Los Alamos (3 page)

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the only chair. “Please. I apologize for not seeing you in Washington, but I was out on the road, as usual. They say the war’s winding down, but I don’t see it. Now. You’ve been briefed?”

“On Karl Bruner’s death, yes.”

Even the sound of the name seemed to make him uncomfortable.

“Yes,” he said, throwing a folder on the pile and resting his hands on the back of his chair. “First time anything like this has happened on the project. Terrible thing, any way you look at it. The question is, how do we look at it?”

“Sir?”

“I mean, is there more here than meets the eye? Less? Do we have a problem?”

“Well, you’ve got a dead body.”

“Correction. The Santa Fe police have a dead body. What we’ve got is a missing security officer. That could be a heck of a lot more serious.”

“Any idea how serious?”

Groves glared for a minute, then sighed. “No. Maybe we don’t even have a problem. Maybe it was just—something that could happen to anyone. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with the project or his being on the Hill. Maybe. But we need to be sure. And we’re going to be.” He stopped and looked straight at Connolly. “I’ve seen that look a million times before, so don’t waste it. Groves going off the deep end again. Spies under the bed. Paranoid. In fact,” he said, smiling a little, “I can almost guarantee you that’s what you’ll hear from my friend Dr. Oppenheimer. Says it to me all the time. But sometimes I think Robert’s too trusting for his own good, so where do we draw the line? I can’t change the way I feel—somebody’s got to worry about things. Right from the start people here treated security like a joke. They’re brilliant men, I’m the first to say it, but sometimes they’re like kids—irresponsible, you know, maybe even looking for a little trouble. Some of them used to play pranks with the mail—can you imagine that? Grown men? They used to cut holes in the fence just to see if they could get in and out without anybody noticing. Grown men.
Brilliant
men. So somebody’s got to play principal, and I guess that’s me. I don’t care what anyone says so long as the project’s safe.”

He stopped suddenly, looking a little surprised at himself for having run on.

“I’m not a policeman,” Connolly said, a question.

“I don’t want a policeman. Tommy McManus tells me you’re a good man and I can trust you. If Tommy says it, that’s it. He doesn’t know how you ended up at OWI in the first place. He also tells me you can snoop around without upsetting the horses.”

“That why you wanted a civilian?”

Groves smiled. “Partly. The scientists are allergic to uniforms. It’s very important to keep things running smoothly now. We’re coming to the end of the project. I’ve got a lot of nervous types up here—sometimes I think the smarter they are, the more nervous they are. You never know what’s going to set them off. I’m not going to stand for anyone running around digging up dirt that doesn’t mean a thing. We take care of ourselves. Do you know how many security incidents we’ve investigated since this project began? Over a thousand. Wives talking at cocktail parties about how brilliant their husbands are. Factory workers in Tennessee bragging about their paychecks. Newspapermen get curious, so we have to make sure they don’t get too curious.”

“General, I think you should know that McManus recommended me because I’ve spent the last two years in Washington keeping you out of the papers. That’s part of my beat—the blackout on the project. Scientific journals. Everything.”

“So you understand the science?” Groves asked, curious.

“Does anybody understand the science?”

Groves looked at him.

“A little,” Connolly said apologetically. “Enough to know what can’t be said. Which is just about everything. Right down to the word atom. Anyway, I’m familiar with the operation.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to tell you. Over a thousand incidents, and so far, not one leak and not one day of work lost. This isn’t going to be any different. You do your job right and the scientists aren’t even going to know you’re here. What’s the matter?” he said, catching the look on Connolly’s face.

“General, I’m just trying to figure out if I’m here because I don’t know anything or because you don’t want to. Are you trying to catch this guy or not?”

Groves raised his eyebrows. “That’s an interesting question,” he said finally. “I’m not sure. If somebody robbed Bruner and bopped him over the head, I hope the police catch him. But not if it means taking five minutes away from the project. It’s just not worth the time. Hate to put it like that, but it’s the truth. Do you have any idea how important this is, what we’re doing here? I know you keep it out of the papers, but do you know what it means? We could end the war.” He said this calmly, matter-of-factly, without the usual bond-drive fervor, so that Connolly took it as literal. “Right now you’ve got thousands of boys dying every week. You’ve got Curt LeMay running those B-29s over Japan like the wrath of God. We have no
idea
how many casualties. None. And the invasion will mean more and more. We can stop that if we finish the work here. So no, I don’t care if they catch one killer—we can catch millions. Unless it isn’t just a robbery. Unless it’s about the project. That’s what we’ve got to know.”

