The weather to the south seemed even worse and, climbing once more to clear the cloud tops at an altitude of two thousand metres he turned right onto a westerly heading – this wasn’t getting him any nearer Fürsty, just closer to the damned Americans: he had to turn south.
He craned his neck to see if he was being followed and started a series of short, sharp turns: left thirty degrees, stop, check back over the right shoulder, nobody there, turn again. He’d just rolled out on a southerly heading when he saw them: two black specks, about ten kilometres away and highlighted against the cloudbase above, but definitely getting closer. He pushed the throttle levers with his left hand but they were already at the front stops and now that he was straight and level, his speed was bleeding back through 500 kilometres per hour – about 300 mph in the language of his fast-closing adversaries. They’d seen him all right and now he recognised them as American P-51 Mustangs. There was nothing else for it, he couldn’t out-run them nor out-turn them so his only hope was to hide in the clouds below and hope to find one that didn’t have a hill inside it – cumulogranitus they called it. He overbanked to the right and lowered the nose. As he did so, he looked back over his shoulder once more and saw the black and white chequer-board markings on the aircrafts’ noses. His altitude was one thousand metres and just as he entered cloud he saw the first tracer rounds pass close by over the cockpit. Transferring to instruments he stopped the descent and rolled into a hard right-hand turn that he hoped would shake them off but which only served to take him out of cloud once more. Beneath him was a small village surrounded by pine forests and at his left seven o’clock and closing fast were the two Mustangs. He lowered the nose once more and made for the welcoming cover of the cloudbank to the north.
By the time he saw the hillside race out of the murk towards him it was too late. Instinctively he pulled the stick hard back but by the time the aircraft hit the first of the trees it was already starting to break up under the effect of the massively excessive g-loading that his snatch pull had inflicted on the airframe. The wreckage was spread along a three-hundred metre swathe of broken trees and churned earth on the southern slopes of the Harz Mountains, just to the east of the town of Bad Lauterberg. There was no fire.
Chapter Two
Cold and frightened. Food terrible but plentiful. Coffee even worse but unlimited sugar which is a treat. Not sure whether the Americans can be trusted. At least they are keeping all four of us together and we leave for Britain tomorrow. If R. doesn’t shut up about his precious boxes I may kill him.
*
Washington DC, April 1945
President Harry Truman looked up from his desk as the two men were shown into the Oval Office. ‘Thank you, Miss Conway,’ he said as his secretary left the room, closing the door behind her. Secretary of War, Henry Stimson’s long, moustachioed face looked even more gloomy than usual which did not presage good news. By Stimson’s side stood a tall, square-jawed army officer in his late forties, although the effects of excess weight and lack of sleep made him look nearer sixty. He put down his briefcase, came to attention and saluted. Stimson introduced him as General Leslie Groves of the Army Corps of Engineers.
Truman peered over his glasses. ‘At ease, General Groves. Well, Mr Secretary,’ he said, smiling at Stimson. ‘If you’ve brought the Corps of Engineers along as reinforcements, then I must really be in trouble. You’d both better come and tell me all about it.’ He showed both men to a seat and then sat down to join them. ‘So who’s going to go first?’ he asked.
‘I will, if you don’t mind, Mr President,’ said Stimson. ‘I’m going to ask you to cast your mind all the way back to a telephone conversation you and I had in June ’43 about a manufacturing plant in Pasco, Washington.’
Truman smiled again and shook his head, ‘Mr Secretary, so much has happened in the last couple of weeks that I’m having trouble remembering my own name, let alone what happened almost two years ago. You’re going to have to remind me.’
Stimson continued. ‘It was about the nature of the work being done at the plant, sir. At the time, I told you that it was most secret and only two or three people in the world knew of its true nature. And in return you agreed that you would wait until I decided the time was right to tell you: that time has now come.’
‘Very well.’
‘You recall that after the last cabinet meeting I mentioned work on the development of a new explosive of almost unbelievable destructive power?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Truman. ‘Jimmy Byrnes came to see me the day after and said pretty much the same thing as you, but I’m still none the wiser. I guess you’d better fill me in.’
Stimson took a deep breath. ‘General Groves is military director of the Manhattan Engineer District, a unit whose work is now being carried out at sites across the entire country; work that is known under the code-name of The Manhattan Project. A group of scientists, based at Los Alamos, New Mexico, has perfected the design for a uranium bomb that will use the effects of nuclear fission to create an explosive effect equivalent to fifteen thousand tons of TNT from a warhead weighing little more than 120 pounds.’
The president let out a low whistle. ‘But that could destroy an entire city. Byrnes talked about something that could destroy the whole world, and I thought he was exaggerating. Guess he wasn’t far off the mark.’
‘Precisely, sir. We also believe it could shorten the Pacific war and, if it prevents our having to invade the Japanese mainland, my department estimates it will save one million GI lives that will otherwise be lost in combat. Also, if we end up fighting a land war in Japan, there’s a very strong probability that Stalin will exploit the situation to expand further into Europe. There’s another factor too, sir.’
‘Which is?’
