Los Alamos (38 page)

“My family?” she said, disconcerted. “They’re fine. I haven’t seen them in years. I’m living here now. I’m married.”

“Married?”

“Matthew, I divorced you years ago,” she said smoothly. “Surely you knew?”

“No.”

“You weren’t there to contest it. You wouldn’t have, would you?”

He was silent for a minute. “How could I? Look, I never explained—”

“Darling, don’t. Really. It was all a very long time ago, and it doesn’t matter now. I haven’t come for that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We haven’t much time. I need to talk to you. We can save all those happy days
unter den linden
for another time.”

“You’re still angry with me.”

“I’m not really,” she said softly. “I was. Well, I don’t know what I was—not angry. But that was a lifetime ago. Before the war. We were just children, weren’t we? Anyway, never mind. We’d better order.”

Connolly looked up, surprised to see Tony standing at the next booth. They ordered sandwiches.

“It wasn’t all bad, was it?” Matthew said when he’d gone. “We had fun. In the beginning. God, your father—”

His voice was bright again, and Connolly thought he could hear the mischief of those years, the delight in provoking. Is this what she’d liked, the way he thumbed his nose at the world?

“You were the most marvelous girl,” he said.

“I’m still pretty marvelous. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Still working with the comrades?”

“Of course.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“I work on the paper. It’s quite good, actually. There was a falling off after the Pact—reporters jumping ship, you know. But of course the war changed all that. Shoulders together. Now, well, we’ll see.”

“You mean to stay, then?”

“If I can. We’re not exactly Uncle Sam’s favorite publication, but we’re still in business. Browder’s worked miracles. Anyway, this is the place now. Politically, it’s all a bit like your Uncle Arthur, but everything will change after the war. It has to. The pressures will be enormous.”

He stopped as the plates were put in front of them.

“You are the same,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Still on the march.”

“I can’t help that,” he said, catching her tone. “It still needs doing. I grant you, it’s not Spain,” he said, reminiscent again. “It’s a different sort of fight, but as you say, we’re not young anymore.”

“I never said that. I said I was still marvelous.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice lingering. “But married. Who did you marry, by the way? Someone here?”

“A scientist. No one you know. Matthew,” she said, pausing, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“No, don’t say that till you hear what it is. Something important.”

“Is that why you looked me up?”

“Yes.”

“Funny. I thought it might be—I don’t know, about us.”

“What, after all this time?”

He didn’t answer.

“There’s nothing about us. Do you understand? I want to be quite clear about that.”

“Why, then?”

“I need somebody I can trust. Or maybe it’s the other way around, somebody who’ll trust me. Who knows me.”

Connolly cupped the receiver closer to his ear, feeling literally like a fly on the wall. The approach, smooth and plausible, was all hers.

“I don’t understand. Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“No, not exactly. We all are, in a way. That’s the point. God, this is complicated. I’m not quite sure where to begin. It’ll seem fantastic to you. It is fantastic. Sometimes I don’t quite believe it myself.”

“Emma, what are you talking about?”

“Right,” she said, verbally sitting up. “Here goes. It won’t make sense, but hear me out. Do you have a cigarette?”

“You smoke now?”

“Oh yes, I’m all grown up.” Connolly heard the match strike. “That’s better. My husband is a scientist.”

“You said.”

“A physicist. Working for the government. We’re at an army base out west.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said, then caught herself with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Force of habit. New Mexico. It’s a secret base, you see. They’re very strict about that. They’re making weapons.”

“What kind of weapons?” he said, his voice lower.

“Bombs. Do you know anything about atomic fission? No, I don’t suppose you do. Nobody does. It doesn’t matter. The point—”

“I know what fission is. There was talk before the war. Nothing since. Do you mean to say they’ve actually gone ahead? I thought it was supposed to be impossible.”

“No, they’ve done it. At least, they think they have. They’re going to test it very soon. That’s why there isn’t any time.”

“Do you know what you’re saying? It’s fantastic.”

“Yes. Funny, you get so used to it, you stop thinking about it that way. But it’s real. Twenty thousand tons of TNT.”

