“I’ll be by the car. Just need to stretch my legs a bit. All that driving, you know.” Fox left before the men could answer.
He stepped into the dusty road. The blue sky arched out in front of him. To the west enormous thunderclouds built up on the horizon, the top of their anvil-shaped heads spread out as far north as he could see. It looked like they were going to get one hell of a cloudburst by the end of the day, which was unusual for late autumn. They should be able to make it the rest of the way to Trinity before the rain started.
Fox lit up a cigarette and drew in a lungful of smoke. The exchange with the Indian had set him to thinking. How many people really suspected that something big was going to happen here? The through traffic alone would have set off the residents of sleepy San Antonio.
The village wasn’t more than a hundred yards long—some of the other scientists had used the term “spitting distance.” How many trucks, jeeps, and unmarked cars had passed through on their way out to the Trinity Site? How many people connected with the atomic bomb test had made unofficial stops at the Owl Cafe?
And if the residents of this flyspeck town knew about the test, then how many others would know? It seemed to prove something to Fox: no matter how much the government wanted to clamp down on keeping the information secret, people were still going to find out, one way or another.
He drew on his cigarette. An atomic bomb. Unleashing the unimaginable forces that held all matter together—how could any person be trusted with such power, much less someone like General Groves? As the frenzied campaigning between Dewey and Roosevelt showed, with American politics throwing a new President on the scene every four years, it would be only a matter of time before some man got elected who wanted to take over the world.
Oppenheimer kept trying to wash his hands of responsibility, claiming that the scientists’ job was simply to design and build the thing, to let other people decide how to use it. But now that they were so close to having the bomb, what would happen next? Would every country want to have its own weapon?
Germany had the capability. With the Allied invasion of Normandy a few months before, piercing Fortress Europe and driving the German army back, with the Allied landing in southern France in August, with Romania and Bulgaria also declaring war on Germany, the Nazi house of cards was crumbling. And if they still refused to use the atomic weapon that they must have…
With each passing day the Germans did not strike, their psychological and military advantage slipped away. Germany would surrender soon. And the Japanese had also begun to fall in the Pacific, with American forces taking Guam in July, Peleliu in September, and then finally crushing the Japanese fleet in the Philippines in the Battle for Leyte Gulf only a few weeks before.
America did not need this bomb. But still they wanted to play with their expensive new toy. Fox could only hope that someone among the scientists would see reason and put a stop to everything. Someone, perhaps, like himself?
You can’t listen to anybody else when it’s your own conscience at stake.
Fox drew in a breath, closing his mouth against the dry, dusty air. His nose and chapped lips burned. The taste of the green chili made him even more thirsty.
The Project was quickening its pace, and there seemed to be no end to its momentum. Could he prevent it? Maybe the Gadget wouldn’t work. If it did work, he could not possibly prevent the knowledge of the bomb from seeping out. Everyone would know how to crack the atomic nucleus, and someone would destroy the world with that knowledge.
“How do you close Pandora’s box?” he muttered to himself. Fox flinched and dropped his cigarette. The tobacco had burned down to his fingers. He put his finger to his mouth.
“Hey, Doc—you missed some really good beer. The Injun brought out his special reserve.”
The second military policeman burped. “We’ll have to pick up a case of that stuff on the way back up. We can’t bring it onto the site.”
“Right-o. Let’s get moving.” Fox slid into the driver’s seat. Waves of heat rippled up from the cloth seat covers— they were black, of course. He could smell the hot fabric, and winced as he sat down, wiggling to keep from getting burned. “You chaps ready?”
“Yeah.”
Fox pulled out onto the dirt road; the motion sent hot wind and brown dust into the car. San Antonio vanished behind them in less than a minute.
As they headed east, toward a small line of hills, Fox realized that they had been the only traffic through the village in the entire time that they had been there. That’s right, he thought. There’s no way to keep this thing quiet.
Black lava peppered the side of the roadway. Fox wanted to stop and pick up some of the hardened lumps, but the MPs pointed out that their stop at the Owl Cafe had put them behind schedule. The road dropped into a valley, leaving the black lava behind. About five miles ahead of them Fox spotted a tiny building by the side of the road.
“What’s that?”
One of the MPs leaned forward and squinted. “Guard shack. We take a right when we get there. Trinity site is about twenty miles southeast.”
“This truly is out in the middle of nowhere.” Even though he had grown accustomed to the sparseness of New Mexico over the past year and a half, this made the rest of the desert look lush by comparison. He drove the car south through the valley. To their left rose the rugged San Andreas mountains, stark and brown, devoid of any vegetation. Sheer peaks jutted up, lining the valley with a natural wall.
Scrub brush, cactus, and weeds dotted the desert floor. Heat shimmered off the road in the distance. If Fox had ever imagined what hell must look like, the area surrounding Trinity Site came close. In his mind this place already looked as if it had been devastated by an atomic bomb. Jornada del Muerto, the Journey of Death, the Indian cook had called it—an appropriate name.
