Kevin Anderson - The Trinity Paradox

Esau knew he had to make his point with Milch. Armaments Minister Albert Speer had not bothered to attend the conference, but Milch had his ear and would report back, favorably or unfavorably.

Air Marshal Milch got to his feet. Esau recognized why the man usually remained seated, because he was relatively short and stockily built. He set his smoldering cigarette on the edge of the scarred table, then looked across the room. “And such a weapon—Professor Heisenberg, tell me, how big would a bomb have to be to destroy a whole city?”

Esau’s fingernails dug into his palms. Heisenberg, always Heisenberg! Why hadn’t Milch bothered to ask him?

Heisenberg shrugged, then answered after a moment of pursing his lips in thought, “About as large as a pineapple.”

“So.” Air Marshal Milch sat back down. His face seemed to be carrying a smile.

Esau cringed, suspecting that now they would be given the order to produce such a bomb and have one ready within a few months. Obviously, Heisenberg was a theoretician—he had no common sense. If he had any background in party politics at all, he would have learned never to make promises that might later backfire….

Somehow the conference had achieved its aim. Word trickled up the chain of command. Armaments Minister Speer and Deputy Fuhrer Goering had become interested in the project, though Hitler himself had taken no notice. Esau had been appointed Plenipotentiary of Nuclear Physics.

Now he stood up from the desk in his new Berlin office, went to the hall and called for someone to bring his boxes into the room. He wanted to unpack. He knew he would be staying awhile. This project still had an enormous amount of work to do before it could accomplish its aims.

Was it something to be proud of, Esau wondered, to oversee this broken-up nuclear program, with its offshoots of scattered research? With physicists squabbling over minimal resources, duplicating each other’s work?

The whole thing seemed impossible. It would take a miracle.

Mud still covered A Street, but the mountain morning shone blue and crisp. Though the research town was a mere shadow of what it would become decades later, Elizabeth thought the place had a greater intensity to it, a desperate frenzy that kept everyone working their hardest. Jeeps sped by carrying loads of uniformed soldiers; bespectacled men picked their way across puddles to the Tech Area.

All the women wore dresses. Mrs. Canapelli had loaned Elizabeth a dress, a gaudy green flowery print that probably would have looked better on a sofa, and she had mentioned the best days to look at new bolts of material at the PX—as if Elizabeth had any intention of sewing herself a dress. Elizabeth hadn’t even worn a skirt in years, but at least now she felt part of the crowd. Mrs. Canapelli had also loaned her bobby pins and barrettes for her hair. Better to avoid calling attention to herself any more than she had to. Elizabeth intended to keep hiding in the woodwork as long as she could—at least until she figured out what she wanted to do.

Keeping to the side of the street, she made for the administration building. Groups of men passed her on the way. Several smiled a wordless greeting, one man whistled loudly. She wasn’t supposed to mind that sort of thing in 1943.

She clutched the paper given her by the shift captain. Working the In-Processing desk should be easier now that she knew the position would be only temporary. Someone would find her paperwork, though it had been right on top of the In box, and the transfer to von Neumann’s computations group would no doubt take a few more days, even with expedite stamped on the form.

She entered the administration building through the same door she had crept into the night before. She slowed as she walked in, trying to be nonchalant. After the bustle on the street, the place seemed deserted. Until another busload of Project volunteers arrived, In-Processing probably had time to catch up with some of the paperwork.

A young woman smiled at her from behind a stack of papers. She had tightly curled hair and wore thick red lipstick, which smeared the butt of the smoldering cigarette in a metal ashtray on her desk. “Good morning. Did you come up on the bus last night?”

“Actually, the day before yesterday, but I forgot to check in. My luggage was lost with all my papers.” The story rolled more easily off her tongue after she had practiced it several times. “I was wet and tired, and just went to the dormitory. Sorry about that.” She handed over the assignment papers the captain had given her. “I guess I’m supposed to help you out here until my transfer comes through.”

“Good luck! This is where they always stick their loose ends. You’re the second person this week they’ve stashed here until her papers were found. I can always use some help, but don’t plan on staying around for more than a few hours; they always seem to straighten things out just when the work is about to be finished.”

Elizabeth hoped for exactly that, but she forced a smile. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and they won’t find my papers.”

“Fat chance,” laughed the woman. She stood and extended a hand. “By the way, I’m Holly Vanderdeem.”

“Elizabeth Devane.”

“Nice to meet you. Do you go by Liz? Betty? Betsy?”

“Betsy?” She raised her eyebrows. You’ve got to be kidding! “Elizabeth will do just fine, thank you.” She forced another smile. “I’m not much on cute nicknames.”

“Sorry.” Holly got up to the crowded file cabinets and began to search in the D drawer. She took her cigarette along. Elizabeth tried to blink the smoke from her eyes. “Where were you supposed to be assigned?”

“Uh, to one of the computation groups. At least that’s why I was recruited.” She went over and opened one of the windows to let in some fresh air. Outside she heard a man shouting orders to a construction crew.

“Well, let me show you around the office for now. You can help me a bit. The work is mostly routine. Things tend to happen in spurts up here, mostly when the bus from Santa Fe brings in a new batch of workers. Sometimes a whole day will go by without anyone coming in. Every once in a while we get a real doozy—like that Russian physicist who could barely speak English.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Have you had the security indoctrination yet?”

“No.”

“You’ll find out you’re not even supposed to say ‘physicist’—they’re all called engineers.” She straightened. “Anything out of the ordinary goes to the captain. The rest of our time is spent filing the new assignment actions.” She nodded to the pile of paper by the back window. “I’m way behind on that, so if you don’t mind helping me file them…”

“It’ll keep me from going crazy.” Unless I’m already crazy, dreaming I’ve been thrown back in time to old Los Alamos.