s S 10,000?”

“Ten thousand yards south. Of the gadget,” Groves said automatically, distracted by the question. “The south bunker.” He paused. “You didn’t know that?”

“General,” Connolly said, “I don’t know anything.”

By the time he got to Compania Hill, the wind had died down to the still hush before dawn. Busloads of scientists and visitors lined the sandy ridge, talking in groups around the jeeps and trucks like guests at a tailgate party. Some were looking southeast, toward the small tower in the distance, waiting for the signal flares. The rockets’ red glare, Connolly thought, the bombs bursting-a macabre new version of the song. Someone handed him a piece of welding glass and he held it up, the barely visible light disappearing completely behind the tinted square. Was it really necessary? Did anyone know? Some of the scientists had smeared their faces with suntan oil, so their skins gleamed. He recognized Teller, pulling on heavy gloves like a good boy bundling up for the storm. They were twenty miles from the gadget. Could it really burn the air, like the ball of fire over Hamburg, sucking breath out of lungs? Carpet bombing? But this was supposed to be something else.

Most of the men had been there all night and were stiff with cold and waiting. Now they grew quiet, fiddling with the squares of welding glass, stamping their feet warm. There was nothing left to say. Cameras had been set up at N 10,000. Here there were only people, knotting together on a sandy grandstand, anxious and expectant, like Romans at a blood sport. Connolly thought about the first time he’d seen the Tech Area-secretaries passing through the fence, men darting in and out of lab buildings as if they were late for class, everyone too busy to stop, an endless film loop. Now, finally, they were at an end, waiting to see their work, all those meetings and calculations, go up in smoke.

Mills handed him a Thermos cup of coffee. “They say you’re not supposed to look,” he said. “Even this far. What’s that?”

“The rocket. Five minutes.”

“Jesus, this stuff goes right through you, doesn’t it?” he said, agitated.

“Dark glass, everyone,” someone shouted down the line.

“The hell with that,” one of the scientists said, excited. “I’m going to see this. Even if it’s the last thing I see.”

“That’s a possibility, Howard.” A gruff Hungarian voice.

Connolly picked up his welding glass. “What’s the matter?” he said to Mills, who was shaking.

“Goddamnit,” he said. “I have to take a leak.”

Connolly smiled. “Just turn around. I won’t look.”

“Now?”

“I’ll tell you if you miss anything.”

“Fuck,” Mills said, then whirled around and took a step away. Connolly heard the tear of a zipper, then the splashing on the ground, and smiled to himself, wondering if years from now, in Winnetka, Mills would tell his children how he peed the night they exploded the gadget, or whether that story would have to be changed too.

No one else seemed to hear. They stood as still as stone, looking straight ahead. The second rocket. Connolly was aware of Mills beside him again, holding the welding glass up like a mask. There was nothing to see. Black space, the tiny light of the tower. They passed the last minute. But it didn’t go off. Nothing moved.

Suddenly there was a pinprick, whiter than magnesium, a photographer’s bulb, and he was blinded with light. It flashed through his body, filling all the space around them, so that even the air disappeared. Just the light. He closed his eyes for a second, but it was there anyway, this amazing light, as if it didn’t need sight to exist. Its center spread outward, eating air, turning everything into light. What if Fermi was right? What if it never stopped? And light was heat. Bodies would melt. Now a vast ball, still blinding, gathering up the desert at its base into a skirt that held it in place, like a mesa made entirely of light. The ball grew, glowing hotter, traces of yellow and then suddenly violet, eerie and terrifying, an unearthly violet Connolly knew instantly no one had ever seen before. Eisler’s light. His heart stopped. He wanted to turn away, but the hypnotic light froze him. He felt his mouth open in a cartoon surprise. Then the light took on definition, pulling up the earth into its rolling bright cloud, a stem connecting it to the ground.

How long did it take for the sound to follow? The hours of light were only a blink of seconds and then the sound, bouncing between the mountains, roared up the valley toward them, tearing the air. He staggered, almost crying out. What was it like near the blast? A violence without limit, inescapable. No one would survive. Then he dropped the piece of welding glass, squinting, and watched the cloud climb higher, rolling over on itself, on and on, its stem widening until the cloud finally seemed too heavy and everything collapsed into the indeterminate smoke. He stared without thinking. Behind it now he could see the faint glimmer of dawn, shy behind the mountain, its old wonder reduced to background lighting.