‘We can probably beat the Japanese without this weapon, but it will take longer. If by then the Soviets have declared war on Japan, Stalin will probably claim belligerent’s rights to half of the country. However, by using it against the Japanese as soon as it’s available, not only do we forestall that eventuality, but we show Stalin what we’re capable of if he tries to push us around.’
The president nodded gravely. ‘Well I won’t pretend I understand how you can get an explosion that big out of 120 pounds of uranium, but I take your point about Stalin and if the weapon’s as good as you say, I take it you’ve come to ask my authorisation to use it?’
Stimson’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Well, yes and no, Mr President. You see, there’s a hitch. Dr Oppenheimer – he’s the scientific director of the project – and his team have proved beyond any doubt that the weapon will work, but there are two problems, one of which is critical.’
‘Which is?’
‘I’ll let General Groves answer that, sir.’
‘It’s all down to the speed at which we can refine the uranium,’ said Groves. ‘The uranium that you dig up out of the ground isn’t suitable for bomb-making: the scientists call it U238, the number being the sum of the neutrons and protons in the nucleus of the atom.’
‘Whoa, steady,’ said Truman. ‘I was an artillery captain, don’t forget. You’ve got to speak slow and loud if you want me to understand stuff like that.’
Groves permitted himself a brief smile before continuing. ‘To make a weapon, sir, the U238 has to undergo a very time-consuming process to refine it into what’s called oralloy, which contains more than 90% U235, a slightly lighter isotope of uranium. The other alternative, equally time-consuming, is to use the nuclear piles at Hanford to transform uranium into an artificial element that’s been named plutonium or Pu239 which is also suitable for bomb-making but requires a different trigger mechanism, one that we can’t get to work reliably – that’s our second problem.’
‘So when will you have enough of these components to make a weapon?’
‘At the current rate of output from the facility at Oak Ridge, Tennessee, we believe we’ll have enough U235 for a uranium bomb some time in 1947, sir.’
Stimson took another deep breath. ‘Your predecessor was of the same opinion, sir. It’s not a matter of simply adding more money or people and so he decided to cut some corners as you’ll see.’ He nodded to Groves who opened his briefcase and handed Truman a folder on which was written, “Operation Faustus – Most Secret”. Stimson continued. ‘To put it as simply as possible, sir, at the end of last year, British intelligence started decrypting signals traffic between Berlin and an atomic weapons research unit in south western Germany near a town called Haigerloch. The good news is that they won’t have a useable bomb before the end of this year, by which time the war in Europe will be over. The bad news is that the Nazis have caught up and overtaken us in their capabilities to refine uranium and they have also successfully tested just the kind of implosion trigger that’s required to detonate a plutonium device.’
Truman got to his feet. ‘Show me where Haigerloch is, please.’
Groves joined him next to a map of Europe on to the wall, and pointed out the town.
Truman turned to Stimson who had remained seated. ‘That’s close to the front line. So what’s stopping the army making a push on a narrow front or a surprise raid on this Haigerloch place?’
‘We’ve already done so, Mr President,’ said Groves. ‘A Sixth Army detachment under Colonel Pash have succeeded in capturing a large stock of equipment, including a nuclear pile that was being used to manufacture plutonium; and they’ve also rounded up some of the Nazi research and production personnel who’ve been taken to England for interrogation.’
‘I feel there’s a “but” coming. Am I right, General?’
‘I’m afraid so, sir. The two key people we needed had been removed to the Kaiser Wilhelm Physics Institute’s low temperature research unit in Berlin.’
‘So Pash didn’t get them?’
‘No, sir.’
‘And when the Russians take Berlin, they’ll get them instead and Stalin will have a uranium bomb before we do.’
‘Precisely, sir, and that’s why President Roosevelt ordered us to get these people out.’
‘So what did you do?’
Groves looked nervously across at Stimson for reassurance and received an almost imperceptible nod in return. The general continued. ‘If you take a brief look at page two in the file you’ll see that we – your predecessor, I mean, Mr President – effectively cut a deal with the Devil, hence the name of the operation. There’s no need for me to go into all the details, sir. Everything’s there in the file.’
The president studied the dossier in silence for about five minutes. Finally, looking over his glasses he spoke to Stimson. ‘You do realise that if Stalin finds out about this then it’s war? How in the name of all that’s holy did FDR get himself talked into this?’
‘It was Prime Minister Churchill, Mr President,’ replied Stimson. ‘At the Yalta conference. President Roosevelt was a sick man and Churchill took advantage of his weakness to convince him they’d both made too many concessions to Stalin. Churchill was insistent that possession of the uranium bomb was the only way we could stop the Soviets taking even more territory. Their forces in the European theatre are three times greater than the entire allied armies and I think that’s what convinced FDR to listen to Churchill – ’
‘And to sign a pact with the Devil,’ said the President, snatching off his glasses in anger.
‘In fairness, sir, the name Faustus was chosen by Churchill, so he was aware of what they’d both done.’
