Shadow of the Bomb

Prologue

Lord, he was exhausted. This had been his longest day yet in what he had come to call “the basement.” When he finally got out, he was too tired to even drop in at the U.T. for a nightcap. The unrelenting deadline pressure was bad enough, but the damn secrecy made it even worse.

It seemed like everybody he knew on the faculty was asking questions, always more questions. He knew many of them were jealous, of course. That was obvious — and understandable. But he couldn’t go anywhere now without the probing, nosing, snooping.

“What is it you’re really working on?” became the standard opening query, and when he gave his stock reply about it being “just a metallurgy lab project,” he got the eye rolls, tongue-clucking, and arch comments, such as, “Yeah, sure, that’s why we never see you in your office.” “That’s why you’re not teaching now.” “That’s why so many buildings on the campus are boarded up, with those armed soldiers out in front — even at poor old Stagg Field, for God’s sake.” “Don’t give us that met lab crap. Something big’s going on, isn’t it?”

He wanted to scream, “Yes, dammit, something big is going on, the biggest thing that’s every happened in the history of warfare, and it’s happening right under your prying noses. End of discussion — now leave me alone.”

But of course, such behavior was out of the question — even though on a couple of occasions he had told some strangers at the U.T. bar that they need not be concerned about how the war would ultimately end. That at least stopped their whining about the pounding we were taking in the Pacific and Europe. But he knew he had to avoid that kind of reaction from now on. And maybe he should also stop hanging around the U.T. for awhile.

He was almost sorry that he had been one of the chosen. But then, he was all too aware of his own brilliance and would have taken great offense if he’d been left out. At first, it was both exciting and patriotic, being a part of history. But now, after the long days and sometimes nights in that dank, gray, windowless pit under the old grandstands, the excitement had morphed into tedium, and each day he felt himself to be an ever-smaller part of history.

True, it was a privilege being around the likes of Fermi and Szilard and other physicists whom he admired, some almost to the point of hero-worship. But his role was so small, and they tended to look down upon him — he could feel it, even though nothing ever was said.

Well, he was home now. He pressed his palms against his eyes and lay his head down on the desk, almost too tired to go into the bedroom and pull on his pajamas.

The knock startled him, but then he figured it must be that garrulous old spinster down the hall, come to borrow of cup of sugar, or maybe flour. She seemed to always be running out of something, although more likely it was an excuse to chat. She was lonesome, although he wished she would find someone else to chatter to about the weather or her leaky kitchen faucet or her darling twin nieces in Topeka or her alcoholic brother up on the North Side who was always asking her for money.

“Well, this is quite a surprise,” he said as he pulled open the door. “I didn’t hear the buzzer.”

“I didn’t have to use it,” his visitor replied with a thin smile. “Somebody was just leaving and held the door for me down in the foyer. Very nice of him. I happened to be in the neighborhood, and I thought you wouldn’t mind my dropping by. So this is your place? Pleasant. Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” the visitor said, stepping inside without waiting for an answer.

“No, not at all, I just didn’t expect you — or anybody else, for that matter. Yes, this is simple though comfortable, like I think I’ve mentioned to you before. Small but efficient kitchen, and as you can see, plenty of room for a desk, which I refer to as my off-campus office,” he said, gesturing to a corner of the living room. “And in there is the bedroom.” He pivoted and turned his back to his visitor. “Can I get you something to—”

What came next was child’s play — akin to a steer being roped by a veteran cowpoke. In an instant, the looped and knotted cord dropped over his head. He got his hands under the garrote as it tightened around his neck, but it was too late to even yell.

He thrashed about, gasping and grasping, as the struggle moved across the living room in the direction of the bedroom. His visitor had the element of surprise and the leverage, however, steadily increasing the pressure. He tried to retaliate, jabbing backwards ineffectively with one elbow and then the other. In desperation, he lunged in an attempt to break loose before taking his last agonizing breath...