“Not even the Introduction to Physics or Introductory Calculus classes you’ve normally taught?” Atwood asked, and Bob shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not satisfactory.”
“As chairman of the physics and math departments, it’s my privilege to teach as few classes as I choose, and every professor at Clark has the option of selecting the students he wants for his graduate-level courses.”
“And that’s not satisfactory either,” Atwood said.
Bob shrugged. “Well, I’m sorry, Wallace, but you’ll just have to be satisfied.”
And there it was, the source of the long-standing feud between the two men. Atwood became the university president in 1920; three years later, he promoted Goddard to the chairmanship of the physics department following the suicide of his predecessor. They had gotten along well at first, with Atwood securing the university grants that Goddard used to jump-start his rocket research, and Goddard in turn becoming one of the university’s crown jewels. It wasn’t long, though, before Goddard began to outgrow Clark University; once he acquired new funding sources, first from the Carnegie Institute and the Smithsonian, and later from Charles Lindbergh and the Guggenheim family, he no longer needed the university’s meager financial support. When this happened, Goddard committed less effort to his job at the college, preferring to spend more time with his rocket experiments.
Yet Atwood couldn’t afford to fire him. By then, Dr. Robert H. Goddard was one of the most famous scientists in America, while Clark University remained in the shadows of Harvard and Boston College to the east and Amherst, Smith, and Mount Holyoke to the west. Clark needed Goddard more than Goddard needed Clark, and Atwood knew it.
Bob’s marriage to Esther hadn’t helped either. Esther Kisk had been a recent high-school graduate working as a typist in Atwood’s office when she met Doctor G, and the puritanical and churchgoing university president had disapproved of the romance between the teenage girl and the middle-aged professor. To make matters worse, Esther had taken charge of Bob’s personal affairs once they were married; she’d become a formidable defender of her husband’s private life, and Atwood soon discovered that he couldn’t easily intimidate her.
The final break had occurred when the Goddards moved to Roswell. Bob had told the university that it would only be a short sabbatical, yet as time went on, and his visits to Worcester became increasingly infrequent, it became apparent that he was gone for good. Yet he’d refused to relinquish his chairmanship of the physics and math departments, even after Atwood had eliminated most of the graduate programs, and when the president requested that Goddard give up his chair and take a pay cut, Goddard had retaliated by tendering his resignation. Atwood had no choice but to let Goddard retain his chairmanship and salary even though he was an invisible man on campus. Like it or not, losing Goddard would have been a major blow to the university’s prestige.
All this must have been in the back of Wallace Atwood’s mind because his face reddened and his eyes narrowed. “Just who do you think you are?” he snapped, glaring at Goddard as if he were a freshman caught soaping Atwood’s office windows. “You’re gone twelve years, then you come back thinking you can just waltz in and…”
“Dr. Atwood, may I remind you that the War Department has specifically requested Dr. Goddard’s reinstatement?” Leaning against the banister, Colonel Bliss remained calm in the face of the president’s bluster. “We’ve already discussed our arrangements. The reasons why he’s here are none of your concern, nor are the conditions he’s requested. You’re to give him everything he wants and leave him alone, and that’s all you need to know.”
Atwood’s angry gaze swung toward Bliss. “And if I don’t?”
“You tell me… how much federal aid does your school receive each year? And while you’re at it, you might also wonder how many of your teachers and students have requested and received draft deferrals.” A cunning smile. “Uncle Sam can be very generous in his support of higher education, Dr. Atwood, but his generosity has its limits.”
Before Esther’s very eyes, it seemed as if Wallace Atwood actually shrank a few inches. His haughty demeanor vanished like snowflakes on a hot frying pan as he gaped at the colonel, his mouth opening as if to object, then closing without another word. Bob said nothing, but when Atwood turned to Esther, she simply held out his hat and coat.
“Always a pleasure to see you, Wallace,” she murmured. “Do come again, will you?”
“Perhaps we could have lunch some afternoon,” Bob added.
Atwood silently took his hat and coat, then walked out the door. Esther caught it before it slammed shut and watched as he stormed down the front walk, the snow muffling his footsteps as he headed for the car parked at the front curb. Its headlights had barely vanished when Bob let out a sigh.
“Well,” he murmured, “that was… unpleasant.”
“Really?” Esther smiled. “I don’t think so. Remind me to bake him some cookies, will you?”
And then she went back to unpacking books, humming a happy song as she ignored the stares from both her husband and their houseguest.
PHYSICS 390
FEBRUARY 10, 1942
“I cannot stress too strongly the need for absolute secrecy,” Colonel Bliss said. “No one, but no one, outside this room can know what we’re doing. Not your families, not your friends, not your colleagues… no one. This is why some of you have received phony draft notices, while others like Dr. Chung have received job offers in other parts of the country.”
“You hear me complaining?” Gerry Mander asked. “Coupla weeks ago, I was breaking rocks on an Alabama road crew.”
“In your case,” Robert Goddard replied, “I’d say you’re moving up in the world.”
Everyone laughed except the colonel, who remained stoical. The nine members of the research team were seated on wooden stools around the long, unfinished pine table that ran down the center of the second room of the physics lab. The laboratory was comprised of two adjacent rooms in the basement ground floor of the Science Building. Separated by only a square arch, they had whitewashed-brick walls, oak-plank floors, and high wooden ceilings. A coal furnace stood in one corner between shelves containing a variety of tools, flasks, and pieces of scrap metal. An enormous vacuum pump was located in the middle of the first room, just in front of the sturdy double doors, which had been closed for the meeting. Frank O’Connor, the FBI agent, leaned against the door, arms folded across his chest.
“If secrecy is so important,” Henry Morse asked, “shouldn’t we do something about that?” He pointed to the row of tall windows on one side of the two rooms; halfway up the wall, they looked out upon a small courtyard, where an elderly custodian was shoveling snow from the walkway between classroom buildings. “Anyone can peep in here and see what we’re doing.”
“We’ve ordered blinds. Until they arrive, we’ll make sure that this”—Bliss tapped a knuckle against the blackboard behind him—“is covered or erased after each meeting. Furthermore, all notes are to be kept in those file cabinets over there, which will be locked when not being used. I’ll also ask that you not remove any notes from these rooms or take anything back to the boardinghouse.”
Several of the men groaned and shook their heads. “Fat chance of that,” Lloyd muttered under his breath. Telling a scientist to keep his research confined to the workplace was like ordering a restaurant chef not to take home any leftovers.
Bliss ignored the protests. “Agent O’Connor will be in charge of security. He will escort you to and from the boardinghouse where you’ll be staying, while Corporal Hillman will do the same for Dr. Goddard. So far as anyone is concerned, you’re graduate students enrolled in an advanced-studies program, Physics 390, with Dr. Goddard as your instructor and Dr. Chung as his teaching assistant. The boardinghouse will be your primary residence, and we’d prefer that you keep your social activities to a minimum.”