Los Alamos (35 page)

“What happened to you?”

“I walked into a door,” Batchelor said, his voice flat. Next to the neat pile of Eisler’s effects, his battered face was jarring, the disorder of violence. “How did you hear?” he asked, embarrassed.

“I didn’t. I came for these. Are you all right?”

The boy nodded.

“That must have been some door,” Connolly said, moving toward Eisler’s things. “You going to let him get away with it?”

The soldier shrugged. “It was just a door. I’ll live.”

“The unfriendly kind.”

The boy smiled weakly, wincing a little from the cut at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, the big unfriendly kind. I’ll have to be more careful at the PX.”

“Maybe next time you should just stay away,” Connolly said. Then, hearing the tone of his voice, “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s all right,” the soldier said, his face weary. “I had it coming.”

“Nobody has it coming,” Connolly said, suddenly angry for him, then aware that he didn’t know anything about it. What was it like living this way? Was every meeting a risk? He thought again of the ordinary world outside, so bright that it made any other invisible. And then it occurred to him that it might have been a different kind of misstep, the wrong question. Connolly’s fault.

“This didn’t have anything to do with—I mean, I hope you weren’t—”

“Snooping?” The boy shook his head. “No. Nothing like that. Just a door. I never heard a word, by the way. Since you ask.”

“I know. He wasn’t—we made a mistake.”

The boy looked at him. “So what was it?”

“We know it wasn’t that. Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to bother anybody.”

He nodded his head again. “Good. I’m glad about that, anyway.”

“So don’t go banging into any more doors. Not because of that.”

The soldier shrugged. “I’m just a bad judge of character, that’s all. I never was good at that. How about you?”

The question caught Connolly off-guard, as if it had come from another conversation. “Not very. Sometimes.” He moved to gather up Eisler’s things. “I still think you’ve got a lot of guts, though.”

The smile this time was fuller, a wry grimace. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I also think you’re a damned fool to let him get away with it. You ought to turn the bastard in.”

When Batchelor looked up at him, his eyes seemed almost pleading. “I can’t. Don’t you know that? That’s the way it works. I can’t.”

Connolly thought about him as he walked toward Eisler’s apartment, carrying the valise. It shouldn’t be that easy to get hurt. He wondered what would happen to Batchelor after the war, when he would drift off the Hill to some other life, hidden from Connolly and everyone else until it showed up again on his face.

At least his mystery had its bits of visible evidence. Eisler’s had receded with him. Here were the clothes, the books, the old pictures. Connolly sat smoking for a while in Eisler’s living room, peering at the walls as if some idea lurked there, waiting to be found. Then he started going through the books. He took them down from the shelves, flipped through, then made piles on the floor. Nothing. He remembered that first night in Karl’s room, the presence in those few neat possessions, someone who was still living there and had been delayed on his way back. But Eisler was gone, perhaps had never been here at all. All these objects, rooms full of them, pared away until finally there was only one idea. Those last weeks with Connolly had been his one brief contact. And then he had gone back into hiding. What was it like to believe so completely, to let everything go but one thing? What was it like not to care who got hurt? Standing there with a meaningless German book in his hand, Connolly felt the room go empty. An entire life for a single idea. And it had been wrong.

15

“I
WON’T BLOODY
do it,” she said, sitting up.

“You’ve got to.”

“I don’t.”

She had gathered the crumpled sheet around her as if she had been surprised by an intruder. The room was warm, closed against the afternoon light.

“You’re the only way it can work,” he said calmly.

She stared at him, then jumped out of bed and grabbed the clothes off the floor. She held them in front of her, then turned to the bathroom door, tripping in the dimness. “Bugger,” she said, stumbling toward the window. When she jerked the cord of the shade, the light of the room, amber and erotic, flashed harsh white. A cheap rug and Formica table, Connolly sitting up in the messy bed. He watched her try to pull on her slip, turning it around to find the opening, anxious to be covered.

