Los Alamos (36 page)

The next day was better. Emma sat leafing through magazines, her skirt hiked up around her thighs to catch the breeze. The landscape was green now and moist, and Connolly watched it lazily, ignoring the magazine in his lap. A GI’s account of Okinawa, filtered through another Connolly at OWI for the right polish. No incontinence and night fears. Wounds to the abdomen, never lower. No one was ever hit in the genitals. Corpses in photographs were whole. Connolly had heard stories of loose body parts being removed from the ground so that the picture could be shot. But that had been before, when morale had been an issue. Now there was a new brutality to the layouts. GIs stared out from the slick pages, glazed and slack-jawed, stunned by the fanaticism of the enemy. The hills were pockmarked with thousands of hand-dug caves. Even at the end, the war meant to go on and on. There was still time for the gadget. Outside the window, farms and wooded hills slipped by, sleepy and unknowing.

A quick thunderstorm sent streaks of rain along the dining car windows during lunch, blocking the view. Emma, preoccupied, picked at her chicken salad, too listless to look out.

“You all right?” Connolly said.

She nodded.

“You’re not sorry you came?”

“I was sorry before I came. Now I’m curious.”

“About Matthew?”

She nodded again. “What’s he like, do you think? Do you know, actually? Did they tell you?”

“An address. He works in Union Square. He still does some kind of work for the party. I don’t know what.”

“Do you mind? About him, I mean.”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” he said lightly. “Is he good-looking?”

“He was. Maybe he just seemed that way because the comrades were so dreary.” She caught his look. “Yes, he’s good-looking. Fair. Thin—he never ate. Cheese and a biscuit, that would do. He liked—You don’t really want to know all this, do you?”

“No.”

“No,” she agreed. “Anyway, that was then. People change.” She turned her fork, thinking. “If he’s still working for the party, why is he allowed to stay?”

“It’s not illegal.”

“But they keep an eye out.”

“I guess.”

“Do they know about me?”

“No, you don’t exist.”

“I like that. Like riding on trains, isn’t it? No one knows who you are. You’re just a ticket. I’ve always liked that. Even now. I shouldn’t, I know, but I’m rather enjoying this.”

“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.

“Not exactly the Waldorf, is it?” Emma said.

“We wouldn’t get into the Waldorf. Have a bath, you’ll feel better. It’s the same water.”

“At half the price. Care to join me?” she said, undressing.

“You go. I have to make some calls.”

“Old girlfriends?”

“No. About tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she said, no longer smiling, then went to the bathroom and closed the door.

He called Tony at Costello’s to arrange the next day’s meeting—“Yeah, two booths, I got it. What you got going, some skirt?”—then talked to a friend on the paper about the wire. He placed a call to Mills, smoking a cigarette by the window as he waited for the long-distance connection.

“I thought you were at the Hotel Pennsylvania,” Mills said.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

There was a pause. “Very funny,” Mills said finally.

“I never made it. It’s hot back here. I decided to cool off in the country instead.”

“Which is why the operator said the call was from New York.”

“Must be a mistake.”

“Yeah. How’d you manage the disappearing act?” Connolly was silent.

“Okay, so I’m just wasting the government’s money. Why’d you call, anyway?”

“To hear what you just told me.”

Mills paused again. “You don’t want to annoy people, Mike, you really don’t. Now what am I supposed to tell him?”

“Tell him there’s a good band on the Pennsylvania roof. He’ll enjoy it. I just want some privacy. Out here in the country.”

“Yeah, privacy. Well, you’ve got it. Unless I can trace the call.”

“Don’t even bother. I’m in a booth. But you probably figured that already.”

“Shit,” Mills said, hanging up.

When he went into the bathroom, she was lying back with her knees sticking out of the water like islands, staring ahead at nothing.

“You going to stay in there all night?” he said, starting to undress.

“Everything’s going to be all right, isn’t it?” she said, still preoccupied.

“Yes.”

“I mean, really all right,” she said, looking up at him.

He nodded. “Come on, finish up and we’ll go out somewhere.”

“You’re joking. I can’t move.”

“Okay,” he said, climbing into the tub and falling on her, splashing water over the side.

“What are you doing?” she said, laughing.

“Let’s stay here,” he said, kissing her.

“Stop. Oh, look at the mess.”

“It’s water. They expect that here.”

“Oh, it’s that sort of hotel, is it?”

“Sure.”

“No, really, we can’t. Look at the floor.” She sat up, water sliding off her breasts.

“I thought you couldn’t move,” he said, holding her by the waist. “Come on, lie down.”

“You ought to cool off,” she said, rolling over on top of him and pushing him under. When he pulled his head up, sputtering, she was already out of the tub, grabbing a towel. He stood up, playing a sea monster, and reached out for her.

“My God, you’re not going to chase me around the room,” she said, laughing. “You look ridiculous.”

He lunged for her. She darted out of the room, and ran over to the fan, but he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her toward the bed.

“We’re all wet,” she said, playing.

“So what?” He lowered her to the bed.

“The bed’ll be sopping.”

“We’ll sleep in the tub,” he said, moving his hand up along her leg, soapy and slick. “Anything else?”

“The curtain,” she said quickly, her breath shallow.

He grinned at her, then got up and flicked off the light. He had thought she might move, but she lay still, the fan blowing over her body. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking at her white skin in the faint light that came from the bathroom, then moved his hands along her legs, passing over her belly until they rested under her breasts. When he bent over and kissed them, one after the other, she shivered.

“It’s not right,” she said. “This isn’t supposed to be fun.”

He moved his face from her breasts up to her neck, lowering his body onto hers so that their wet skins slid against each other.