The Trinity Paradox (13 page)

Esau looked up at him, amazed—Otto Hahn had discovered nuclear fission in the uranium atom, and now he stood timid, asking a simple favor of Esau.

“You have no food here in the laboratories?” He had wanted something to eat as well.

“Not with all the uranium we keep, Herr Professor. Many of the things here are highly poisonous. We thought it best to prohibit eating in the area.”

Reichminister Speer and Major Stadt had closed the door to maintain privacy in their endless interrogation. Esau did not dare interrupt them to ask for permission. Then he realized his own foolishness. After all, wasn’t he the Plenipotentiary for Nuclear Physics? Didn’t he have the authority to make certain decisions? Hadn’t he been the one to point out Heisenberg’s intentions?

“Gather some of the workers in the hall,” he said. “I will select one at random and he will go to the commissary of the institute to get enough food for all of us.” Otto Hahn looked relieved and nodded as he backed out the door. Esau had just proved he could be reasonable. That was good, since he would have to make these people work with him.

Later, as he worked red-eyed and far into the night, sipping on the cold dregs of a cup of tea, Esau sat up as Heisenberg’s door snapped open. One stack of laboratory records sat to Esau’s right; a few more, scattered in front of him, still needed to be checked. In front, on a sheet of his personal stationery, Esau had written a list of errors he found. The fountain pen left blobs toward the bottom of the page, when he had been too tired to worry much about penmanship.

Major Stadt stepped out. His black SS uniform looked no worse after his hours of interrogation. “Professor Esau,” he said, “have you finished? What do you have to report? You have found a substantial number of errors?”

Esau stood up and peeled the scratch paper from the desk blotter. “Yes, Herr Major. Here is a list of inconsistencies I have found. I cannot tell if these are malicious mistakes or simple sloppiness.”

Or because my own eyes are so bleary from staring at them so long, Esau thought. He couldn’t tell if he’d made the mistakes or if Heisenberg had.

But that was enough for Major Stadt. His lips made a tight smile. Reichminister Speer came out of the office beside Heisenberg. The great physicist looked defeated, confused. When he stumbled, Speer made no move to touch him.

Heisenberg splayed his fingers on the desk in front of Esau, brushing his own damning lab records aside. Esau could smell the sweat on the man, could see how rumpled his clothes had become.

Major Stadt found a ruler from the desk and smacked it against the wood, then against the doorjamb. He raised his voice to be heard throughout the halls. Speer flinched from the racket.

“Attention! Attention!” Major Stadt called. The two motorcycle guards reappeared, blinking and bleary-eyed, anxious to see what was wrong. The other scientists, no doubt unable to sleep, emerged from their rooms, Carl-Friedrich von Weizsacker beside Otto Hahn and Karl Wirtz. They continued to stare at the floor; the other lab assistants studiously avoided drawing attention to themselves.

“We will assemble in the courtyard. We have important business to conclude this evening, and I am certain you will all be anxious to return to your research immediately. You have been idle all day!”

The scientists went back to their lockers to get overcoats, to close their offices. Major Stadt grasped Heisenberg’s left arm and ushered him to the door. Esau swallowed the remains of his cold cup of tea.

Reichminister Speer stopped next to him. “Things must change around here, Professor Esau. I am hereby instructing you to consolidate all German nuclear research in this one place. No more competing with separate groups. No more sharing of minimal resources. I want everyone here, everyone working, and everyone cooperating. You will supervise them directly, and you will be housed here yourself, as well.” Speer looked around the unattractive barracks. He scowled in distaste, but made no comment about it.

Esau felt a rush of triumph. He had been pushing for this all along. Now he could get things done. Now he had the authority to make great strides in nuclear research. Perhaps they would even beat the Americans in developing an atomic bomb.

“I will need that in writing, Herr Reichminister,” Esau said. “Von Ardenne should be no problem—in fact, I think he will be glad to be under more appropriate auspices than the Postal Ministry. It will lend legitimacy to his work. But Diebner will not cooperate. He insists on working independently with his own men. I have had trouble with him before.”