They traveled nearly fifteen miles before coming to a road. A weather-beaten sign stuck up from the ground. Paint peeled off the wood, and sand covered most of the lettering, but Fox could distinguish project y and an arrow that pointed to the left. As they turned for the site, Fox saw a cloud of dust ahead. He squinted. It looked like a flurry of activity: trucks, cars, cranes, and tiny dots that had to be people.
As they drew closer, the MPs straightened their uniform ties and ensured that their shirts were tucked in. “It’s bad enough with all the officers around,” one of them grumbled, “but knowing that General Groves can show up any minute makes it worse.”
“Sometimes I think they’re more worried about the way we look than how we do our jobs.”
Fox all but ignored the chatter. Didn’t they realize what they were doing here, what was about to happen? How the world was going to be changed forever?
They passed another hot and sweaty guard standing in the afternoon sun. After the guard waved them in, Fox drove slowly into the complex. Wooden buildings and rounded Quonset huts were scattered about the area. An old ranch house sat near the commotion; far away from all the buildings a metal tower rose up in the middle of the desert.
The MP in the front seat pointed to a row of cars up ahead. “You can park there. They don’t want any cars running around the site—they break down too easy. Take a jeep if you need one.”
As he turned into the dusty parking lot, Fox noticed a row of low-slung buildings in the distance, made of concrete with mounds of dirt pushed up around their backs. He saw military guards all over the place; several of them kept watch over two flatbeds covered with tarpaulins.
Why bother? he wondered. If anyone wanted to get in and sabotage something, he would never get out alive.
As Fox cut the ignition in the car, the two MPs sprang out and stretched their legs. An Army officer walked up to the car. The MPs snapped to attention. “We’ve got Dr. Fox, sir.”
The officer waved the men away. Fox climbed from the car and put on his hat. He debated removing his tie, but he saw that the young officer had kept his tie on even in the stifling heat, so Fox decided to loosen his instead.
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“Dr. Fox, I’m Lieutenant Johnston. I’ve been assigned to run interference for you.” Tall, sandy-haired, and armed with an infectious grin, Johnston looked affable enough.
“Excuse me?” Fox shook the man’s hand. “I don’t wish any interference.”
“No, run interference. Like in football.”
Fox made a small smile, but he still didn’t understand. American football was quite different from soccer. “I see. Does that mean you’ll assist me with the high-explosive test and cut through the paperwork so I can get my work done?”
“Or whatever else you need to do.”
Fox retrieved his jacket from the front of the car, dusted it with the palm of his hand, and slung it over his shoulder. “So where do I start?”
“Have you been to Trinity before?”
“No, but I’ve seen a sketch of the general layout.” He paused. “Can you tell me why they call it Trinity? What’s the significance?”
“Beats me.” Johnston shrugged. “You’re about the fiftieth person to ask that. Dr. Oppenheimer thought it up, and he’s not telling. But so what’s new? Everything else about this place is a secret.” The lieutenant turned and motioned for Fox to follow him. “Let me point out a couple of spots to you, and you can start whenever you’re ready.” Johnston nodded to the big white house. “The McDonald ranch will be your headquarters. The high-explosive test will take place on that wooden tower.”
“How is the real test of the Gadget coming along?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir.” The lieutenant’s answer came too quickly, like a memorized answer. Fox stopped and waited. Johnston shrugged. “I hear it’s all on schedule. We’ve got one more bunker to finish. The first one is five miles away from the shot tower and will be the closest to the actual test. That’s where Dr. Oppenheimer and most of the senior scientific staff will stay when the Gadget goes off. They all want the best seats in the house.”
Fox stopped and tried to find the fortified bunker in the distance. It was barely visible from where he stood across the flat nothingness. He could make out two more bunkers in the desert.
“All the senior staff will be present? General Groves as well? Watching the bomb go off?”
“Well, assuming it does go off. Somebody said it might rip away the whole atmosphere, but the general said to go ahead anyway.”
Fox drew his lips tight. “What about the risk?”
“I really don’t know much about it, sir. The general said the models had predicted enough margin for error.” Johnston kept walking toward the ranch house. “Please follow me, sir.”
Margin for error? Fox couldn’t believe it. After the miscalculations had caused Teller’s death, he thought the scientists wouldn’t put so much faith in models anymore. And they would all be up front, closest to Ground Zero, watching to see what their Gadget would do.
Once the genie was released from the bottle, it could never be stuffed back in. But if the wizards who conjured up that genie were destroyed, then perhaps no one else would be able to command it.
Do what you have to do. Damn the consequences.
The entire senior staff.
If he somehow prevented the Manhattan Project from ever following through on their Gadget, and if the Germans would never use their own device, then the world would truly be safe. People needed time to grow and learn to deal with holding such power. He could not stop it forever, of course, but he could buy time. Let people deal with such knowledge during rational years, after peace had come and the world had learned its lessons of war. He would have to bankrupt the Allied “brain trust.”
“Dr. Fox, I almost forgot—see these flatbeds?”
Fox looked again at the canvas-covered flatbeds he had seen upon driving in. “Yes?”
“It would sure make everyone a lot more relaxed if you would do something about them. Now that you’ve arrived, you’re officially in charge over there.”