“I’ll be with you. Every step,” he said.

She stopped, frustrated with the slip, and stood holding it.

“You’re lovely,” she said. “Lovely. Waiting till we’d done it before you’d ask. What did you think? A good slap and tickle and then a bit of spying on the side? There’s a good girl. You must be mad. I won’t.”

“Emma, please. I’ve explained it badly.”

“Have you?” she said, struggling with the slip again. “Cheat on one husband, then go and trap another. That’s roughly it, isn’t it? I won’t, thank you very much. He’s my husband. Or was. Is. Whatever he is, I’m not sending him to jail.”

“He won’t go to jail. They don’t want him—he’s the go-between. At the worst, they’d ship him home.”

“Yes? Funny, I can hear the keys rattling already.”

“I don’t understand you. He walked out on you.”

“Well, that’s not quite a prison offense yet, is it? They wouldn’t have enough jails.”

“It’s not about him.”

“It is to me. I don’t
want
to see him. He’s dead. And I’m not bringing him back to life. Just so you can put him away.”

“Nobody’s putting him away.”

“Well, whatever happens, it would be my doing, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t even know he existed if I hadn’t told you. Before you got your marvelous idea.”

“Calm down.”

“I
won’t
calm down,” she said. “I suppose you’ve already offered my services. That must have caused quite a stir in the security office. Lord, what a past. Who’d have thought. I didn’t know she went in for that sort of thing.”

“Nobody knows. Nobody’s going to.”

“What made you think I’d do it?”

“I thought you’d want to,” he said evenly. “We’ve got to find out. It’s important.”

“Want to? Why? For the good of the country? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I thought you’d do it for Karl.”

“Karl?” she said, disconcerted. “Karl’s dead.”

“So is Eisler. Maybe somebody else, for all we know.”

“Maybe the whole bloody world. Look, you carry the sword of vengeance. You’re good at it.”

“Emma, I need you to help me. He’ll trust you.”

“What makes you think so? Old times’ sake? Or am I supposed to go to bed with him? Is that it? Maybe you want to watch.”

“Don’t.”

“Is that it? Just like Mata Hari?”

“No, of course not. If you’d let me explain—”

“Oh, you. You’d talk the birds from the trees to get your way. I suppose we’ll be saving the world next. With me on my back.”

“Will you listen?”

“You listen,” she said, giving up on the slip and walking over to the bathroom. “Listen to yourself. You might be surprised what you hear.” She slammed the door behind her.

He sat on the bed for a minute, waiting, but there was only the sound of running water. He put on his pants and went over to the window, turning the slats of the blinds halfway to look out at the dusty parking lot. Her anger had surprised him. It seemed to thrash and spurt like some well that bursts deep down, thwarted till it reaches air. He thought of that night at the square dance, when it seemed no more than high spirits, when he had first wanted her. He wondered if she was douching, washing him away. He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke catch the light. The awful thing was, she was right. He’d waited till they were finished. He’d made love to her knowing he would ask.

When she came out of the bathroom, she was in her slip and her face was still damp with water. She brushed back her hair with her fingers and sat down, crossing her legs with a theatrical calmness. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t bite. Do you have another one of those?”

He handed her a cigarette, not saying anything, so that the silence was an apology. The air in the room settled, all the bad words seeping out the window with the smoke.

“Is it important to you?” she said finally.

“Yes.”

“Yes, it would be, wouldn’t it?” Her lips curled in a kind of amused resignation, as if she were laughing at herself.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“About my father,” she said, almost dreamily. “He got it right, didn’t he? Here’s the room—seedy, that would be his word for it. In the middle of some American desert. That’s about nowhere, or near enough. And I’m sitting here, smoking a cigarette in my slip, like a slut.”

“Emma.”

“No, like a slut. Some man’s sweat still all over me and a husband down the road and another somewhere else—my God. Quite a sight. And my lover. Well, my lover. All very much as he predicted.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I love you.”

“And that makes it all different. Whatever that means.”

