“The can, its top and a metal cylinder that fitted inside.”
“One piece? Just one?”
“Yes.”
“What color is the piece?”
“What color!” exploded the Admiral. “Dark-goddamn-gray! General, an eighteen-year-old
ensign was murdered! Now by God you are going to tell me what the hell is going on!”
Groves did not answer. He could not. His world had just imploded like the spherical charge of a
plutonium bomb. His plans, his country’s plans, a world given back to gun soldiers who would
spend millions of lives to invade islands defended by fanatics. And Russia – Russia hovering like
a vulture at a feast.
“Oh God,” he groaned, seeing the morning’s victory shattered. “Oh my God.” He tried to
breathe but could not. His chest was held in a vise of pain, his mind paralyzed by the rapid swing
from victory to catastrophe. “How did it happen?”
“I don’t know,” snapped the Admiral. “The theft and murder occurred between 0200 and 0630,
Pacific War Time.”
Groves glanced at his watch. The uranium had been stolen at almost the same moment the
atomic bomb had been detonated. He wondered whether the irony was accidental or
purposeful. The thought that his enemies were laughing at him broke his paralysis. He began to
think again, to take command.
“Let me talk to Finn.”
“His plane spent most of the night ducking thunderstorms,” said Purnell. “I sent a man over to
Alameda Air Station to pick him up. He’ll call you as soon as he’s on the ground.”
Groves swore viciously.
“Finn takes over the investigation the instant he gets to Hunters Point,” he continued. “You will
give him every possible assistance. You will treat his every suggestion as coming direct from the
President – which it does.” Groves paused, staring blindly out of the bunker, seeing an atomic
cloud spread across the sky. “Call the local FBI office. We’re going to need every agent they
have. Tell them what you know. I’ll call Hoover myself.”
“Hold it, General. My Shore Patrol and Naval Intelligence boys are pretty damn good and – “
“No. You will do nothing but what I told you.”
There was a long silence. Then Purnell said, “The FBI will insist on knowing what’s missing.”
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“They can insist until their jaws lock. Whether or not they find out is up to the President.”
“I see,” said Purnell. He cleared his throat. “You’ll put all those orders in writing, of course.”
“Of course. But not even the Joint Chiefs of Staff have the security clearance to read them.”
There was another long silence. Only the hiss of static told Groves that the line was still open.
“Is there anything else, General?”
“Put the package back together and sail at 0800 as ordered,” said Groves brusquely. “With one
difference. Finn won’t be sailing with you. He’ll stay behind and find out what the hell
happened.”
“You’re sure his security clearance is up to the job?”
Groves ignored the sarcastic question.
“Thanks for the help, Admiral. The next time I want something delivered, I’ll use the Army.”
General Groves broke the connection, sat down in a desk chair and immediately began to dial
another number. After the third try, he gave up. His hands were shaking too much to continue.
Lattimer took the phone from him.
“What number, sir?”
“Washington. Hoover. Federal Bureau of Investigation. Goddamn everything to hell!”
Lattimer wiped the sweat off his lips and began to dial.
Juarez
2 Hours 7 Minutes After Trinity
Takagura Omi picked up the receiver, silencing the telephone’s strident ring. At the moment, the
patriarch of Mexico’s Oriental population was alone in his office, waiting for this call. Kestrel’s
voice came to him across the wire, distorted by distance and emotion. He spoke rapid Japanese.
“Just before dawn,” said Kestrel, “my host staged an incredible event. I was blinded by the light,
deafened by the sound and felt heat as from a rising sun. I was at least ten miles away from the
event. It was like nothing ever before seen on earth.”
Takagura waited, but Kestrel said no more. With a sigh, Takagura spoke. “Are you sure Japan
has seen nothing like it? Not even the resemblance between baby and adult?”
“Japan has nothing like what I saw. Please advise our father that a new sun rose this morning,
and it rose on a new world. Old ideas of honor and ignominy must be examined in the light of
the new sun. Do you understand me?”
“Are you advising our father to bow to a barbarian dawn?”
“Even samurai can’t fight the sun.”
Potsdam
2 Hours 13 Minutes After Trinity
(Cable received by President Truman. Decoded.)
URANIUM STOLEN FROM HUNTERS POINT. REPEAT. URANIUM STOLEN. WILL
KEEP YOU ADVISED. MAJ. GEN. LESLIE GROVES
(Reply. Decoded.)