Truman slammed his hand down on the table and glared at Stimson. ‘Stop arguing like a lawyer, Henry. This is no court of law and that’s no damn excuse – you’re not Churchill’s attorney. FDR was too sick to stand up to Stalin at Yalta and it sure looks to me like no one had the gumption to help him out. I know Stalin’s a monster, something that Ambassador Harriman never tires of reminding me of, but Churchill had no business doing this. He lands us in this mess, he’s probably going to be Prime Minister for the next five years and I’m sure as hell that he’s going to expect us to pay for the rebuilding of his precious British Empire once this is over. Well he can forget it. No more favours and I’ll make damn sure I tell him personally.’
Stimson nodded gravely, the obedient functionary to the last. His version of events had neatly sidestepped the unpalatable truth that James F Byrnes – whom Truman went on to name US Secretary of State in July 1945 – was almost entirely responsible for persuading FDR to agree to Stalin’s proposals at Yalta. He cleared his throat and continued. ‘There is another problem, Mr President…’
Truman stopped leafing through the pages and, grim-faced, looked over his glasses at Groves. ‘Don’t tell me how, but I knew you were going to say something about problems,’ he said.
‘The problem,’ said Groves, ‘is that there’s been a leak of information and the two scientists that we’ve extracted from Berlin, Reiss and Standfluss, are fully aware of the Faustus deal to the last dot and comma, including the identities of the other two passengers. Needless to say that wasn’t supposed to happen.’
‘So how the hell did it happen?’ asked the President.
‘The plan was for the two groups to be kept apart and for the two aircraft bringing them across our lines to take off from different locations and then to rendezvous en route, prior to heading towards the airbase at Schleswig. It looks like the Germans double-crossed us – I’d guess they didn’t trust us to keep our side of the bargain, any more than we’d have trusted them.’
Truman paused for a moment and studied the names in the file intently. ‘The scientists we need, we just have to make sure they’re made fully aware of what’ll happen to them if they so much think about telling anyone else. As for the other two, I don’t like extra-judicial killings, but I don’t see what choice we have. Get rid of them.’
Groves shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that won’t work either, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘They pre-empted us there too. Letters of safe conduct, signed by the late President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill, for all four of the parties involved were flown from Berlin to an air base in southern Germany on the very same day and will be in Switzerland by now. If anything happens to these people, the information will be made public. And if the Russians find out what we’ve done, then I believe war will be inevitable.’
‘Remind me, Mr Secretary,’ said Truman. ‘What’s the name of our OSS guy in Zurich?’
‘Allen Dulles, sir. We’ve already contacted him and he’s tried all his sources. None of them knows anything about the consignment. If it crossed the border into Switzerland, which we have to assume it has, then it’s disappeared into thin air. He’s still trying, but it’s not looking good.’
Truman threw the file down onto the coffee table in annoyance. ‘Well, gentlemen, I guess we have no choice. Thanks to Mr Winston goddam Churchill, if we want this bomb we’re going to have to look after our four guests very carefully. Now is there anything else I need to know about before I get any more surprises like this one?’
‘I don’t think so, sir,’ replied Stimson.
‘So if I find out that Betty Grable is really a man and the Marx Brothers are planning a Communist take-over, you’re in deep trouble, Mr Secretary.’
Stimson smiled obligingly.
‘And I wasn’t joking,’ said the President. ‘You can both leave. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.’
The same afternoon General Groves attended another meeting, this time in a small, windowless office on the first basement level of the Pentagon. He entered and nodded to the two US Marines who came to attention and left the room, locking the steel door behind them. With Groves were three other men: the two German scientists, Standfluss and Reiss; and a tall, painfully thin man in his early forties, with a large, aquiline nose and who
was toying nervously with the broad brim of his pork-pie hat. His name was J Robert Oppenheimer, known to his friends as “Oppie”.
‘Gentlemen. If you please,’ said Groves, interrupting the animated conversation that was taking place between Oppenheimer and Standfluss. He knew enough German to notice that each addressed the other using the familiar “du” form. ‘I would remind you that what you are saying is being recorded and that it will save us all a lot of time if we don’t have to go to the effort of getting it translated.’
‘Please forgive me,’ said Standfluss, in accented but grammatically perfect English, ‘It’s just that we haven’t seen each other since we were at Göttingen in…. when was it, Robert? Nineteen twenty eight?’
‘Twenty seven I think, Max,’ said Oppenheimer.
Groves cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen, if I may?’ Silence fell once more. ‘Thank you. I take it you know why you are here?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Standfluss, casually. ‘You need our help. Without Dr Reiss’s gas centrifuges you can’t refine uranium quickly enough to make a bomb and you can’t yet generate an accurate enough shock front to make a reliable implosion trigger for a plutonium weapon, which is why I’m here. If the Soviets get their bomb ready first then they’ll walk right across Europe and you won’t be able to stop them.’
Oppenheimer dropped his hat and Groves stood rooted to the spot, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly, like a goldfish. Finally, as the first to gain something approaching composure, Groves spoke. ‘Interesting conjecture, Dr Standfluss, but whatever makes you think that?’
The Manhattan Deception Page 2