“Jesus.”

Connolly had told her ten. He wondered if she had simply forgotten or had begun to be swept up in her own story. Why not twenty?

“It’s capable of wiping out a whole city,” she said. “Berlin, even.”

“Berlin’s gone.”

“Tokyo, then. They’ll use it somewhere. And there’s something new—it’s not just the explosive power. They can reckon that, but no one knows about the radiation effects. They’re going to use it on people and they don’t even know yet what it will do. And there’s no
point
now.”

“Slow down.”

“No, let me finish. As long as it’s secret, they
will
use it. Unless someone makes a stink. The scientists can’t—they’re terrified. But if we don’t get the word out somehow, it’ll be too late. They mustn’t, you see. We’re talking about thousands and thousands of lives, and they’ve already
won
. Someone’s got to stop them.” Her voice slowed. “Anyway, I thought of you.”

“Me? I don’t understand. Do you want me to put this in the paper?”

“No, of course not. They’d arrest you. It’s a military secret—no paper’s going to be allowed to print it. Otherwise the scientists would just leak it.”

“What, then?”

“We need to get the information out of the country.”

“Out of the country,” he repeated slowly.

“To the Russians. They don’t know.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Yes, it is. There isn’t a single Russian on the project. Brits galore, even Germans, but not one Russian. I know, I live there. Think what that means.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I think they’d make one unholy fuss if they found out—maybe enough to stop all this before it’s too late. They’re the only ones who could now.”

He was quiet for a minute. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“Yes, I know, it’s an awful chance. But someone has to take it.”

“You, for instance,” he said skeptically. “Joan of Arc.”

“No, not me. I’m just a messenger. Someone on the project.”

“Your husband.”

“No, someone else. I’m—I’m seeing someone else. You needn’t look that way. I’m all grown up, remember?”

“Were you all grown up in Berlin too?” he said. “I’ve often wondered.”

“No. Were you? Look, don’t let’s start. It’s a little late in the day for that. Will you help?”

“You can’t be serious. Do you think I’m a spy?”

“Do you think I am?”

He paused. “I don’t know what to think. It’s all so extraordinary. You coming here like this. Bloody thirty-nine steps. What’s it to do with you, anyway?”

“I told you, I’m a messenger. I want to help him. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? Surely you remember that.”

“That was different. I never asked you to do anything like this. Anyway, why you?”

“Because I know you. I couldn’t think of anyone else. Do you think if I had, I’d have come to you? You’re the last person I’d ask for help. But as it happens, you
are
the last person. I’m not exactly on speakers with the other comrades. They’d never believe me.”

“But I would.”

“I thought you might,” she said softly. “Maybe I was wrong. Still, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to believe me. I have some papers. Here,” she said. Connolly heard her take out the envelope. “Let someone else decide.”

“You are serious. What is it?”

“Scientific information about the project. A part of it. People only know parts. But Steven has more. Give them to somebody who’ll know what they mean. I wouldn’t have the faintest, and neither would you, so don’t even bother. But they’ll know. And they’ll know he’s real. He just wants to talk to somebody, that’s all. While there’s time.”

“What makes you think I can do this?”

“You know people—you were always good at that. Look, Matthew, I never said you were a spy, whatever that means. Maybe you are—I don’t care, so much the better. All the comrades are a little bit, aren’t they? They all like a bit of intrigue between meetings. Anyway, you don’t have to spy on anybody. Just pass it on and there’s an end to it. Nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with me. Let the comrades decide.”

“You haven’t changed. You always hated them.”

“I hated what they did to you.”

“And now you want to help them.”

“Maybe I don’t care what they do to you anymore.”

In the silence, Connolly could hear a coffee spoon clank against the cup.
Don’t quarrel
, he wanted to shout.
Not yet. You haven’t got him yet
.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said.

“If I said I believed you, would it make any difference?”

He sighed. “You’ve become hard, Emma.”

“Well, for Christ’s sake,” a voice boomed next to Connolly. “I thought you were in Washington. How the hell are you, anyway?”