FIND THAT URANIUM BY 0530, 18 JULY, OR I WILL BE FORCED TO MAKE GO
DECISION FOR FINAL STAGES OF OPERATION DOWNFALL. ONCE I HAVE
DONE THAT, THERE IS NO TURNING BACK. REPEAT. FIND URANIUM BY 0530, 18
JULY, NEW MEXICO TIME, OR MANHATTAN PROJECT WILL BE NOTHING BUT A
FOOTNOTE IN THE HISTORY OF WORLD WAR II. PRESIDENT HARRY S TRUMAN
(Reply. Decoded.)
RESPECTFULLY REMIND MR. PRESIDENT THAT BOMBING IS NOT SCHEDULED
FOR SEVERAL WEEKS. PLEASE GIVE US MORE TIME TO RECOVER URANIUM.
MAJ. GEN. LESLIE GROVES
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(Reply. Decoded.)
ONLY A HORSE’S ASS WOULD GO TO WAR WITH ONE BOMB. DO WHATEVER
YOU HAVE TO. BUT RECOVER URANIUM BY 0530 OF JULY 18. IF YOU DON’T,
THE SHOW WILL GO ON WITHOUT YOU.
THAT IS FINAL. REPEAT. FINAL. PRESIDENT HARRY S TRUMAN
Washington, D.C.
2 Hours 26 Minutes After Trinity
“Gencral Groves is on the line now, sir,”
J. Edgar Hoover’s manicured hand closed over the phone. Although he had rushed to his office
after receiving the President’s extraordinary call, Hoover was dressed to the same exacting
standard he required of his agents.
“Good morning, General.” Hoover’s voice was moderate, his diction as precise as the crease in
his pants. “The President told me you would give your complete cooperation in the Bureau’s
investigation of the incident at Hunters Point.”
“You must have had a fuzzy connection, Mr. Hoover.”
“What?”
“The FBI is cooperating with me, not the other way around.”
Groves’ voice was gruff and uncompromising. He was one of the few officials in Washington
who did not owe J. Edgar Hoover the time of day.
“The President,” said Hoover coldly, “didn’t tell me what he needed the FBI to investigate. My
men are the best in the world, General, but they must at least know the nature of the crime they
are to solve.”
“Theft of a highly secret material.”
“Yes. Well…?”
Groves said nothing.
“What, precisely, was stolen?”
“Until ten minutes ago, there were four men in the United States who had the security clearance
to answer your question. I just gave official clearance to a fifth. His name is Finn. He’s in charge
of the Hunters Point investigation. He’ll tell your agents what he thinks they need to know in
order to help him.”
“That’s arrogant nonsense! I can’t send my agents on a Top Secret snipe hunt when I don’t even
know – “
“Can’t or won’t?” cut in Groves. “The President told you to cooperate. Who’s running this
country – you or Truman?”
“The President, of course!” snapped Hoover. “Not you.”
“At least we agree on who’s President. Now you just hang up and get on the telephone to
Potsdam and let President Truman explain what bis FBI agents can or can’t do.”
Over California
2 Hours 26 Minutes After Trinity
The pitch of the C-46’s engines changed slightly, waking Finn. He stretched stiffly and looked
out the window. Beneath the plane’s nose, night had dissolved into luminous gray. He tapped
the copilot’s shoulder.
“How long?”
“About twenty minutes.” He looked at Finn’s jeans and boots, then at his face. “Uh, should I be
calling you, ‘sir’?”
“Don’t bother.” Finn flexed his body, trying to restore circulation to stiff muscles. “How
soon?”
“Half an hour, at most. I’m already picking up commercial radio from San Franc. Uh, I want to
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thank you for not throwing up all over the place back there. We did the best we could, but it was
a sure-enough bastard.” He motioned toward a spare set of earphones hanging from a clip.
“Catch up on the world. The news is just coming on.”
Finn pulled on the headphones. The reception was scratchy, but the level unaccented voice of
the newscaster came through clearly.
“… Truman arrived yesterday in Potsdam for a summit meeting that most analysts agree will set
the shape of the postwar world. His meetings with English and Soviet leaders begin later today.”
Finn smiled to himself, imagining what Truman would tell Stalin about the atomic bomb.
“In news closer to home, Congress begins debate today on aid for veterans. In New Mexico, a
munitions dump exploded with a flash that was seen fifty miles away and a boom that was heard
five times as far. No one was hurt.”
Finn’s pulse raced and the words of the newscaster faded as he lifted off the headset, staring at
the earphones without seeing them. That was no ammo dump that had exploded. There was not
enough ammunition in the entire state of New Mexico to account for a blast that could be heard
for 250 miles. Manhattan Project had given birth today, spectacularly. He tried to calculate the
explosive power involved, but gave up, accepting Groves’ estimate of 20,000 tons of TNT.
