He led Connolly toward the drinks table, where a ruddy-faced man whose hair stuck out on the sides like flaps was furiously attacking a block of ice in a zinc wash-tub. Chips flew out on the table as he drove the pick up and down.
“Careful, professor,” Mills said.
“Gott im Himmel,” the man said. “You would think in such a place someone would invent a machine for this. Here,” he said, handing Mills a glass with ice. “On the rocks, yes?”
“Always. Meet Mike Connolly. Hans Weber.”
“Hello, Mr. Connolly. You’re new? You must be in Kisty’s group. There’s someone new every day. We can’t get one more person, not one, and for Kistiakowsky they never stop coming.”
“No, I work with Lieutenant Mills in the security office.”
“Ah,” he said, pausing to look at Connolly. “So. You replace poor Karl.”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “A terrible thing. Terrible. So young. And for what? Some wallet? Some pocket change? How much could such a person have?”
“You knew him well?”
“No, not well. Sometimes he was my bodyguard. That’s right, yes? Bodyguard?”
“We prefer ‘escort,’ ” Mills said, smiling. Then he turned toward Connolly. “Professor Weber is one of the engineers who’s always given protection off-site.”
“Hah, protection,” Weber said good-naturedly. “Snoops. This time it was the protector who needed the protection. What a world we are becoming. So,” he said, changing tack, “you like music, Mr. Connolly?” His intonation made mister a literal translation of Herr. “Not this screeching of cats, but real music?”
“Very much.”
“You play?” he asked eagerly.
“No.”
“No, that would be too much luck. Our group lost a member last year,” he explained, “and I keep trying to find a new one, but no. People keep coming, but no one plays. But you like to listen? We meet on Thursdays. My wife likes the visitors. You would be most welcome.”
“Thank you. I’d like that very much.”
“Well, we’ll see. How is the saying, don’t count the chicken before the hatching? We are amateurs only. But sometimes it’s good.”
“Oh, there’s Oppie,” Mills said, clearly looking for an excuse to begin pulling Connolly away. “I have to introduce Mike,” he said to Weber. “You know how Oppie likes to greet the newcomers.”
Weber smiled and moved his hand in a churning benediction. “Circulate, circulate.”
Oppenheimer was standing with his back to them, talking animatedly to a colleague, but when he turned to be introduced, he looked at them with his full attention, as if the entire evening had been arranged for this meeting. Connolly had seen photographs, but he was unprepared for the focus of Oppenheimer’s gaze, eyes that took him in so quickly that he was enveloped in an intimacy even before he spoke. Oppenheimer was thin, even frail, so that the hollow face offered no distraction from the eyes. Oddly, Connolly thought of Bruner, but those eyes had simply been intense; these were quick and curious. Behind them was a tiredness so profound that their shine seemed almost feverish. He had a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other, so he had to bow his head in greeting, which he managed with an ironic oriental grace. His voice was low but as quick as his eyes.
“Sorry I couldn’t see you earlier-there was a meeting I couldn’t get out of. I hear you saw the general?”
“Yes.”
“And how did you find G.G.?”
“Colorful.”
Oppenheimer laughed. “Did he mention his bark and his bite?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Connolly said, surprised.
“Good, then you must have given him a bit of trouble,” he said, drawing on his cigarette. Connolly felt the words come at him like the fast balls of a Ping-Pong match, and he saw that Oppenheimer enjoyed conversation as a form of recreational sport.
“And is it worse? His bite?”
“Oh yes, very much so. The general never lies. I don’t think he knows how, actually. The most honest man I’ve ever met. Not an ounce of guile. How he copes with the Washington maze I don’t know, but he just plunges in, full steam ahead, and before you know it, the thing’s done.”
Oppenheimer, with his almost feline elegance, might have been describing his opposite, and Connolly wondered again about their odd friendship. With Oppenheimer, everything must be charm and coercion and subtle juggling-it couldn’t get done otherwise. Maybe his was the admiration of the master politician for the effective battering ram.
“Maybe they’re so used to looking for tricks that he takes them by surprise.”
Oppenheimer enjoyed the return and smiled. “Maybe so. No doubt you’ve experienced a good deal of that yourself in Washington. How they love intrigue. Poisonous place.”
Connolly laughed. “Well, the air’s better here, but offices are pretty much the same wherever you go.”
Oppenheimer looked up at him, an appreciative glance. “Think you can find mine in the morning? Say, seven-thirty?”
Connolly raised an eyebrow.