“It means I won’t ask you again. I won’t ask anything. Forget it.”

“Could you? No, you may as well ask, now that we’ve started. What, exactly?”

“You mean you’ll do it?”

“I won’t do him any harm. Can you promise me he won’t be harmed? No, never mind. You can’t promise, but you would. You’d lie. You couldn’t help it.”

“I won’t lie to you. Nothing’s going to happen to him.”

“I won’t whore for you.”

“Do you really think I’d ask you to do that?”

“No.”

“Then what’s this all about?”

She turned away, facing the room. “I don’t know. Not wanting to rake up the past, I suppose. Can you understand that? You never know what you’re going to find. I don’t want to go back.”

“It’s just this once. You’d have to sometime.”

“To straighten things out, you mean? Oh, that’s good. Darling, do let’s get a friendly annulment. Meanwhile, here are some lovely secrets for your trouble. Is that the idea? My God, I don’t know if I can do it. I’m not that good a liar.”

“It’s not a lie. The papers are real.”

“I wouldn’t be. He’d spot it in a minute. Why him, of all people?”

“You didn’t have anywhere else to turn. You trust him.” He met her glance.

“Why now? How did I know where to find him?”

“You’ve known for some time. You just didn’t want to—rake up the past.”

“But now I’m ready for a bit of gardening.”

“This was important. You need his help. For your lover’s sake.”

“Well, at least that wouldn’t be lying.”

“Your lover, Corporal Waters. Box 1663, Santa Fe.”

“What’s he like, this one?”

“An idealist. Like the first one.”

“What a bastard you are.”

“He’ll believe you. These things run to type.”

“Until you,” she said, stubbing out the cigarette. But she was interested now, in spite of herself. “Why not Daniel?”

“He’s real. They could check.”

“What am I supposed to tell
him
, by the way? I’m off to New York for some shopping?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll have to come up with something. Maybe Oppie’s asked you to help with some visiting Brits. It’s a chance to get away. Something.”

Emma got up and looked out the window. “I’ll have to tell him about us sometime, you know. Maybe it’s now.”

“Not yet.”

She turned to look at him. “Why? Out of curiosity.”

“It’s better to wait. We don’t know how he’ll react. Besides, he’s busy.”

“Useful, you mean. To the project. We wouldn’t want to risk any complications now, would we? Of a personal nature.”

“No, we wouldn’t.”

She looked at him for a minute, then began pacing across the room. “Right. So my new friend—I suppose you’ve got a whole history worked out for him?”

“We can do that on the train.”

“My new friend, the latest in that long line Daddy predicted—” She put her hand up before he could speak. “You want me to get into the spirit of things, don’t you? Anyway, he’s all in a bother. Conscience?”

Connolly ignored the tone. “We’re building a terrible weapon,” he said deliberately. “So terrible it will change everything. We thought the Nazis were building one too. But now they’re gone, so he doesn’t understand why it’s still secret. Some of the scientists don’t want it used at all. They want to get the word out, but there’s nothing they can do. The whole place is sealed up tight. The only hope they’ve got of controlling it is if everyone knows. If everyone gets scared. Otherwise the army can do anything it wants. Not just Japan. Russia, anywhere it likes. Why not tell our own allies, unless we want to keep it for ourselves? For afterward. As long as we own the secret, we’re a threat to everybody. We’ll be the Nazis.”

Emma stared at him, her face sober and quiet. She had stopped pacing and was crossing her arms and holding herself as if she were huddling against a chill. “Is that true?”

“It’s how Corporal Waters would see it.”

“The scientists, I mean. Do they really want everyone to know?”

“They will. Right now all they can think about is getting it to work. They think it’s theirs. They don’t realize they’re just doing piecework for the army.”

“Do you believe it, though? Or is it all just part of the story?”

“It doesn’t matter. But I think if you’re the only guy holding a gun, a lot of people will feel like Corporal Waters. Maybe they’d be right.”