Speer seemed unconcerned with Esau’s assessment. “I do not believe Diebner will be a problem. Not after tonight.”

Saying nothing more, he stepped out the door. Puzzled, Esau took a last glance at the laboratory notebooks he had not yet checked, then hurried after the Reichminister to the courtyard outside.

Heisenberg stood by himself on the muddy ground. Esau reveled in his sullen appearance—this humiliation would take the great physicist down a notch or two, make him more cooperative. Perhaps Heisenberg would stop worrying about esoteric theory and concentrate more on practicalities. Esau should find him much more manageable from now on.

Major Stadt had arranged for the floodlights to be switched on, drowning the area in harsh white light. The Virus House and its outbuildings looked like something from one of Himmler’s work camps. The wood siding showed gaps where the uncured lumber had swelled with the spring rains. The barbed wire around the perimeter looked like silver spider webs in the night.

When the other scientists had assembled outside on the spotty gravel walkways, Major Stadt trudged out to where Heisenberg stood alone. His boots made indentations in the soft ground.

“I want you to pay close attention, all of you.” Stadt raised his voice, and Esau noticed from his mannerisms that he seemed to be imitating Hitler. A lot of people were doing that these days.

“This man, your Professor Heisenberg, winner of the highest accolades your profession can bestow, is traitor to his country, to his Fuhrer, and to you all. He has committed grave sabotage against this project, which has the possibility of winning the war. He has delayed work, he has falsified laboratory results, and he has cooperated with the enemy in ensuring that Germany fails to develop an atomic bomb!”

“That is not true.” Heisenberg drew himself up. It was apparent that he had said that same thing countless times to the Gestapo major, to little effect. Stadt ignored him.

“Because of this man’s mistakes, because of his delays, and because of his treason, Professor Werner Heisenberg has caused the deaths of countless thousands of German soldiers. If this weapon had been available for our attack against Stalingrad, we could have captured that city without the loss of a single German life. We could have taken Moscow in a day, instead of months upon months of failure.”

As Stadt spoke he stepped away from Heisenberg, marching back toward the gathered scientists. Esau waited beside Reichminister Speer, watching. He was beginning to think that this had gone too far. If Heisenberg were broken too severely, he might not be useful in further research.

“All of these deaths, all of these failures, weigh on the shoulders of a single man. He is guilty of high treason.”

Stadt turned to the two motorcycle guards and gestured offhandedly to the physicist standing alone on the barren ground. ‘‘ Shoot him.’’

The other scientists stood silent in shock, then muttering filled the air. Otto Hahn took a step forward in outrage. Heisenberg himself blinked in astonishment and stood up straight, but the protests seemed too many to come out of his mouth at once. Even Esau couldn’t believe what he had just heard. That wasn’t the point at all....

But Reichminister Speer just stood in silence, as if he approved.

The guards looked at each other in equal uneasiness. They had apparently never had to kill anyone before.

“Shoot him!” Major Stadt shouted.

One guard brought up his pistol while the other fumbled to pull it out of its holster at his hip. A shot rang out, a thin crack, deceptively small, and then a second shot sounded as the other guard fired.

Heisenberg crumpled to the mud under the harsh floodlights. His face turned away as he fell. The gathered scientists let out an anguished murmur.

“No more uncertainty about your principles now, Hen-Professor,” Major Stadt said.

Esau felt himself trembling. Heisenberg lay motionless on the ground. He had been alive only a second before. All of his thoughts and ideas had vanished. Reichminister Speer spoke up. “Now perhaps the rest of you can make some progress.”

Esau allowed himself to fly into a rage. He saw his chances of rapid success bleeding into the mud. “You just eliminated the most brilliant mind in our entire project! How am I to accomplish a breakthrough when you’ve just shot down the man most capable of doing so? I needed Heisenberg
controlled,
not destroyed!” He let his voice become icy and he turned toward Major Stadt. “Our task will be much more difficult because of this.”

