back of the lab。 His words issued from the ceiling speaker grille like a disembodied counterpart
to the counter’s metallic buzz。
“We did it differently before；” said Groves。 “We used a contraption we called a guillotine to test
critical mass。 But we didn’t have this much pure isotope then。”
General Groves’ words faded as the counter’s voice strenghtened。 The man on the stool was
cranking the pulley again。 It moved under the man’s careful urging； then stuck。 The man pressed
lightly。 The pulley did not budge； its mechanism was gummed by repeated exposure to salt
water。 The uranium bullet hung about four inches above the target。 The experimenter pushed
harder on the crank； to no effect。
“We’re supposed to have it ready to ship by 6：30；” said one of the observers in a tight voice。
“It’s 6：28。”
“I know。 I know！” The experimenter swore and pressed harder on the crank。 Then he backed up
the pulley and lowered it quickly。 It balked again at the same spot。 He backed up further and
lowered again； knowing there was not enough time to dismantle the mechanism again。 It must
work now。
The scientist’s concentration gave way to frustration。 He cranked the pulley all the way to the
top； then reversed it with rapid； angry motions； again and again。 The pulley reached the same
spot and balked； again and again； until the last time when something snapped and the U…235
plunged doe to rest fitted against its mate。
The radiation counter screamed。
Instinctively； the scientist tried to separate the U…235 with his bare hands。 The pieces were
smooth； heavy； infinitely slippery and fitted too well with each other。
“Jesus Christ！” cried the scientist。 He clawed at the two pieces of metal until they finally
separated and he could drag one deadly piece out of the pond； stopping the chain reaction。
The radiation counter’s scream died to a whisper as the scientist set aside the smaller piece of
U…235 that he had retrieved from the aquarium。 He sagged against the table； breathing raggedly；
like a man at the end of a long run。 Less than four seconds had passed since the pulley had
broken。
“Stay away from there！” said Groves as Finn leaped toward the door leading to the lab。 Groves’
hand clamped around Finn’s wrist with surprising strength。 “Listen to me！” cried Groves as
Finn jerked free。 “There’s nothing you can do。 He’s poisoned； and if you get too close you could
be poisoned too！”
Behind the glass； one man rushed toward a phone； the other toward the scientist who was
slumped over the table； staring at his wet hands as though he had never seen them before。 He
groaned and let his hands drop to the table。
The radiation counter sang as his hands passed near the sensitive probe。 The scientist jerked
back his hands。 The counter became quiet。 He brought his hands close to the probe once more。
The counter sang of deadly radiation。
With a strangled noise； the scientist lunged away from the counter。 The other two men looked at
each other； then at everything except the experimenter’s deadly hands。
Finn stared at each man’s face； a rictus of terror and sickness overlaid with sweat。 He had seen
such expressions before； Marines watching helplessly as children plummeted onto rocks far
below。 He knew that feeling； the worst shade of green in all of the jungle’s green hells。
And he knew he looked like the men behind the glass； sweating and afraid。
“That counter goes with me；” said Finn； turning his back on the lab。 “I’m not going to sit on a
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bomb I can’t hear ticking。”
Los Alamos
88 Hours Before Trinity
Heat from the desert floor a mile below twisted up the plateau’s rugged sides。 Walking out of
Omega Building was like walking onto a griddle。 General Groves wiped his face； but it was
more than heat that made him sweat。 The laboratory accident had delayed the uranium’s
departure。 There was still ample time to drive it to Hunter’s Point – he had allowed for
everything； even accidents – but that did not make him sweat any less。
If there were any more long delays； he would be forced to fly the uranium to San Francisco。 That
was something he was determined to avoid。 There was too much country in the west。 If the plane
went down； the uranium could be lost forever。 He had a horror of that； of the uranium falling
out of the sky； disappearing into the cracks of the empty land。 So long as the canister stayed on
roads； he felt reasonably reassured； if something came apart； he would know where it had
happened to the nearest yard。 The ocean was a different proposition； more difficult to control；
more dangerous。 He had done what he could about that – Finn。
Behind the General； strapped to a dolly； the nickel canister burned in the sun。 The soldier
pushing the dolly was sweating freely。 Even on wheels； the canister was unwieldy； unreasonably
heavy for its size。
Behind the soldier walked a man in civilian clothes – business suit； hat and tie。 He carried a
Thompson submachine gun with professional ease。 He watched everything but the canister itself；
his dark eyes as restless as his body was calm。
The small procession stopped in Omega Building’s loading area。 Five cars were parked on the
asphalt。 None had military markings。 All but the first car carried four men。 The first car had
three。 The middle car’s trunk was open； revealing a steel framework。 The framework was welded
to the car’s body。
“Load it；” said Groves。
Two men from the middle car got out and hoisted the canister off the dolly。 Though both men
were strong； the canister was difficult to handle。 Metal rang against metal as the canister landed