He turned to Mills, but Mills had dropped to the ground as if he’d been knocked over by the blast, had lost whatever strength it took to stand. His eyes seemed fixed, mesmerized by their glimpse of the supernatural. Connolly heard shouts, loud whoops and spurts of spontaneous applause, and looked at the crowd. Scientists shook hands or hugged. Someone danced. But it was only a reflex, the expected thing, for then it grew quiet again, solemn, and people just stared at the cloud, wondering what they had seen. He felt an urge to swallow, to make some connection with his body. What had he thought it would be-a bigger explosion? A giant bonfire? All this time on the Hill they had talked in euphemisms. What was it but a larger version of the terrible things they already knew? A sharper spear. A better bow and arrow. But now he had seen it. Not just a weapon. He felt himself shaking. Oppenheimer must have known. Maybe nobody knew. It didn’t have a name yet. Not death. People had ideas about death. Pyramids and indulgences and metaphors for journeys. Connolly saw, looking out at the cloud in the desert, that none of it was true, that all those ideas, everything we thought we knew, were nothing more than stories to rewrite insignificance. This was the real secret. Annihilation. Nothing else. A chemical pulse that dissolved finally in violet light. No stories. Now we would always be frightened.

He heard a retching sound and looked over toward the trucks, where one of the scientists was doubled over, throwing up on the other side of the hood. A relief from the long tension. Perhaps the first of the night terrors to follow. The men nearby turned their heads away, comforting him with privacy.

After a while people began getting into buses for the long drive back to Los Alamos. There would be a party tonight. The pulse would reassert itself. Otherwise they would have to admit to the fear. In the morning light, people looked haggard and drained, pale under the shiny lotion, their faces scratchy now with morning stubble. They shuffled unsteadily, like guests at an all-night party finally ready for bed. But Connolly couldn’t move. This is what they had been doing here, all of them. The cloud was beginning to disappear. He stood watching it drift into the atmosphere, not moving until he could pretend it hadn’t really been there.

Mills, still dazed and vacant, drove him back to base camp without saying a word. Here, on the outer rim of the explosion, there were twisted bits of metal and debris pulverized by the blast. Toward the center there was nothing at all. The morning, almost defiantly, was lovely. By noon Trinity would be baking again, the desert shimmering as it had that first time, but everything would be dead. Connolly looked at things without thinking, as exhausted as the scientists, and wondered why he had come back.

Everything that concerned him now seemed inconsequential. This could never be a secret, so what had it all been about? A murder solved. Would Oppenheimer care? And it was Oppenheimer he wanted to see. One last thing.

He’d forgotten about Daniel. They passed the group of soldiers outside the base, collecting sensors and measuring devices in the desert, then stood idly at the camp, not quite sure where to go next. When the man approached him, he did not, for a minute, remember who he was. The project had aged him. Connolly had thought of him as young, a gentle student. Now his face was sharp and stern, as if the blast had pulled back his skin, leaving the cheekbones and receding hairline of an older man.

“Oppie said you wanted to see me.”

“Yes,” Connolly said, surprised and then embarrassed. Had he really asked to see him? He seemed a figure from before, when nothing was inconsequential. “I thought you’d need a lift back. To the hospital.”

“You’re very solicitous,” Pawlowski said stiffly.

“She thinks you’re already on your way,” Connolly said. “She’ll be worried. You can tell her they sealed the base. It’s true enough.”

Pawlowski narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were there. Wasn’t that enough?” he said, his voice unexpectedly arch.

“She asked for you,” Connolly said. “Stop blaming her.”

“I don’t blame her,” he said slowly. “I blame you.”

Connolly shrugged. “You want to take a poke at me? It’s a good time for it. I assure you, I wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“Is that why you came here? To fight?”

“No, I came to help.”

“Help me?”

“Mills over there can drive you,” Connolly said, nodding his head toward the car. “You’d never forgive yourself. What are you trying to do, get even with me? I don’t matter.”

Pawlowski glanced over at the car, then back again. “I wish that were true,” he said, his body slumping a little, tired. “So. A car. Is that the American custom?”

“It’s just a car.”

“And you think I would accept this from you?”

“Just go see her. She needs to see you.”

“So she can tell me everything? The guilty conscience? I already know, Mr. Connolly. I always know. You. The others. Do you think you’re the first?”

“But you stay.”

He paused. “Yes, I stay,” he said quietly. “You wonder how I can do that.”

“No. I think you’re in love with her.”

Pawlowski stared at him, his eyes dull with fatigue. “Why have you come here?”

