Joseph Kanon - Los Alamos

“You don’t look as if you’re enjoying it.”

“I am, though. In a way. Watching you get all cross in the heat. Nobody to bother us. Not even having to talk.”

“Not a care in the world.”

She looked up at him. “All right, not exactly.”

“We’re not exactly alone, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t look-no, really, don’t look. Why do people always turn when you say that? When you get a chance, the guy two tables behind you in the paisley tie.”

“What am I supposed to do, drop a fork?” she said, teasing. “I haven’t done that since school. Are you serious about this?”

“You might look for a waiter. If you want some more iced tea.”

“You are serious.” She waited for a minute, then turned to look, her eyes resting only for a moment on the other table.

“What, the man with the ice cream?” she said as she turned back. “You’re joking.”

“No. He’s tailing us.”

“How do you know?”

“Did you see his hat? They always put their hats where they can get them in a hurry. It’s practically a calling card.”

“Rubbish.”

“He hasn’t looked at you once.”

“Maybe I’m not his type.”

“Not that way. He hasn’t looked at you at all.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine. All the better. You’ll act naturally, which is what we want.”

“Not now, I won’t,” she said, putting down her fork. “Why all the mystery, anyway? It’s ridiculous. Isn’t he one of yours?”

“I hope so.”

“Then why—”

“Army Intelligence doesn’t like me very much. Somebody comes in from the outside, they have to think something’s going on. They hate being left out. So they watch. It’s what they do.”

“But can’t you have him called off?”

“Then they’d know something was going on. Right now I’m just a bad boy taking advantage of some privileges they wish they had. They have no idea what we’re doing.”

“Except the obvious.”

He smiled. “Except the obvious.”

“Then why did you say you hoped it was them?”

“Well, there’s another possibility. We still don’t know who’s on the Hill. Karl was in intelligence and he’s dead. This guy may be one of ours, but I don’t recognize him. So I hope it’s just somebody Lansdale’s brought in to play house detective. Otherwise, we could have a problem. Either way, I don’t want him around when you see Matthew. That could ruin everything.”

Emma thought for a minute, stirring with her long iced tea spoon. “You’re right. I’m not enjoying this. Not anymore. It’s not much fun, is it, everybody lying to everybody. I wish you hadn’t told me. Why did you?”

“You’d have to know sometime. We have to lose him. I can’t do that alone.”

“Why bother? You’d just be looking for the next. At least he’s the devil you know.”

“We can’t do this with an audience. Whoever he is. One of ours. One of theirs. Maybe both at the same time. We can’t take the chance. Matthew has to believe you, or this won’t work at all.”

“And what if he’s just a man with a hat?”

“Then he won’t mind. Look, nobody knows about Matthew. It’s the one chance we have of protecting him.”

“Unless it works,” Emma said, turning her head to the window. “The rain’s stopped. Now it’s just steaming.”

“I said I’d do what I could,” Connolly said. “Why don’t we take this one step at a time?”

“Right. What do we do first? Push him off the train?”

“It’s not a joke, Emma.”

“Then stop enjoying it so much. It’s all a game to you. Spot him, lose him. See how good they are. See how good you are. My God, I wish we were done with this.”

“We’re almost there,” he said evenly, calming her.

“Can I ask you something? If no one knows we’re doing this, that means no one’s looking after us either, doesn’t it? If anything happens, I mean. There won’t be anyone. Not even the man with the hat.”

“That’s right.”

“I hadn’t thought about that. Should I be frightened?”

“Are you?”

“No. Oddly enough. But then I’m a well-known fool.”

“Nobody knows that here,” he said, smiling. “You’re just a ticket, remember?”

“Your friend knows,” she said, moving her head slightly toward him.

“He knows you’re here. He doesn’t know what you’re doing.”

“What am I supposed to be doing?”

“Having fun. Being bad.”

He reached across the table to cover her hand.

“I’m not,” she said.

“Pretend. Smile back at me. Laugh a little, if you can manage it.”

“I thought we were trying to lose him, not put on a show.”

“Not yet. Later. First we have to establish you.”

“How do we do that?”

“Finish your tea. Then we’ll go back to the compartment and hang out a DO NOT DISTURB sign and make lots of noise.”

“They listen at keyholes?” she said.

“They bribe porters.”

“You’re serious?”

“About the noise, anyway.”

“It’s hot.”

“Steaming. We’ll take some ice.”

She laughed at him now, a low murmur.

“That’s it,” he said. “Just like that.”

“How long does all this take? Before I’m established?”

“We have all day. We can lose him in New Jersey. People are always getting lost in New Jersey.”

They left the train in Newark, half hidden by a pool of servicemen greeting their families on the platform.

“Go to the ladies’, then meet me at the buses,” he said as they walked.

“Where?”

“Out to the right. Follow the signs.”

“While he follows you.”

“No, he’ll assume we’re still on the train.”

“What about the porter?”

“We left the tip-he won’t care. He’ll think we’re in the club car. Last call.”

“And if he does follow you?”

“Then you won’t see me at the bus station.”

But he was waiting for her, fanning himself with a newspaper on one of the wooden benches. The air, heavy and sticky, smelled of cheap diesel.

“What have you got in here, anyway?” he said, pointing to her suitcase.

“My trousseau.” She sat down. “So are we alone?”

“I think so.”

“Now what?”

“Bus in ten minutes. Then we find a hotel.”

“You didn’t book?”

“Yes,” he said smiling, “but if we go there, why did we bother to get off the train?”

“I told you I wasn’t very good at this. I just want a bath. I don’t care where it is. What do you think that man’s doing now?”

“Our friend? He’s running around Penn Station. Sweating.”

Emma giggled. “Goodness, he must be angry. Unless you’re wrong, of course. Maybe he’s just a man heading for a long soak in the tub and we’re the ones running around sweating.”

“Either way,” Connolly said.

The bus was crowded and Connolly had to stand, resting against the arm of her seat and holding on to the luggage rack as they bounced through the New Jersey marshes. When they swept around the great curve to the tunnel, the city gleaming across the water, he felt for the first time the excitement of homecoming. Then the overbright bathroom tiles of the tunnel and they were in the crowded streets, turning down into the basement of the Hotel Dixie with its rows of storage lockers and shoeshine stands and people holding tickets on their way to somewhere. Out on the street, he felt overwhelmed, like a farm boy in the movies. Even in the heat, everything moved quickly, taxis and boys in navy whites and khaki and lights racing through neon tubes. No one had even heard of Los Alamos.

They took a taxi to a hotel on Lexington, not far from Grand Central, where he managed to wangle a room facing the side street. When he opened the window, soot blew in with the sound of the Third Avenue el, but there was a fan and water gushed from the taps, a world away from the drought on the Hill.