America； who had callously watched Russians die by the hundreds of thousands in Stalingrad；
waiting for a Second Front that never seemed to come。 American soldiers drank wine and
screwed English whores while in Stalingrad Russians sucked on the bones of rats and died。
Eventually the Germans had been crushed； but Russia had paid an enormous price for victory。
She needed time to gather her armies and secure herself against enemies new and old。 Given
time； the opportunities were huge。 China was a vacuum waiting to be filled； Europe was chaos
waiting to be ordered； and Russia was a nation whose destiny was to rule the world。 All that
stood between Russia and her rightful place was America – or more specifically； Los Alamos。 A
successful atomic bomb would shorten the war disastrously； forcing Japan to surrender before
an American invasion was launched。 But if America did not founder in Japan as the Germans
had foundered in Stalingrad； Russia would have traded millions of lives for a few worthless
Middle European countries。
Lavrenti Beria had seen the danger before anyone else。 He had sent teams of Russian saboteurs
to Oak Ridge and Los Alamos。 The Oak Ridge team was captured。 The Los Alamos team
simply vanished。 There was no more time to mount another assault on Los Alamos before the
bomb was shipped out to Japan。 The only alternative was to steal the uranium core of the bomb
when it left Los Alamos。
That was proving to be no easier than sabotage had been。
Vanessa looked at her watch again。 She stepped into the booth and secured the door。 This time
“Jack” had better have more for her than guesses。
The phone was warmer than her skin。 She put in a coin； spoke with the operator and waited for
the connection to go through to another public phone booth in Socorro； New Mexico。 She
suspected the American telephone operator was listening in； but was unconcerned； the few
American spies who spoke Russian were in Europe； not Mexico。
“Jill？” asked a man’s voice。 The accent； like hers； was British。
“Hello； Jack；” she said； then switched immediately to Russian。
“What have you confirmed about the Bronx shipments？”
“Speak more slowly；” said the man in hesitant Russian。
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Vanessa repeated her question。
“The Bronx shipments arrived at Hunters Point between；” he paused； translating English to
Russian numerals； “18 and 2400 on the… 15th。”
Neither Vanessa’s voice nor her expression showed her triumph； now she held the lever with
which she hoped to move a world。 “When will the uranium leave Los Alamos？”
“Manhattan has some secrets left；” he said； his voice brittle； the voice of a man under pressure。
“The route is one of them。”
“We must have the Bronx shipment！”
“Look； it can’t be done from here！ I’m not a bloody miracle worker！” shouted the man in
English。 Then he switched back to halting Russian。 “I’ve confirmed from two other sources that
the shipment weighs about ten kilos。 There are two pieces。 White metal。 They aren’t…” he
searched for the correct Russian word； “… explosive by themselves。”
“How is the uranium handled in the labs？”
“Like ten kilos of lead。 It’s not… explosive without the bomb…” he swore and switched to
English； “… casing； you understand？ And that’s being shipped separately。”
“How is it guarded？ What are the passwords？”
“Few guards；” he said in Russian。 “No excitement。 Very； very secret； you understand？ No
passwords yet。 At Hunters Point； a Lawrence Radiation lab team will check it。” He switched to
English。 “Do we have anyone there？”
Vanessa’s answer was in Russian。 “That’s not your concern。 Is there anything else？”
“Good luck。”
“If you’ve done your job； I won’t need luck。”
Los Alamos； New Mexico
100 Hours Before Trinity
Finn dozed in a hallway on a steel chair as he waited for General Groves to see him and explain
why he had called Finn out of Juarez。 Neither asleep nor awake； sweating； his mind in a jungle
half a world away； Finn shifted uneasily in the chair。 He was caught again in the nightmare that
had budded in Burma and bloomed in Okinawa； and each petal was a separate horror。
There was no mistaking the sodden heat； the feral odor of decay； the world that was every shade
of green； sunlight strained through a billion leaves until everything was tints and tones of green；
even the smell of death。 Burma； green on green。
He was on his first patrol； leading nine men along a narrow jungle trail to a forward observation
post。 When he arrived at the post he was alone。 He had heard no sound； not one； nothing to
mark the killing of nine men one by one； his men gone as though they have never lived。 But he
lived； ambusher and ambushed by turns； learning each time until he was a part of the jungle；
silent and quick； a deadly green shadow。
There were other times when he was the only man to survive。 That was his special gift； survival。
Yet each time he felt guilt as well as triumph。 Most of all he felt confusion – why had God or
Satan or fate left him alive and other men dead？ But such questions were luxuries in a place
where necessity conducted a reign of terror。 Questions slowed reflexes； and reflexes were all that
separated him from his dead friends and enemies； green on green。
The idea of fighting against women； of killing them； had sickened him。 Then he had learned that
bullets and bayonets had no sex。 Men died just as finally when they were killed by a woman； or
even a child。 The jungle made only one distinction； that between life and death。
In Burma he learned that death； like the jungle； had neither sex nor age； only a color。 He learned
that whatever the question； survival was the only answer that mattered。 People lived and people
