With each passing day the Germans did not strike, their psychological and military advantage slipped away. Germany would surrender soon. And the Japanese had also begun to fall in the Pacific, with American forces taking Guam in July, Peleliu in September, and then finally crushing the Japanese fleet in the Philippines in the Battle for Leyte Gulf only a few weeks before.
America did not need this bomb. But still they wanted to play with their expensive new toy. Fox could only hope that someone among the scientists would see reason and put a stop to everything. Someone, perhaps, like himself?
You can’t listen to anybody else when it’s your own conscience at stake.
Fox drew in a breath, closing his mouth against the dry, dusty air. His nose and chapped lips burned. The taste of the green chili made him even more thirsty.
The Project was quickening its pace, and there seemed to be no end to its momentum. Could he prevent it? Maybe the Gadget wouldn’t work. If it did work, he could not possibly prevent the knowledge of the bomb from seeping out. Everyone would know how to crack the atomic nucleus, and someone would destroy the world with that knowledge.
“How do you close Pandora’s box?” he muttered to himself. Fox flinched and dropped his cigarette. The tobacco had burned down to his fingers. He put his finger to his mouth.
“Hey, Doc—you missed some really good beer. The Injun brought out his special reserve.”
The second military policeman burped. “We’ll have to pick up a case of that stuff on the way back up. We can’t bring it onto the site.”
“Right-o. Let’s get moving.” Fox slid into the driver’s seat. Waves of heat rippled up from the cloth seat covers— they were black, of course. He could smell the hot fabric, and winced as he sat down, wiggling to keep from getting burned. “You chaps ready?”
“Yeah.”
Fox pulled out onto the dirt road; the motion sent hot wind and brown dust into the car. San Antonio vanished behind them in less than a minute.
As they headed east, toward a small line of hills, Fox realized that they had been the only traffic through the village in the entire time that they had been there. That’s right, he thought. There’s no way to keep this thing quiet.
Black lava peppered the side of the roadway. Fox wanted to stop and pick up some of the hardened lumps, but the MPs pointed out that their stop at the Owl Cafe had put them behind schedule. The road dropped into a valley, leaving the black lava behind. About five miles ahead of them Fox spotted a tiny building by the side of the road.
“What’s that?”
One of the MPs leaned forward and squinted. “Guard shack. We take a right when we get there. Trinity site is about twenty miles southeast.”
“This truly is out in the middle of nowhere.” Even though he had grown accustomed to the sparseness of New Mexico over the past year and a half, this made the rest of the desert look lush by comparison. He drove the car south through the valley. To their left rose the rugged San Andreas mountains, stark and brown, devoid of any vegetation. Sheer peaks jutted up, lining the valley with a natural wall.
Scrub brush, cactus, and weeds dotted the desert floor. Heat shimmered off the road in the distance. If Fox had ever imagined what hell must look like, the area surrounding Trinity Site came close. In his mind this place already looked as if it had been devastated by an atomic bomb. Jornada del Muerto, the Journey of Death, the Indian cook had called it—an appropriate name.
They traveled nearly fifteen miles before coming to a road. A weather-beaten sign stuck up from the ground. Paint peeled off the wood, and sand covered most of the lettering, but Fox could distinguish project y and an arrow that pointed to the left. As they turned for the site, Fox saw a cloud of dust ahead. He squinted. It looked like a flurry of activity: trucks, cars, cranes, and tiny dots that had to be people.
As they drew closer, the MPs straightened their uniform ties and ensured that their shirts were tucked in. “It’s bad enough with all the officers around,” one of them grumbled, “but knowing that General Groves can show up any minute makes it worse.”
“Sometimes I think they’re more worried about the way we look than how we do our jobs.”
Fox all but ignored the chatter. Didn’t they realize what they were doing here, what was about to happen? How the world was going to be changed forever?
They passed another hot and sweaty guard standing in the afternoon sun. After the guard waved them in, Fox drove slowly into the complex. Wooden buildings and rounded Quonset huts were scattered about the area. An old ranch house sat near the commotion; far away from all the buildings a metal tower rose up in the middle of the desert.
The MP in the front seat pointed to a row of cars up ahead. “You can park there. They don’t want any cars running around the site—they break down too easy. Take a jeep if you need one.”
As he turned into the dusty parking lot, Fox noticed a row of low-slung buildings in the distance, made of concrete with mounds of dirt pushed up around their backs. He saw military guards all over the place; several of them kept watch over two flatbeds covered with tarpaulins.
Why bother? he wondered. If anyone wanted to get in and sabotage something, he would never get out alive.
As Fox cut the ignition in the car, the two MPs sprang out and stretched their legs. An Army officer walked up to the car. The MPs snapped to attention. “We’ve got Dr. Fox, sir.”
The officer waved the men away. Fox climbed from the car and put on his hat. He debated removing his tie, but he saw that the young officer had kept his tie on even in the stifling heat, so Fox decided to loosen his instead.
“Dr. Fox, I’m Lieutenant Johnston. I’ve been assigned to run interference for you.” Tall, sandy-haired, and armed with an infectious grin, Johnston looked affable enough.
“Excuse me?” Fox shook the man’s hand. “I don’t wish any interference.”
“No, run interference. Like in football.”
Fox made a small smile, but he still didn’t understand. American football was quite different from soccer. “I see. Does that mean you’ll assist me with the high-explosive test and cut through the paperwork so I can get my work done?”
“Or whatever else you need to do.”
Fox retrieved his jacket from the front of the car, dusted it with the palm of his hand, and slung it over his shoulder. “So where do I start?”
“Have you been to Trinity before?”
“No, but I’ve seen a sketch of the general layout.” He paused. “Can you tell me why they call it Trinity? What’s the significance?”
“Beats me.” Johnston shrugged. “You’re about the fiftieth person to ask that. Dr. Oppenheimer thought it up, and he’s not telling. But so what’s new? Everything else about this place is a secret.” The lieutenant turned and motioned for Fox to follow him. “Let me point out a couple of spots to you, and you can start whenever you’re ready.” Johnston nodded to the big white house. “The McDonald ranch will be your headquarters. The high-explosive test will take place on that wooden tower.”
“How is the real test of the Gadget coming along?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir.” The lieutenant’s answer came too quickly, like a memorized answer. Fox stopped and waited. Johnston shrugged. “I hear it’s all on schedule. We’ve got one more bunker to finish. The first one is five miles away from the shot tower and will be the closest to the actual test. That’s where Dr. Oppenheimer and most of the senior scientific staff will stay when the Gadget goes off. They all want the best seats in the house.”