Connolly said nothing.

“So it’s over. Now the apologies.”

“No. It’s not over,” Connolly said pointedly.

Pawlowski moved toward the building and leaned against it, deflated. “She wants to leave me?”

“She wants you to let her go.”

He looked down at the ground, then up at Connolly, a last spurt of anger. “For you? And I have no feelings in the matter. Is that what you think?”

“No,” Connolly said quietly.

For a minute Pawlowski said nothing, looking at the drying street. “I was right,” he said finally. “You’re not like the others. It’s not enough for you, just to take? You want-what? A collaborator?”

“I want her to be happy. She won’t be happy if she hurts you.”

“So you want me to pretend?”

“Sometimes it’s better.”

Pawlowski looked at him, the faint trace of an ironic smile on his lips. “Than the truth? Yes,” he said slowly. “Perhaps. Each time, you know, I thought, ‘Why am I not enough?’ Each time.” He pulled himself up, moving away from the building. “You’re embarrassed? To hear this? You want me to pretend to you too?”

“I’m sorry,” Connolly said.

“Maybe it’s a relief for me, to say it once.” Pawlowski straightened himself to go. “Emma’s not a prisoner. She’s free to do as she likes.” He looked out toward the blast area. “It seems a small point now.”

“Not to her. Help her.”

He looked straight at Connolly and then over toward Mills. “Ah,” he said wearily, “I forgot. In America, always the happy ending. Better than the truth. And so easy. Even a car and driver.” He took a step, then turned. “But always there’s the loose end, you know. Even here.” He looked away, then pointed to a jeep farther along the road. “That needs to go back to the bunker. You’ll return it?”

Connolly nodded.

“Straight out that road. You can’t miss it. There’s nothing else there now.”

Connolly watched him walk heavily over to the car and open the back door, nodding to Mills as he got in, not turning around.

The road to S 10,000 was busy with vehicles, visitors returning from the blast area, and soldiers still collecting sensors. Connolly saw Oppenheimer’s porkpie hat outside the door of the control station, bobbing in a sea of heads. Somebody was taking a picture. He parked the jeep and sat for a few minutes, not wanting to interrupt, looking out across the waste. When the group broke up, Oppenheimer spotted him and walked over, his face no longer pale, as if it had colored with excitement and was just calming down.

“How about a lift?” he said.

“Sure. Where?”

“Out there,” Oppenheimer said, indicating the far edge of the blast area. “I want to get away for a bit. It’s quite safe as long as we don’t go near the crater. You need a lead-lined tank for that.”

The paved road ended a short distance past the bunker. Out on the dead sand, Connolly looked toward the huge blast crater, the sun reflecting off what seemed to be pieces of green glass.

“The ground fused. In the heat,” Oppenheimer said calmly.

There was no destination. After a while they simply stopped and got out, looking around at the empty desert. There was no sound at all in the new silence, not even the faint scratching of lizards and insects. Oppenheimer stood still, looking at nothing.

“The worst part is, I was pleased,” he said suddenly, still looking away. “When it went off. It worked.”

Connolly looked down to where the funhouse mirror of the morning glare stretched their shadows out along the ground. “They’ll blame you,” he said.

Oppenheimer turned to him slowly, surprised. “You think so? Prometheus?”

“No. Fire was a gift. This is a curse.”

Oppenheimer was quiet. “It need not be. It doesn’t have to be-this,” he said, spreading his hand.

“Anyway, it’s the end of war. They won’t dare, now.”

Oppenheimer looked down. “You’re an optimist, Mr. Connolly. That’s what Alfred Nobel said about dynamite. He was wrong.”

“I’m not.”

“We’ll see. I hope so. That would be quite a thing-to be blamed for ending war.”

“They’ll honor you first. And then—”

Oppenheimer looked at him, and Connolly saw that his usual ironic glint had faded.

“Get out while you can,” Connolly said.

“After this?” Oppenheimer said, looking around again. “Do you want me to leave the generals in charge?”

“No,” Connolly said reluctantly. “You can’t.” He turned away, kicking at the sand. “Anyway, it worked. Numbers on paper. You found it. Is it what you expected?”

“It was waiting to be found, Mr. Connolly. A problem.” And then, a trace of smile. “Like yours, perhaps. Waiting to be found. You said you solved it. Is it what you expected?”

“I didn’t expect anything,” Connolly said. “I just wanted to know.”

“Yes,” Oppenheimer said, almost to himself. “That’s all I ever wanted too.” He walked away, lighting a cigarette. “And how did it come out? You were going to tell me.”

