relaxed in his chair. He would have to do his Project work now. He had nothing else he could do, and he would have to try his best. He just wished the war would be over before the question of using the atomic bomb—if they managed to develop it—ever came up.
Fox swallowed a mouthful of his gin and tonic. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light in the club, he spotted another person with the same out-of-place aura as the Nice Young Man from the bus, sitting in a corner and looking over the crowd. How long had he been there? Had he followed Fox all afternoon?
Feeling suddenly reckless, Fox raised his glass and toasted the G-2 man.
The man looked away.
6
Berlin—the Virus House August 1943
“[Heisenberg] declared, to be sure, that the scientific solution had already been found and that theoretically nothing stood in the way of building such a .bomb.”
— Albert Speer, Nazi Minister of Armaments
“German physicists had no desire to make atomic bombs, and were glad to be spared the decision by force of external circumstances.”
— Werner Heisenberg
Gravel crunched under the wheels of the staff car as the driver turned off of the cobblestoned streets. They proceeded to a less-traveled area of the Berlin suburb of Dahlem, then turned down the damp road to the Kaiser-Wilhelm Institute. The stolid construction of the Institute for Chemistry and the Institute for Physics was overbearing, designed at the turn of the century to please the rigid tastes of the Kaiser. Now, in the August rain, the trees and the flower boxes appeared subdued. Wet streaks ran down the stone walls as water splashed out of rusting gutters.
The driver of the staff car activated the windshield wiper, but it merely smeared a thin film of mud. Ahead of the car rode two motorcycle guards hunched over their handlebars. The motorcycle engines popped and puttered from the alcohol fuel.
Although he now held the upper hand, Professor Abraham Esau fidgeted in the back of the staff car, wondering if he would triumph as planned or if everything would backfire on him. The drive had not been long, but it was uncomfortable. Reichminister Albert Speer sat beside him, straight-backed and silent, staring ahead. The Minister of Armaments must be preoccupied with something other than the secret Nazi research center known as the Virus House.
Beside the driver sat Major Wilhelm Stadt of the Gestapo, dressed in a black uniform with SS armband. Major Stadt was rude, fast spoken, with an air of confidence that bordered on impatience. As did so many of the young officers, the major sported a small toothbrush moustache like Hitler’s and Himmler’s. He had his pale hair shaved severely up around his ears and the back of his neck, making him appear to be wearing an overlarge Jewish skullcap. Esau did not dare make such a comparison aloud; the SS major would not have found it amusing.
Major Stadt spoke to the driver, telling coarse stories and Jewish jokes, acting friendly toward the lower ranks—after all, wasn’t Gestapo head Himmler himself a former chicken farmer? But Stadt’s casual attitude seemed a ploy to Esau, a practiced interrogation technique. Every third or fourth comment, Major Stadt would turn around to look at Reichminister Speer, as if searching for some reaction. Occasionally Speer would nod, or smile if that seemed appropriate, but he said few words.
Esau knew that Speer had never wanted his position as Minister of Armaments—he was an architect who had served Hitler well, but he had been astonished when Hitler promoted him after the previous minister had been killed in an airplane crash. Speer had done his best in the position, but the German war effort seemed to be flagging. Mussolini had been overthrown in Italy, and a humiliating and disastrous Allied bombing raid had just turned the city of Hamburg into a firestorm.
No matter. From Esau’s work here at the Kaiser-Wilhelm Institute, both he and Reichminister Speer could
Fox swallowed a mouthful of his gin and tonic. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light in the club, he spotted another person with the same out-of-place aura as the Nice Young Man from the bus, sitting in a corner and looking over the crowd. How long had he been there? Had he followed Fox all afternoon?
Feeling suddenly reckless, Fox raised his glass and toasted the G-2 man.
The man looked away.
6
Berlin—the Virus House August 1943
“[Heisenberg] declared, to be sure, that the scientific solution had already been found and that theoretically nothing stood in the way of building such a .bomb.”
— Albert Speer, Nazi Minister of Armaments
“German physicists had no desire to make atomic bombs, and were glad to be spared the decision by force of external circumstances.”
— Werner Heisenberg
Gravel crunched under the wheels of the staff car as the driver turned off of the cobblestoned streets. They proceeded to a less-traveled area of the Berlin suburb of Dahlem, then turned down the damp road to the Kaiser-Wilhelm Institute. The stolid construction of the Institute for Chemistry and the Institute for Physics was overbearing, designed at the turn of the century to please the rigid tastes of the Kaiser. Now, in the August rain, the trees and the flower boxes appeared subdued. Wet streaks ran down the stone walls as water splashed out of rusting gutters.
The driver of the staff car activated the windshield wiper, but it merely smeared a thin film of mud. Ahead of the car rode two motorcycle guards hunched over their handlebars. The motorcycle engines popped and puttered from the alcohol fuel.
Although he now held the upper hand, Professor Abraham Esau fidgeted in the back of the staff car, wondering if he would triumph as planned or if everything would backfire on him. The drive had not been long, but it was uncomfortable. Reichminister Albert Speer sat beside him, straight-backed and silent, staring ahead. The Minister of Armaments must be preoccupied with something other than the secret Nazi research center known as the Virus House.
Beside the driver sat Major Wilhelm Stadt of the Gestapo, dressed in a black uniform with SS armband. Major Stadt was rude, fast spoken, with an air of confidence that bordered on impatience. As did so many of the young officers, the major sported a small toothbrush moustache like Hitler’s and Himmler’s. He had his pale hair shaved severely up around his ears and the back of his neck, making him appear to be wearing an overlarge Jewish skullcap. Esau did not dare make such a comparison aloud; the SS major would not have found it amusing.
Major Stadt spoke to the driver, telling coarse stories and Jewish jokes, acting friendly toward the lower ranks—after all, wasn’t Gestapo head Himmler himself a former chicken farmer? But Stadt’s casual attitude seemed a ploy to Esau, a practiced interrogation technique. Every third or fourth comment, Major Stadt would turn around to look at Reichminister Speer, as if searching for some reaction. Occasionally Speer would nod, or smile if that seemed appropriate, but he said few words.
Esau knew that Speer had never wanted his position as Minister of Armaments—he was an architect who had served Hitler well, but he had been astonished when Hitler promoted him after the previous minister had been killed in an airplane crash. Speer had done his best in the position, but the German war effort seemed to be flagging. Mussolini had been overthrown in Italy, and a humiliating and disastrous Allied bombing raid had just turned the city of Hamburg into a firestorm.
No matter. From Esau’s work here at the Kaiser-Wilhelm Institute, both he and Reichminister Speer could
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