in its specially built cradle。 One of the men swore and rubbed skinned knuckles while his partner
locked the canister into place。 The car settled on its heavy springs。
Groves watched the locks close and the trunk lid slam down； locking automatically。 The keys to
the cradle and trunk were already in Hunter’s Point。 Anyone who wanted to remove the canister
before then would need a cutting torch and a lot of patience。
The man who had guarded the uranium on its short trip from the lab got into the back seat of
the first car。 The open door revealed two more submachine guns in a rack on the floorboard。
The driver looked up at Groves。 The General made a curt gesture。 The first car drove off。
Precisely three minutes later； the second； third and fourth cars left。 The third car contained the
uranium。 Three minutes later； the last car left。 All cars were in continuous radio contact with one
another。 They would check in with the General at frequent； predetermined intervals。 There was
no way the car or canister could be lost。
Yet Groves stared at the road a long time after the last car had disappeared。 He hated knowing
that the uranium was physically out of his grasp。
Juarez
75 Hours Before Trinity
The eye of god was dusty。 Tiny flecks of desert grime had settled on the god’s eye over the years；
blurring the sharp geometric patterns woven at the center of the design。 The tiny tassles at each
point of the diamond…shaped framework were dirty； their bright colors made drab by time and
neglect。
Kestrel stared at the single eye； admiring its symmetry and symbolism… and the irony of its
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position over one of the busiest beds in Juarez。 Perhaps the Aztec god whose eye hung there
found the prepaid writhings of two or more bodies amusing； but Kestrel doubted it。 Even the
benign gods of his own Buddhist upbringing looked upon prostitution with displeasure。
As for himself； Kestrel felt like a man condemned to a curious penance in one of hell’s more
grubby anterooms。
Voyeurism was foreign to his nature； but he had spent many hours crouched in a tiny； concealed
alcove just off Rubia’s crib。 Through the imported Indian screen； Kestrel had seen a procession
of straining buttocks and heard a quantity of practiced moans and lusty grunts。
Kestrel eased his cramped muscles by flexing his body subtly； using the discipline of karate that
had become second nature to him。 The discipline was mental as well as physical。 It helped him to
endure all of this in order to learn what Japan must know。
With a sigh； Kestrel looked from the dead god’s eye to the intricately carved screen nine inches
from his face。 The figures on the screen depicted all the coital permutations that flexible；
determined human bodies could attain。 Kestrel wished that reality had one…tenth the elegance of
the screen’s stylized matings。 He had learned that viewing the unvarnished sex act was more
distasteful than titillating； and more tedious than either。
He had discovered military secrets from the GIs who thrashed so inelegantly on Rubia’s soiled
mattress。 He could not trust the little Rubia to pass on all that she learned； both her English and
her loyalty were erratic。 Thus； he was forced to crouch behind erotic carvings and witness acts
that were stupefyingly unerotic。
The soldier who had just come into the room with Rubia looked not much older than the
sixteen…year…old whore。 He was short and red…headed； one of the instant lieutenants that
America had ground out to meet the needs of war。 This was his fifth visit to Rubia。 She had told
Kestrel that the soldier never questioned why she spent an hour with him； yet charged no more
than she did for her ten…minute tricks。
From what the soldier had said； Rubia was the only diversion in a series of boring assignments
that stretched from the edge of California’s Saltón Sea to El Paso； Texas。 For months he had
observed； measured and retrieved the remnants of the empty bomb casings that were dropped
one at a time onto the desert from B…29s flying so high they were invisible。 For a very young
second lieutenant who had expected to return to civilian life laden with medals and war stories；
the assignment on the shores of a landlocked sea had been a bad joke with no punchline in sight。
As he often complained to Rubia； the whole purpose of the bombing runs seemed to be to test a
proximity fuse that was supposed to explode a bomb several thousand feet above the desert。 To
the lieutenant； developing a proximity fuse when there already were bombs that exploded on
impact made little sense。 Moreover； to develop a fuse that would explode two thousand feet up
was insane。 No bomb was powerful enough to do much damage if it exploded that far off the
ground。 His commander had speculated that the fuse was for a leaflet bomb to scatter
propaganda over Japan。
El Paso was even more boring； nothing to do but follow technicians around as they strung wires
between concrete bunkers and a tower five miles away in the desert。 Nothing about his
assignments made sense to the young soldier； except the smiling whore whose fingernails made
little dents in his erection。
“You are muy hombre today；” Rubia said； squeezing him。 “Almost I believe that you have no
other woman since you come here。”
“Another woman？” he said in a thick voice。 “Not a chance。 I’ve been on duty the whole
goddamn time。”
“Come；” Rubia said； tugging on him； leading him toward the battered mattress。 “Come and tell
your little Rubia how it was with your time。”
“Not a goddamn thing happened； as usual。”
The soldier let Rubia open his shin as she had already opened his pants。