Connolly looked up, startled and annoyed, palming the earpiece and lowering his hand. Not now. “Jerry,” he said.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were back? Been over to the paper yet?”

“I’m not back. Just for the day.”

But Jerry, taking a seat, wasn’t listening. “Oswald’s gone, you know. Keeled over right in the city room. Broad daylight. I almost felt sorry for the bastard. But what the hell are you doing up here?”

“Jerry, I’m waiting for somebody,” he said nervously. Behind him he could hear them talking.

“Oh yeah? What, some skirt? For Christ’s sake, Connolly, when are you going to grow up? Hey, you’re looking good, though. You know they promoted that fuck Levine. If you’re smart, you’ll stay in Washington.”

And on. Connolly watched his mouth open and close, the eager sounds a blur of distraction from the low voices on the other side of the booth. Why didn’t he go? Connolly didn’t have to talk, just nod from time to time, but he couldn’t hear the others either, so he sat there in an anxious limbo, trapped while Emma carried on alone. What if they were fighting, picking at old scabs while the envelope sat there, ignored? Still, what could he have done in any case? She had always been alone here. Was she even aware of him? Was she explaining the earnest Corporal Waters? What were they saying? But she didn’t need him any more than Jerry did.

“Come on, Jerry, blow,” he said finally. “I’m waiting for somebody.” He smiled, a kind of leer. “She’s the nervous type.”

“All right, all right,” Jerry said, getting up. “Hey, Ken’s in the bar too. Come and say hello.”

“On the way out, okay? Have one on me.”

“Nah, I’ve got to go,” he said, looking at his watch. “Looks to me like she stood you up.” He grinned.

“Not a chance.”

Connolly lit a cigarette, waving to Jerry at the door, and tried to calm himself. What if Jerry had seen the wire? Made a scene? He picked it up anyway and cradled it against his ear.

“There is one condition,” Emma was saying. What was this? They hadn’t talked about this. Had he agreed, then? “You know I wouldn’t lift a finger for your friends. They’re as bad as the rest.”

“They’re not, but go on,” he said.

“This,” she said, referring to the envelope. “It’s not for them to keep. Not another secret. They’ve got to talk about it, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“People have to know what it is. Otherwise there’s no point. Steven isn’t—political. They have to know that. I won’t have him tricked. Will you promise me that?” she asked, an impossible request.

“People do things for different reasons. We respect that,” he said, oddly formal, on duty.

“No, you have to tell them. It’s not some windfall for your bloody army. He won’t do that.”

“Then why this?” he said, fingering the envelope.

“There’s not enough there to make a bomb, you know. He’s not completely bonkers. Just enough to go public. That’s all he wants. It’s not for him. He’s—he’s a good man.”

“Unlike the rest of us.”

“No,” she said thoughtfully, “in some ways he’s very like the way you used to be. I was always a fool for the good-of-humanity line, wasn’t I? I thought you meant it.”

“I did.”

“Yes. It was caring for one person that was difficult.”

“Emma—”

“Never mind. We haven’t time. I’m supposed to be shopping or something. This is important—thousands of people, not just two. Promise me you’ll explain about Steven.”

“They’ll want to know more, if this is really what you say it is.”

“Yes, he’s prepared for that. But they have to know the
why
of it. That’s the bargain.”

“They don’t like to bargain.”

“No one’s ever given them something like this before. You’ll see. They won’t believe their luck. God knows they don’t deserve it.”

“Then why hand it to them?”

“Well, it’s a funny old world, isn’t it? They’re all we’ve got. Anyway, it’s not me. I’m just the postman. But promise me, about Steven. No tricks.”

Connolly waited for his answer, the sensible evasion, the obvious impossibility of taking any kind of responsibility for what would happen.

“Yes, I promise,” he said. It was as easy and expedient as a vow, and it was then that Connolly knew she’d wanted him to lie to her, a personal proof.

“That’s that, then,” she said. “I’d better go. Do put that away now, will you? Not the sort of thing one leaves lying about. I can’t tell you the relief, getting rid of it.”

“Emma,” he said, “is it true, all this?”

“Why?” she said, disarming him. “Don’t you think I’d have the guts?”