“Groves will fill you in. A worker on the Hill. There’s one thing he doesn’t know.”

Oppenheimer raised his eyebrows in question.

“He was working for Hannah Beckman. She was Eisler’s contact.”

“Hannah,” Oppenheimer said blankly, as if he had misheard.

“Your old friend.”

“We used to go riding. When I first came out to the ranch. But it’s impossible. Hannah? She had no politics at all.”

“It’s possible. It was her.”

Oppenheimer took this in, not saying anything. “Was?”

“They’re both dead. There’s no need for anyone to know about her part in it.”

Oppenheimer looked at him curiously. “Why?”

“Because you’d be walking into a buzz saw. They’re after you as it is. And this one’s too close to home. You’d be handing them a gun, you and Eisler. If it comes out that the project was being sold out by old friends of yours, they’ll smell the blood all the way to Washington. The truth won’t matter. They’ll destroy you.”

Oppenheimer held his eyes with a flicker of the old intensity. “According to you, they’re going to do that anyway.”

“Not with my help, they’re not.”

Oppenheimer smiled involuntarily, then frowned. “So I just-say nothing?”

“You don’t know anything to say. You never heard a word.”

“You want to rewrite history.”

“Just a little. You’ve made plenty of it to go around. Now just change a little piece for yourself.”

Oppenheimer looked at him, thinking. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to keep you out of trouble. I think we’re going to need you.”

Oppenheimer said nothing for a minute, then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Okay,” Connolly said, holding his eyes and nodding back. Then, uncomfortable, he turned away. “We’d better get back. It’s a great day for the project. You don’t want to miss any of it.”

“Yes,” Oppenheimer said wearily. “I was pleased,” he said again, still wondering at himself, and then pointed. “The tower was over there. It evaporated. Just-evaporated. Can you imagine that?” He looked around, now lost in his thoughts. “Everything’s dead.”

Connolly waited.

“We’re going to use it on people.”

“I know. Once.”

“Twice,” Oppenheimer said, correcting him. “There are two. That’s what the general said to me right after it went off. ‘Two of these and the war is over.’”

“Why not just one?”

“We’ve only tested the plutonium gadget,” he said, a scientist again. “The uranium bomb needs—” And then he caught himself and shrugged. “I suppose he wants to scare them to death.”

They started for the jeep.

“This is what they’ll remember,” Oppenheimer said, looking at the desolation. “Not the rest of it. They’ll wonder what we were doing all this time. What am I going to tell them?” He paused. “My God, I was never happier in my life.”

“Not just you. Everybody.”

Oppenheimer glanced at him. “Yes,” he said. “The time of our lives. It won’t be convenient to remember that. That we enjoyed doing it.” He stopped. “God help me, it’s true.”

For a minute Connolly thought he would break down, his thin body finally overcome by contradiction.

“People do funny things when they’re scared to death. I’m worried about you,” Connolly said, unable to keep the intimacy out of his voice. He looked at the frail figure beside him, the hollow cheeks and anxious eyes, and suddenly wished him back at the blackboard at Gottingen, thinking out puzzles.

“I’m worried about all of us,” Oppenheimer said.

“I can’t think about that many. Right now I’m just worried about you.”

But Oppenheimer had recovered and had moved his chalk to the larger problem. “They won’t stay scared,” he said. “A little learning’s a dangerous thing. A lot isn’t. Maybe it’s what we need-to know this much. To change.”

“It won’t change anything. They’ll hate you for trying.”

“Well—” he said, then looked over at Connolly, an almost jaunty gleam in his eyes. “You know, the trouble with you, Mike, is that you don’t trust people.”

Connolly flushed. It was the first time Oppenheimer had ever used his name, and it took him by surprise, the pleasure of it.

“Sometimes you have to have a little faith,” Oppenheimer was saying.

And Connolly felt that he was losing him, that he was drifting away, unwilling to be distracted from his new theorem. “Not them,” he said urgently, taking Oppenheimer’s elbow as if he were trying to anchor him. “You don’t know them. They can’t stop now. You have to be careful. You have to protect yourself.”

Oppenheimer’s eyes wandered to the tower site. “How do you do that?” he said. Then he looked down at Connolly’s hand and gently pulled his elbow away. “You know, you may be wrong.”

“I’m not.”

Oppenheimer looked at him, his eyes tired and knowing. “Well, we’ll see,” he said. “I’m going to hope for the best.”