Stadt’s skin appeared corpselike under the garish light. He smiled as if he had just enjoyed himself. He spoke softly. “Ah, but we have given them incentive, Professor Esau.” He turned to look at the other scientists gawking in disbelief at Heisenberg’s body. “Incentive.”

Part 2

7

Los Alamos August 1943

“It is still an unending source of surprise for me to see how a few scribbles on a blackboard or on a sheet of paper could change the course of human affairs.”

—
Stan Ulam

Taking a brisk walk
in the mountain air before breakfast made Elizabeth forget about many things. Cool morning wind rushed through the aspen trees; watercolored light splashed off the mesas and the Jemez mountains in the distance. It reminded her of why she had come back to New Mexico, leaving Berkeley and the California fast lane behind.

She hated stepping inside the Project cafeteria for its semblance of breakfast. Cigarette smoke hung like fog in the air from packs of Lucky Strike Greens, the only brand available at the PX. The meal consisted of greasy eggs and bacon, potatoes fried in lard: a year’s supply of cholesterol every morning. It turned her stomach. She found no fresh fruit. Occasionally she managed to secure a bowl of sticky oatmeal or grits.

All these brilliant scientists didn’t know the first thing about keeping themselves healthy and eating right. None of that stuff had been discovered yet—they hadn’t even learned about the connection between cigarettes and lung cancer until the 1950s, after those experiments with dogs hooked up to smoking machines.

She might be looked upon as “queer”—and how even that word had changed!—in her other thoughts and actions as well. She was still trying to learn how to wear a dress again, and how to act around men. After a lifetime of treating her male companions as equals, she felt flustered when the Army men scrambled to open doors for her, or offered her cigarettes, or grinned at her like Howdy Doody every time she passed them on the dusty streets.
I’m not a princess, for Christ’s sake!

Mrs. Canapelli kept encouraging her to wear makeup, to do her nails with the rest of the women, to apply garish lipstick so that she left a bright red arc on the coffee cup each time she took a drink. “But you look so plain, dear!” Mrs. Canapelli said as Elizabeth left in the morning, before the other ladies marched over to breakfast. “Don’t you want the young men to notice you?”

“I’ll do just fine,” she said. “And besides, I’m still grieving for Jeff.” After two months, Elizabeth thought.
Two months!

“I understand, dear,” Mrs. Canapelli said, and patted her wrist. “Fresh coffee?”

‘ ‘Thank you.’’ Elizabeth accepted the cup. Her morning walk provided an easy way to avoid invitations from the other “girls” to join them. They considered her aloof and grumpy; she considered them boring gossips.

Mrs. Canapelli followed Elizabeth to the back porch of the wooden dorm. Elizabeth sipped her coffee; she had gotten accustomed to the odd taste of coffee beans blended with chicory to help with rationing.

The back porch gave a panoramic view of the Sandia peaks. Elizabeth felt she could reach out and touch the desert sprawling below her. “I really appreciate all you’ve done for me. This payday I’ll make up the rest of the money you loaned me on my first night.”

“No hurry, dear. I remember what I went through myself right after Ronald died. Besides, you should never try to pay people back—pay
them forward
by helping the next person in trouble.”

“Thanks.” Elizabeth smiled as Mrs. Canapelli turned back toward the dorm kitchen. It was really a sign of simpler days, to be so trusting and helpful to anyone with a little bad luck.

Elizabeth had about fifteen minutes until she needed to head out; she could not tell for certain, since she kept her digital watch—sorely out of place in 1943—packed away.

She sat back against the rough outer wall. She felt comfortable here, enjoying the morning. But behind her comfort nagged a feeling that she had begun to stagnate. She couldn’t keep telling herself that this was merely a delusion. And what did it matter if this
was
just a delusion, if it never ended?