“Are you trying to tell me there’s nothing going on?”
“No,” Connolly said, meeting his stare. “I didn’t say that.”
“I see.” Oppenheimer put down the paper in his hand. “It wouldn’t be the first time, you know. Put people together and there’s always a certain amount of interest generated. You have to expect that. You have to expect trouble, too. He’s a good man.”
“I’ve met him.”
“And that didn’t deter you in the slightest.” Connolly paused. “No.”
Oppenheimer smiled. “At least you’re honest. I guess. May I ask what she’s got to do with all this?”
“If you ask, I’ll tell you, but I’d rather you didn’t ask. Not yet.”
Oppenheimer put out his cigarette. “I used to know everything that went on here. Looks like I wasn’t as well informed as I thought. Murder. Adultery. A vipers’ nest, it turns out. Cookouts.”
“You’re forgetting espionage.”
“Yes,” Oppenheimer said, looking at him, “how could I forget that?” He picked up the paper again. “Now what do I do with this? ‘Dereliction of duty. Misuse of government funds. Authorized travel for personal purposes. Sexual’-what do they call it?” He referred to the paper. “ ‘Sexual indiscretions with project personnel.’ Indiscretions.”
“Ignore it. You’re a busy man.”
“Not half as busy as you, it seems. I can’t ignore a security request. They want you out of here.”
“They’re just blowing smoke. Ignore them.”
“They won’t let up, you know.”
“You take your friends in security too seriously,” Connolly said, thinking of the young scientist and his meeting.
“My friends,” Oppenheimer said. “You seem to think they’re a joke. Did you know they refused to give me a clearance until Groves personally vouched for me? Me. Did you know they still investigate my old associates, my family? They’ve put my brother through hell.” He saw the look in Connolly’s eyes. “But you knew that. He was a member of the party at Stanford. Given that, we both must be disloyal. They keep my file active-they never close it. So I’ve learned to be a little sensitive about our friends. I try not to annoy them.”
Connolly got up. “The lady in question helped me make contact with someone I hope will lead to Karl’s killer. The money was mine. She shared my hotel room, but I was sleeping there anyway. Our friends in security think we were off on a toot and it’s just what I want them to think. You’re not buying any favors with them, you know. You’ll always scare them. You’re everything they’re not.”
Oppenheimer was quiet for a minute, then smiled faintly, a tic. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“A small one.”
“You want me to vouch for you, then.”
“Groves vouched for you.”
“You forget I have a certain amount of responsibility to keep this project secure.”
“So did Groves.”
Oppenheimer paused. “So he did,” he said, taking the paper and letting it flutter to the wastebasket. “Now will you do something for me? Keep your indiscretions discreet, will you? This particular husband is too valuable right now to be worrying about his wife.”
“I don’t think he knows. He’s at Trinity most of the time.”
Oppenheimer started and then jotted something down. “Thank you for reminding me. I almost forgot about the cables.”
“Cables?”
“Coaxial cables. The rats are chewing the wires at the site. We have to patrol the whole damn desert floor now, night and day. Miles of wire. It’s got everybody jumpy.” He caught Connolly’s look. “Sorry, what were we saying?”
“Nothing. I was going to be more discreet.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Oppenheimer paused. “Be careful. They usually do know.”
“Who?”
“Kitty was married when we met. We thought her husband didn’t know, but he did.”
Connolly looked up at him, surprised, then let it go. “You ought to get some sleep,” he said.
“Everybody says that, but nobody tells me how.”
The whole mesa seemed on edge, like some extension of Oppenheimer’s nervous system. Connolly had come back west with a sense of relief-the high, dry air was the air he breathed now-but the Hill had changed. It was curiously deserted, with hundreds gone to the test site and the usual traffic at the gates slowed by travel restrictions. Los Alamos was left to bake in the arid July air. The grass had long since dried up, the little patch gardens scraggly and cracked. Children, out of school, played ball in a swirl of dust. Mothers spread blankets over bare dirt for impromptu picnics or sat in the shade of the hutments and prefab houses, fanning themselves. Without being told, they knew something was about to happen. Lab windows were bright all night. With so many gone, the summer should have been quiet and lethargic. Instead, it was anxious, wide awake, as if everyone were waiting for forest fires to break out.