There was only one kind of target big enough to warrant such a bomb – a city. Manhattan’s child
was raw, awesome power, power intended to terrify an enemy into submission.
He hoped it would do just that. He hoped that children would never again rain down into the
sea. The death of a city was a terrible price to pay for the end of the war, but was a lesser evil
than an invasion that killed millions by ones and twos and drove mothers to destroy their own
children.
Finn left the disembodied newsman’s voice dangling from a cockpit clip. He returned to his
bench and dozed against the wall, dreaming in shades of green, a familiar dream, where children
struggled and screamed silently but still could not fly.
The tires shrieked as the plane touched the runway at Alameda Air Station outside of Oakland.
A crisp seaman met him at the foot of the ladder.
“Captain Finn,” he said, saluting. “I have a message for you from Code Name Relief.”
Finn, expecting to hear of the bomb’s success, yawned and said, “Give it to me.”
“The message is: ‘Someone opened the oyster. The pearl is gone.’”
Adrenaline flashed through Finn’s body, burning away the drugged residue of a sleepless night.
The world narrowed to a single instant – now. He leaned toward the sailor. “Repeat that.”
“Yes, sir,” said the sailor, backing away from Finn. He repeated the message with the precision
of a man used to relating nonsense codes. “ ‘Someone opened the oyster. The pearl is gone.’”
He waited. When Finn made no further demands, the sailor added, “Here is a new set of orders,
sir. You’re supposed to call this number on the base. If you’ll follow me, there’s a phone right
off the flight apron.”
Finn followed automatically. He did not see the buildings or hear the planes taking off. His
whole being was focused on a single question: Who had taken the uranium? Kestrel? No, he had
not had enough time to get from the test to Hunters Point. Masarek? Finn thought of the cold,
competent Russian. He had the nerve, but not the resources to steal the bomb by himself. If it
was Masarek, he must have had help. Refugio, certainly. But Refugio did not have the vision or
the resources for such an incredible theft. What of the blond woman who had been seen with
him? Was she more than his mistress? Was it she who had planned the theft?
“Sir. The phone,” said the sailor, holding out the receiver. He looked nervously at Finn, then
backed away so that he could not overhear what was said.
Finn took the phone. He dialed the number on the slip of paper. He identified himself and
listened to random clicks as contacts closed and relays opened. He guessed who he would be
talking to even before he heard Groves’ voice.
“What the hell happened?” said Finn. “Do you know anything beyond what was in the
message?”
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“Empty canister in the Delta warehouse,” said Groves. “One dead sailor on the floor beside the
can.”
“Just one? How many guards were there?”
“One!” exploded Groves. “Hunter’s Point is a fucking military Base! Why the hell should I
assign a platoon of guards on a military base! All that would do is call attention to what should
have been the biggest fucking secret since the date of the Second Coming!”
Finn understood Groves’ logic – and its flaw: setting the canister in the middle of a bunch of
soldiers was not the same as having the can guarded by a bunch of soldiers. The average soldier
could not be presumed to guard his own ass unless he was given a direct order. A gun soldier
knew that. A desk soldier did not. But pointing out that fact to Groves would not put the
uranium back in the can. Or end the war. Two million dead children falling.
“Any other details?” said Finn, his voice hoarse.
“That’s all that goddamn Admiral Purnell could tell me.”
“That’s a lot.”
“I don’t need sarcasm from an insubordinate gun soldier!”
“Not sarcasm,” said Finn. “If they got in and out and only killed one man, then it stinks of an
inside job. Somebody knew where to find the can, and how to get on and off base without being
noticed.”
“But the Navy didn’t know what was in the can!”
“Other than you and the guards who accompanied the shipment, who knew when the uranium
would arrive, where it would be stored and how it was guarded?”
“No one,” began Groves, then stopped. “The Lawrence Radiation Lab. They checked the can at
midnight, but they were briefed about it earlier. Scientists,” said Groves in a choked voice.
“God save us all from sob-sister scientists!”
“I doubt that they stole the uranium.”
“Why?”
“Crying about war and loving your fellow man is one thing. Murder is another. None of your
scientists is naive enough to mistake treason for legitimate protest.”
“Then who did it? The Japs? Did we tell Kestrel too much?”
“I’m betting on the Russians. Have your men check all the phone calls they can from New
Mexico to San Francisco in the last forty-eight hours. It may give them a lead. Rerun all the
security checks in Los Alamos and at the Lawrence lab. Put somebody to work on a list of