Fox frowned. “What do you mean? I don’t even know what they are.”
“Your explosives—a hundred tons of H.E. for the benchmark test. It’s keeping the guards a little nervous.”
Fox stared at the shapeless masses under the tarpaulins. A hundred tons of high explosives, at his disposal.
“Yes, I can see how they might be nervous about it.” He nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to everything.”
22
Los Alamos
November 1944
“We are influenced by the fact that we are under great pressure, both internally and externally, to carry out the test, and that it undoubtedly will be carried out before all the experiments, tests, and improvements that should reasonably be made, can be made.”
—J. Robert Oppenheimer
The newspapers hadn’t come up from Santa Fe yet, but the little Los Alamos radio station broadcast the news immediately. For those without radios switched on, the loudspeakers around the camp made the announcement.
“Dewey wins the election! Roosevelt has lost in a landslide on his bid for a fourth term at the presidency of the United States. Dewey vows to put an end to the war. What this means to the Project, ladies and gentlemen, is anyone’s guess.”
Elizabeth had arrived back in the mountain city after being gone for months, traveling around the country with General Groves, accompanying him back to Washington, D.C., and now returning to Los Alamos while the general went down to Alamogordo to set up the Trinity test. It took Elizabeth a long moment to understand the mood of the people moving down A Street, but then the loudspeaker repeated the announcement.
“Dewey has won…”
Yet another change, she thought. It was an endless spiral going nowhere. She couldn’t keep up with what she remembered about how the events should have occurred.
Groups of Army men marched in close-order drill at one end of the encampment; jeeps carrying uniformed officers roared by, spewing dirt from the unpaved streets; the officers hung onto their hats. The localized public address system was in constant use, paging one person after another.
Elizabeth moved her bags to the side of the administration building. It felt good to be away from General Groves. Now maybe she could catch a breath of air, preferably one untainted by cigar smoke. The time she had spent with Groves seemed a million years away—as distant as her old life in her original timeline.
Along with the bustling activity, an extraordinary number of vehicles filled the center of Los Alamos—trucks, jeeps, and cars in every conceivable parking spot, stashed behind the dorms and along the barbed-wire fence of the Tech Area.
Before heading back to the dormitory, she decided to check in with Feynman’s office. She had missed working with him, his jokes and his laughter. She didn’t want to miss what caused the excitement around the camp. Groves had told her about the scheduled test of the implosion device. The Trinity test. The theoreticians had worked even more overtime than usual, and Hanford had shipped down barely enough plutonium to make the bomb’s core. Something in the back of her mind suggested it wasn’t right. Didn’t the explosion happen next year? In 1945? Still… it was all going to end soon.
And then it would just begin. She could no longer guess what might happen.
Everywhere she walked, red-eyed intensity shone on the scientists’ faces. Everyone seemed on the verge of snapping at anything that stood in their way, but they all looked to be bearing the weight of something important.
But what if Germany surrendered soon? she wondered. What if Dewey refused to continue funding the Project? They would have only another two months before Roosevelt handed over the presidential reins. Any advantage she might have had in predicting the future had dissolved with the bombing of New York.
Elizabeth stepped up her pace to Tech Area 1, back to her old working place. Feynman was nowhere to be seen. His office lay in its usual cluttered state, and even her desk had papers strewn all over the place, as if Feynman had used her room as a holding tank for his notes. She wrote a scribbled message, tacked it to the
back of his chair, then made her way to the applied mathematics area.
John von Neumann’s computation group was grinding away, furiously trying to complete several sets of computations, double-checking parameters for the upcoming test. The physicist passing out the initial values hadn’t seen any members of the senior staff. Some of the gathered ladies in the room looked up at the disturbance—Gladys what’s-her-name scowled at her—but Elizabeth left.
She made her way back to the Admin building. After being at the center of things during Groves’s trip, she felt discarded. They could have at least left a message for me. But she tried to rationalize to herself that the Project didn’t revolve around her. She had served when she was needed, but that didn’t give her the right to an inside track to what was going on.
Still, she felt empty, left out.
She picked up her bags and started for the ladies’ dormitory. The dry autumn had left Los Alamos basking in heat. She remembered the first rainstorm and the muck covering all the streets. The place looked no more civilized, but she realized that it did feel like home.
Elizabeth hauled her luggage and kept to the side of the street. A military jeep sped by, then stopped. The driver craned his neck around and gunned the engine, sending the jeep roaring back toward her. “Need a lift, ma’am?”
“Sure.” Elizabeth pushed her bags into the backseat before the driver could get out to help her. She climbed into the front.
“Where you going?”
She pushed back her hair. “Women’s dormitory-Second Street.”
The driver jammed the jeep in gear and set off before she had a chance to say thanks. He wore standard khaki military dress along with the ubiquitous tie and overseas cap. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old, and noting the absence of military decorations, she thought he was probably a new clerk assigned to the Project. She had to hold onto the side of the jeep as they spun around a corner until the driver stopped directly in front of the dormitory.
The Trinity Paradox Page 28
