With that she laid a hand on one of my cheeks, kissed me softly on the other, and then retraced the hallway and disappeared around a corner. I turned toward the light again, pushed open the door, and stepped into the cold February sunshine.
A slight breeze was sighing through the pines on the hill behind the police department. To my left, I saw a bright-yellow school bus stop at the entrance of the American Museum of Science and Energy. Dozens of youngsters, the age of my two grandsons, poured out of the bus and into the museum, with its displays and stories about the Secret City and the Manhattan Project. Below and to my right — just across the small stream emerging from a seven-foot circle of pipe — lay the blocky buildings of the Oak Ridge Civic Center and Public Library.
Straight ahead, through the trees and farther away, was a third destination, the one I chose. Approaching it from above, all I could see was a wooden, pagoda-like roof. Only as I descended the slope through the woods did the long, cylindrical shape of the Peace Bell come into view beneath the sheltering overhang.
The breeze kicked up slightly, and some of last fall’s dead leaves swirled around my feet. Most were brown, but some still bore traces of red and gold.
And fuchsia.
As I drew nearer the bell, a stream of fuchsia leaves flowed toward me from its base. But they were not leaves. Angular and sharply creased, they were paper cranes. Origami cranes. Hundreds of them; perhaps even a thousand.
I reached into my pocket, and my fingers closed around the hardness of silver and the softness of a silken cord.
I took the symbol of remembrance from my pocket and laid it at the base of the bell, amid a swirling flock of cranes.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many people, past and present, contributed to this story. Chief among them are the legions of scientists, engineers, soldiers, construction laborers, calutron operators, and other workers who brought the Manhattan Project to such swift, spectacular, and sobering fruition.
A number of physicians generously contributed their time and knowledge. Dr. Doran Christensen, of REAC/TS, answered countless questions about radioactive materials and acute radiation syndrome, as did REAC/TS health physicist Steve Sugarman, Department of Energy expert Steve Johnson, and State of Tennessee rad-health official Billy Freeman. Numerous other insights into emergency-room procedures, autopsies, and other medical matters came from Drs. Laura Westbrook, Shannon Tierney, Court Robinson, and Coleen Baird. University of Tennessee medical physicist Wayne Thompson provided remarkable and reassuring insight into how UT Medical Center could respond to a radiation emergency such as the one described in these pages. Special Agent Gary Kidder and Special Agent Chris Gay — both of the FBI’s Knoxville Field Office — offered valuable information about the Bureau and its WMD Directorate. Ron Walli, of ORNL’s Communications & External Relations Office, got us inside the fence and made us welcome, as did Al Ekkebus of the Spallation Neutron Source.
Bob Mann and Tom Holland — anthropologists and also fellow authors — provided helpful details about the Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command (formerly known as the Central Identification Laboratory — Hawaii) and about World War II-era military records. Bob also graciously forgave a phone call that unintentionally awakened him at 3 A.M. in Cambodia.
Oak Ridge historians Ray Smith and Bill Wilcox shared their knowledge generously and enthusiastically, as did Bill Sergeant, security guardian turned polio crusader; Barbara Lyon, founding editor of the ORNL Review; and Helen Jernigan, who grew up near a Tennessee POW camp that housed German and Italian prisoners. Ray Smith’s newspaper columns on Oak Ridge history made for fascinating reading and provided splendid anecdotes, and his help in reviewing the manuscript, securing photos, and accessing historic structures on the Oak Ridge Reservation went above and beyond the historian’s call of duty. So did the staff of the Oak Ridge Public Library, whose reference librarians are remarkably resourceful and helpful. Three other employees of the City of Oak Ridge offered extraordinary assistance: Cindi Gordon, ORPD Lt. Mike Uher, and public-works director Gary Cinder (the keeper of the storm-sewer tunnels). We’re also indebted to William Westcott (Ed’s son) for a guided tour of the labyrinth, and to Nicky Reynolds of the Oak Ridge Convention and Visitors Center for her swift, gracious photo help.
Several people appear in these pages under their own names, with gracious permission. Ray Smith is one of those. Others are fingerprint guru Art Bohanan (whom our returning readers will remember from our prior books); legendary Manhattan Project photographer Ed Westcott, whose cameras brilliantly captured an amazing slice of history; K-9 handlers (and dear friends) Roy and Suzy Ferguson, and their amazing dog Cherokee, whose recent death was a deep loss; ORNL research scientist Arpad Vass, who really has developed a “sniffer” for the Department of Justice; darkroom wizard Rodney Satterfield; and Darcy Bonnett, James Emert, and Townes Osborn.
Putting a story into the hands of readers requires a surprising amount of work by a large number of people. We’re fortunate to have many bright and gracious people helping bring that to pass. Our agent, Giles Anderson, has been a wise and enthusiastic partner with us for six books now. Our first editor at William Morrow, Sarah Durand, was a wonderful colleague for five books, and we shall miss her. Our new editor, Lyssa Keusch, promises to be equally splendid. Assistant editors Emily Krump and Wendy Lee never cease to amaze us with their capable efficiency, and production editor Andrea Molitor remains a miracle worker. Our publisher, Lisa Gallagher, has been consistently, blessedly supportive; Morrow’s associate publisher, Lynn Grady, is also an enthusiastic and creative champion. Morrow’s sales and marketing staff have worked tirelessly and successfully to put our books in bookstores and readers’ hands; so has our hardworking and cheerful publicist, Buzzy Porter.
Other colleagues and friends have also played key roles in supporting our work. Heather McPeters offered crucial encouragement, a keen critical eye, and countless suggestions for turning fragmented drafts into a cohesive, compelling story. Sylvia Wehr once again provided a beautiful, peaceful writing haven along the banks of the Potomac River at crucial moments. JJ Rochelle offered Oak Ridge hospitality, friendship, encouragement, insights, and miles of running company along the gravel roads of Black Oak Ridge. Carol Bass is unfailingly supportive and loving; so are the many other members of the Bass and Jefferson clans. We love and appreciate you all.
ON FACT AND FICTION
It’s with no small amount of trepidation that we’ve dared to spin a fictional tale of murder and espionage against the epic backdrop of World War II, the Manhattan Project, and Oak Ridge. We’ve mentioned many historical characters, including General Leslie Groves and physicists Enrico Fermi and Robert Oppenheimer, because no story about the Manhattan Project would seem credible without those famous, larger-than-life figures. However, our plot and our main Oak Ridge characters — Beatrice, the storyteller; Novak, the murdered scientist; and Isabella, the librarian — are creations of pure fiction.
We’ve tried to follow the chronology of Oak Ridge and the Manhattan Project faithfully, with one notable, willful departure: the uranium storage bunker that figures prominently in the story was not built until 1947. But the camouflage scheme chosen for it by General Groves — a rustic Tennessee barn and silo — was simply too good to pass up.