died。 There was little to gain and too much to lose in agonizing over one death or one life； evil
or good。 He was no more cruel than he had to be to survive； and he did survive。
Yet it was Okinawa； not Burma； where he learned the deepest meaning of horror。 Okinawa；
where waves broke green and white against cliffs； drowning the screams of children hurtling
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down。 Okinawa； where babies were thrown to the sea。
Finn woke； cold and sweating； the way he always woke when Okinawa bloomed silently in his
dreams。 Yet the images did not stop when he woke up。 They never did。
Every aspect of Okinawa was unfaded； indelible； from General Groves’ curt instructions before
Finn left； to the children wheeling and turning like awkward birds down the face of the cliff。
He had been an observer in Okinawa； not a soldier。 General Groves’ surrogate。 Groves did not
trust the other generals to give Truman accurate reports of the cost of the first American
invasion of a Pacific island that was home to large numbers of Japanese civilians。 Groves called
Okinawa a dress rehearsal for Japan。 He had demanded that Finn observe it as only a former
jungle fighter could。
Finn had asked why。 General Groves had not answered。
Okinawa had been a disturbing experience from the beginning。 Instead of fighting； as he had
been trained to do； Finn waited safely until an area was secure。 Then； guarded by a trio of
seasoned Marines； he went in。 He had quartered the battle zones despite the protests of his
guards。 He had seen the bodies of Americans and Japanese； and bloody meat that defied
identification。
He could never remember how long he spent on Okinawa。 Hours blurred into days； separate
battles coalesced into a single truth； the Japanese； soldier and civilian alike； would not surrender。
Women fought alongside men and children alongside their parents。 But that was no more than
Finn had expected； not different from Burma； a familiar shade of green。
He had talked to a boy who was thirteen and ashamed that he had not died in battle； he had not
been able to keep up with the retreating Japanese force。 Finn’s Japanese was fluent。 Under gentle
questioning； the boy admitted that he was part of a large group of soldiers’ families who had not
been evacuated in time。
Finn followed a Marine patrol to the place where the boy said families were hidden。 There the
island was steepsided； eroded by the sea。 Because Finn was a VIP； he was not permitted to risk
himself in what could be an ambush。 He stayed behind with his three guards on one horn of a
deeply curved cliff that ile long。 On the other horn； across the water； was a
small clearing along the cliffs edge。 He watched it through his binoculars； wondering if the boy’s
family was waiting there。
The worst of what followed was the silence。 Women and children running from American
soldiers until there was no place left； nothing but wind above and rocks below。 It should have
been the moment of surrender； when mothers gathered children in their arms； comforting them
and hiding their small faces from the enemies running out of the jungle。
There was no surrender； no comfort。 In silence； older children lined up and threw themselves off
the cliff and onto the rocks below。 Some died immediately。 Younger children were hurled to
their deaths by their own mothers； children’s screams lost in the wind； mouths black circles in
faces too young to understand。 The mothers followed quickly； arrow straight； welcoming death
as a place where no children screamed。
In his dreams they spun and turned and fell endlessly； and they all wore a single face； the face of a
child too young to understand。 The child fell； twisting until he could see his mother’s face。 Then
he held out his arms in perfect trust that his mother…murderer would snatch him back to safety。
The child fell； wrapped in trust and silence； until he smashed onto rocks and only silence was left。
Finn had lowered the binoculars because he could no longer see。 The man in him raged； but the
warrior in him bowed with respect。 By death； if not by birth； the women and their children were
samurai。
He had written about that afternoon on the cliff in one of his many reports to Groves； knowing
as he wrote that the words were useless； that nothing could convey the silence and the horror；
the mangled families floating on the green tide。 In the end he had said what anyone who had
fought the Japanese in the jungle already knew： the defeat of Japan would require not only the
death of its soldiers； but also the death of its civilians； its very culture。
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In the six weeks since Finn had returned； General Groves had never mentioned the report。 It was
just as well。 Finn was not grateful to the man who had sent him to learn the last shade of green。
He shifted his weight on the steel chair； closed his eyes and tried not to feel anything at all。
Moscow
99 Hours Before Trinity
（Cable received by Lavrenti Pavlovich Beria； head of the NKVD。 Decoded。）
SHIPPING ROUTE MOST CLOSELY GUARDED SECRET LEFT AT LOS ALAMOS。
DESTINATION AND APPROXIMATE ARRIVAL TIME ARE KNOWN： HUNTERS
POINT； SAN FRANCISCO； 1800…2400； 15 JULY。
HUNTERS POINT ONLY POSSIBLE PLACE TO INTERCEPT BRONX SHIPMENT。
UNLESS STOP CODE RECEIVED BY 2400； 14 JULY； OPERATION WILL PROCEED
TO CONCLUSION。 VANESSA
Los Alamos
98 Hours Before Trinity
Major General Leslie Groves gathered up papers； among them Finn’s Okinawa report； tapped
the edge of the packet on the desk until they were lined up and placed them on top of another
neat stack of