“But you want to stop them. Even if they’re right.”

“I don’t believe in handing someone else a gun either. He might shoot. People usually do.”

“Like cowboys.”

“No, like countries. Like show trials and wars and killing lots of people, not just one. I don’t trust them with a gun. I’m not an idealist.”

“Yes, you are,” she said quietly. “You’re the worst kind. You want to do it yourself.” She dropped her arms and slowly moved toward him. “I know. I run to type.”

He stood now, facing her, afraid to touch. “I won’t ask. If you don’t want to.”

She shook her head, placing her hand on his arm. “No. Ask me. Nobody ever did before.”

“You’d have to be careful. Remember Karl.”

“Careful. If I were careful, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

“Then you will.”

“You want me to, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“You’ll come with me?”

“I have to. You’re my cover,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I told you, nobody knows. If I leave the Hill, our friends in G-2 will follow me. They’ll wonder where I’m going. They won’t wonder after they see you.”

“You think of everything, don’t you? And what’s our story? Are we supposed to be having an affair?”

“We could be,” he said, smiling.

“Do you think anybody would believe that?”

“Anybody.”

She was silent for a moment. “But no harm to Matthew. What if you’re wrong? What if he won’t do it? What if he sends me packing?”

“Then we’ll have a weekend in New York. He won’t, though. The stuff’s real. They won’t be able to resist.”

“But no harm.”

“No,” he said, reaching for her. “You’re awfully loyal to your husband.”

“Mm,” she said. “All of them. But think what I do for you.”

He kissed her, holding her close to him now. “I just appeal to your better instincts.”

“You’re a bastard. You’d even use this to get your way, wouldn’t you?”

“If it would work,” he said, kissing her again. “Would it?”

“Ask me later.”

“I thought they canceled all leaves,” Mills said.

“Civilians get special privileges,” Connolly said. “It’s only four days. Don’t you think I’m entitled to one, listening to you all day?”

“Two leaves were arranged,” Mills said, handing him the papers. “Maybe you’d better take both.”

“I don’t think so. I only need one,” Connolly said, taking it. “Are you being cute, or is it just my imagination?”

“Anything special you want me to do while you’re gone?”

“No. Check in with Holliday, though, just to be nice. See if anybody’s gone to church. Tell him I still haven’t got a goddamn thing. Not even an idea. Maybe I’ll think of something while I’m away.”

“You intend to do a lot of thinking, huh?”

“You know, in security you get to know all kinds of things. The trick’s not to leap to any conclusions. Of course, I don’t have to tell you—you’re a professional.”

“Right,” Mills said, then grinned. “Have fun anyway.”

Connolly smiled back. “Do me one favor, though, will you? When you talk to whoever it is you talk to, would you leave her name out of it? I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. People get upset.”

“You’re lucky you don’t get shot. You going to leave a number? It’s procedure.”

“Make one up. I’d only leave a phony.”

“And I’d find out. That’s procedure too.”

*  *  *

Oppenheimer had pulled strings for a Pullman, an oasis of privilege on the crowded train, but even so the trip was hot and dusty. After the high New Mexican plateau, they went down into the flat bottomland of America, where the heat was oppressive, a furnace of hot air that left grit on the skin as it blew through the car, drying sweat and scattering paper. A group of servicemen, rowdy and insistent, had taken over the club car, and their singing as they crossed the empty plains had the disruptive sound of a brawl. Chattanooga Choo-Choo, Connolly thought irritably. Maybe the musicians who had written the happy train songs had been drunk in the club car too, seeing the dingy interiors glow with a boozy shine. Dinner was chewy lamb chops and canned peas, slapped down by harried waiters with an eye to the line already forming at the door for the next sitting. They drank cold beer and went to bed, exhausted without being tired, waiting for the clicking of the rails to lull them to sleep. Instead Connolly lay on top of the hot sheets, squirming in the dark, and finally dreamed of Eisler standing at the blackboard, studying his fate.