“Okay,” Connolly said, “so we want to find out if his being murdered had anything to do with the Hill, but we don’t want to bother anyone on the Hill finding out.”

Groves looked at him steadily. “Now you think you’re being funny. I allow one wisecrack, and now you’ve had yours.”

“Sorry. I just wonder if you’re giving the police a fair shake. Or me, for that matter.”

“Fair doesn’t apply to you,” he said evenly, “you’re working for me. The police? They took their own sweet time getting in touch, by which time the physical evidence—if there was physical evidence—didn’t amount to much and the papers already had the story. That’s the last thing we want. Luckily, it’s still a John Doe to them, no connection to the Hill at all. You make sure it stays that way.”

“So you put a lid on it.”

“Sealed. For good. The police will cooperate. Well, I guess they have to. They’re not even allowed up here.”

“And they still think it might have something to do with his being homosexual?”

“Now that’s just what I mean,” Groves said, louder suddenly. “Where do they get that? Says who? I do
not
want allegations like that going around. We’ve never had anything like that up here, and once that kind of rumor starts—” He trailed off, blushing, and Connolly realized that the subject was an embarrassment for him.

“General,” Connolly said calmly, “if he was homosexual, that would constitute a security risk all by itself. You know that.”

Groves looked at him and sat down, a kind of body sigh.

“Yes, I know that. But do you know what it means when you start a scare like that? I’ve seen it happen, down in Miami. The army goes on a queer hunt and there’s no end to it. You’ve got everybody looking over his shoulder and wondering, and that’s just the kind of mess I’m trying to avoid here.” He paused. “We don’t know anything except Bruner got caught with his pants down. Whatever that means. I want you to find out, but I don’t want you turning the place upside down to do it. There’s no need to smear this man’s reputation. For all we know, he didn’t do anything more than run into some drunk Mexican.”

“General, can I be frank? It’s unlikely the police are going to get anywhere—they aren’t even being told the man’s name. I take it you don’t want to call in the FBI—”

“Are you out of your mind? You do that and you’ve got Washington all over it and I’ll never get anything done. The FBI hasn’t been allowed near this project since 1943, and I intend to keep it that way. War Department intelligence takes care of the Manhattan District of the Army Corps of Engineers. That’s enough for me.”

“Except Bruner
was
intelligence.”

Groves peered at him. “That’s the rub, isn’t it? That’s what we can’t get past. He wasn’t just anybody. He was G-2. I don’t believe in coincidences. I’m paranoid, remember? I don’t know what’s involved here or who else is involved. I don’t know whether he was a fairy or not, but if he was we had
no idea
. Now that makes me worried.”

“So, an outsider,” Connolly said.

“McManus said you were like a dog with a bone with a story.”

“That’s reporting. I haven’t done that in a while. And that’s still not being a policeman.”

“The war makes us all into something different. I never met a reporter yet who didn’t think he’d make a better cop than a cop. Besides, you’re what I’ve got. You’re educated, so you can talk to the geniuses here without getting everyone riled up. You’re used to the police—Tommy said you covered the police blotter in New York before the war. If you can handle that, the police in Santa Fe should be a piece of cake. You’ll be official liaison to the chief there, by the way. We don’t want them to feel we’re not cooperating with them. And you’re already briefed on the project. Darn few have been, I might add, and nobody really knows it all except Robert.”

“And yourself.”

“And myself. And sometimes I wonder about that.”

Connolly smiled. This was about as far as Groves was likely to go toward making a joke, and he appreciated the effort.

“Well, now at least I know what my qualifications are.” In spite of himself, he was pleased. He hadn’t expected to like Groves, and now he found himself wanting his respect.

