42.
“I found something incandescent for you,” Giles said, ambling into Charlie’s lab. He arranged some pages, placing them on the desk with a flourish. “Take a gander.”
“You’ve never come in here before.”
Giles shrugged. “Any department other than Electronics is intellectually unclean. I thought you knew.”
Charlie laughed. “Somehow it slipped my mind.” He began to read. “Wait,” he said, and started over. The front sheet was mostly text, with a few signatures at the bottom. The other pages were all signatures. “Holy cow, Giles. Where’d you get this?”
“From the place where we don’t say how we obtained something. But it’s real. Leo Szilard delivered it to James Byrnes, our soon-to-be secretary of state, personally.”
“It’s dated the day after the Trinity test.”
“Yes.” Giles sat beside Charlie. “Szilard found seventy compatriots, from Oak Ridge, Berkeley, and Chicago.”
Charlie scanned the list. “I know one of these guys. We called him Steel Wool.”
“It’s measured, and wise, and addressed to the president.”
“Listen to this,” Charlie said, reading from the first page. “‘The development of atomic power will provide nations with new means of destruction. The atomic bombs at our disposal represent only the first step in this direction, and there is almost no limit to the destructive power which will become available in the course of their future development. Thus a nation which sets the precedent of using these newly liberated forces of nature for purposes of destruction may have to bear the responsibility of opening the door to an era of devastation on an unimaginable scale.’”
“Rather articulate, don’t you think?” Giles said, deftly collecting the papers. “Like Oppie, they say the president should conduct a demonstration—”
“This dissent is important. It shows we’re not the only ones with doubts.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid the outcome is not entirely unexpected. All seventy signatories have been removed from weapons development.”
“What?” Charlie shook his head, as if to clear it. “Szilard is an American citizen.”
“What can I tell you? The man who discovered atomic chain reactions is no longer permitted to work on atomic research.”
Charlie began to pace behind his large assembly table—which had been bare for nine days. “What do you predict Truman will do about this?”
“I predict that Truman will never know,” Mather announced from the doorway.
“Hello, Mather,” Giles said, not turning much in his seat.
“Hello, gents.” He sidled into the room. “Fish, I wanted to know if you know what your uncle John’s plans are. I’m weighing what I might do next, since this war is about to wrap up. If he had the clout to land you here, imagine what he might do for me.”
Giles rolled his eyes. “You are as sour as the milk here, you know that?”
“And yet in days to come, my conscience will be clear. Can either of you make that claim?”
“What do you mean?” Charlie asked.
“Silly Fish.” Mather shook his head in mock disappointment. “Let me ask you first. Has anyone briefed you on the success of our test last week?”
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Yes.” Mather idled down one side of the assembly table. “But the details?”
“What details?”
“Oh, for example, who won the pool on how big the explosion would be. Anderson drove one of the lead-shielded tanks out to ground zero, and his samples confirmed a yield of eighteen point six kilotons of TNT. So Rabi took the pot.”
“Who cares?” Giles said, conspicuously studying his fingernails.
“Such as the tower was vaporized at detonation,” Mather persisted. “The winch, the platform. Nothing left but a crater. Solid steel turned into air.”
Charlie turned to Giles. “Is that true?”
Mather smiled like a poker player proud of his hand. “Did anyone tell you about the glass?”
“What glass?”
“The detonation heat was so intense, it melted the surface for hundreds of yards in every direction. It turned the sand into green glass. They’re calling it Trinitite, after the Trinity test. Isn’t that deliciously banal?”
“You are poison,” Giles said. “You know that?”
“That’s not nearly the best part,” Mather continued. “You’ll recall that the test took place at five thirty a.m.—”
“Five twenty-nine and twenty-one seconds,” Giles snapped.
Mather frowned. “By eight thirty, the other detonators you built, for four more Gadgets, were loaded aboard the USS Indianapolis in San Francisco.” He reached a corner of the assembly table and continued idling along. “With four sets of Horn’s doublers, all destined for Tinian.”
“For where?” Charlie asked.
“Tinian. It’s one of the Mariana Islands, the size of five Manhattans, ten days’ sail from San Francisco. Bristling with bombers. Also, a special hangar that holds a special bomber for a special crew. People on Tinian know all about the Gadget. For instance, a bomber can’t load it in the hold like any ordinary bomb. It’s taller than the clearance under the aircraft. The clever people of Tinian dug a trench with a ramp. They’ll roll the Gadget to below ground level, drive the bomber over, then hoist it in. The aircraft will groan, I’ve been told. Five tons in one pull will strain any bomber’s frame—”
“What is your point?” Giles interrupted.
“My point?” Mather came to a stop. “There will be no more tests. No flowers in the desert sky. From here on, it is all real. All war. And the destructor? All yours.”
Charlie fell back against the table, a hand over his mouth.
“I do wonder, though. Do you think the Japanese people will like green glass?”
“Get out of here.” Giles jumped from his chair. “You disgust me.”
Mather was already at the door. “Over in Theoretical, I’ve had nothing to do with any of this. My hands are clean. Yours might have been, too, if you were smarter.”
Giles threw a wastebasket, but Mather was gone before it struck the wall.
In the quiet afterward, Charlie went over and picked up the trash can, one by one putting the spilled papers back into it. After a moment he stopped, and sat on the floor.
“What is it?” Giles asked.
Charlie rested a forearm on the trash can’s rim. “What have I done?”
“Your job,” Giles said. “Like any other soldier.”
Charlie stared down into the wastebasket. “So we pulled the trigger. Now we wait for the bullet to hit.”
43.
I could not predict what condition he might arrive in, in those first weeks, but I knew what my mood would be: always ready.
Charlie’s workload had fallen so sharply, he could jump last minute on the bus, sometimes three times a week. He might arrive tired, or hungry, or more often distracted by worries about his work. It was a weight on him, never completely absent.