“And you were available,” Groves said bluntly. “There wasn’t time to get anyone else up to speed. I don’t know what we’ve got on our hands here, but we’d better find out PDQ. Any questions?”

“Not now,” Connolly said, getting up. “I assume everyone in G-2 knows I report to you?”

“Mills does. Colonel Lansdale’s away, so you work with Mills. As far as anyone else is concerned, you’re Bruner’s replacement. As far as Mills goes, you’re Bruner’s replacement
and
you’re investigating his death. If you need to reach me in Washington, Betty will always be able to find me. And of course Dr. Oppenheimer knows everything. If for any reason I’m unavailable, consider him me.”

Connolly smiled inwardly at the pairing, some odd Jack Sprat variation.

“So he’s one of the trustworthy scientists. Not one of the kids.”

Groves’s face grew stern. “Dr. Oppenheimer is a hero.” It was said utterly without irony, the highest accolade this spit-and-polish military man knew, and Connolly wondered at the intensity of his feeling. It seemed to have the brusque affection of old campaigners whose trench scars could never be shared. “He may just win this war for us. And he’s got enough here on his shoulders,” Groves said, standing, displaying his own capable frame, “without having to worry about some German G-2 going and getting himself killed.”

“Bruner was German?” Connolly said, surprised. “I hadn’t realized that.”

“Well, German born,” Groves said. “He’s American now, of course. Or was.”

“Is that usual? In G-2, I mean?”

“There’s nothing in that. He was fluent in both German and Russian, which comes in handy around here. Half the people on the Hill are from somewhere over there. There’s never been a question of his loyalty, if that’s what you mean.”

“Did you know him well?”

“Let’s just say I knew who he was. I try to keep tabs on everybody, but it’s impossible these days. The place is just too big now. Lansdale always thought highly of him. As I say, there was never a question of his loyalty.”

“There was never a question of his being murdered, either.”

Groves stopped, not sure how to respond, then brushed it aside. “You’d better get started. Anything else?”

“No, sir. I appreciate your confidence. One thing. Every reporter knows most murders don’t get solved unless the wife or the husband did it. I don’t want you to expect too much.”

Groves looked at him. “I like to get started on the right foot. I think we have, so let me tell you exactly what I expect. I expect you to get this job done, no excuses, which is the same thing I expect from everybody. I expect the contractors to put up buildings in half the time they usually do. And I expect the professors here to deliver our gadget on time. So far we’re on schedule. No leaks, no trouble. The only thing we can’t seem to solve is getting enough water. Now, you come back and tell me I’ve got nothing else to worry about and I’ll be the happiest man on earth. I hate to worry, it slows things down. So you go and do that. And you should know, I always get what I expect.”

Connolly stared at him, not sure what to make of this vaudeville turn, but since Groves seemed perfectly genuine in the part, he saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Groves saluted back, a surprisingly careless wave of the hand. “I’ll be back in a few weeks. By the way,” he said, a slight smile beginning on his face, “don’t think my bark is worse than my bite. It isn’t.”

The housing office was in one of the old school cabins, dwarfed now by another huge water tank. Mills had arranged for him to have Bruner’s room, and Connolly guessed this had violated the usual waiting-list order of things, because the clerk was surly as he signed the forms.

“Nothing’s been done to that room,” he said. “Nobody told us. You better change the sheets. Lieutenant,” he said to Mills, “can you kit him out over at housekeeping? We’re about to close here.”

“Sure. How’s my Sundt duplex coming?”

“In your dreams.”

“Bathtub Row?”

The clerk didn’t even bother to answer.

“Want to translate?” Connolly said as they went outside.

“Bathtub Row’s for the top brass—they’re the old buildings from the ranch school, which means they were actually built for people. They’re the only housing on the Hill with tubs, not showers, so they’re considered the top of the line. Of course, they don’t get much water either, so big deal.”

“Sundt?”

“Construction company that built a lot of the Hill. The housing units are named for whoever built them, so you’ve got Sundt units and Morgan duplexes and McKee prefabs—those are the flat-tops—and Pascos. Then you’re down to trailers and huts and whatever keeps the cold out.”

“I assume Bruner wasn’t in a Sundt.”