by K. B. Kofoed
John Wilcox hadn’t been with them on the tram, and Jim and Gene expected him to be in the cavern when they arrived. “Where’s John, Sir?” asked Jim.
“Going back home,” replied the General coarsely. “Making himself useful somewhere, I hope.”
“Will he be back?” asked Gene.
The General looked at Gene blankly and then faced the table without bothering to answer. “We’re proceeding nicely, Aaron, I take it?”
Aaron and Marta were bringing the laser into position over the gold. “Yes, Sir,” said Aaron. “We’re about to make the first cut.”
The thickness of the Mercy Seat’s gold was something Jim had wondered about for years. “I’m curious, Aaron,” he began. “How did you arrive at a thickness for the gold sheet?”
“Trial and error with a piece of gold,” said Aaron. “It’s just thick enough to permanently hold its shape against the force of gravity, but light enough to allow minimum weight and hold it’s shape. Your drawings showed the cherubim’s wings coming together but not touching, as the Bible says. It’s a small detail but an important one, I think.” As he spoke Aaron slowly lowered the laser closer to the target. “I considered that when I tested the gold,” he continued. “They wouldn’t want to have the parabola start bending over time. The beating of the gold will stiffen it and then I will make the wings.”
“How long will that take?” asked the General.
“A few days,” said Aaron. “First we cut the shape, then bend it. Then we’ll put it on the wooden form and shape the parabola by hammering it.”
The General nodded and pointed to the other side of the workshop. “I see that the gold leaf will start coming out soon. See that box those two carpenters are finishing? That’s the rest of our ark.”
Jim, Gene and the General left Aaron, Marta and their laser to take a closer look at the carpentry work. When they got close enough Jim could see that the box had already been assembled. The blonde wood had been mitered, glued and clamped.
The two men working on the box nodded to the General but continued their work. The area had the pungent smell of hot glue and acacia sawdust.
As they watched the two carpenters began measuring prefabricated molding to fit around the bottom edge of the box. Jim noticed that copies of his ark drawings were lying on the work bench. It made him feel more like a contributor than just an observer.
The General made very few comments as they toured the work areas. In the next room the spicy smell of acacia dust was even more intense. Several carpenters were assembling square columns for the interior of the Tabernacle. There were nine pillars in all.
A few workmen were matching large disk shaped pedestals to the bases of the pillars. Then they numbered them and put them aside in one pile or another. Gene commented that the work seemed to be going faster than expected.
They passed through several large rooms where millwork of various kinds was being performed. Jim commented finally that he saw little evidence of metallurgy.
“Anything that could be built off site was,” said the General. “The best thing about acacia wood is its lightness. It’s been an easy wood to work, but not all that easy to find. Three thousand years ago it was all over the Middle East. Now it’s not so cheap.
“Goat hair was another problem,” he added. “There’s plenty of goats but nobody orders the hair. We finally got it from Afghanistan, but they wanted to make the cloth there. So we sent agents who made sure that everything was the right size. It was a big deal, it turned out. Everybody wanted to know why the U.S. wanted fabric made from goat hair. Not that it was a political issue,” the General laughed. “They were just curious.”
“What did you tell them?” asked Jim.
“Floor mats for armored vehicles,” said the General. “Anyway, they arrive today.”
“So, how much of the material is being made off site?” asked Gene.
“We could have had all of it made off site, but we restricted it to 40%.”
“May I ask why?” asked Gene.
“We didn’t want anybody to recognize the shopping list,” answered the General. “What Uncle Sam buys is always of interest. The goat hair thing taught us a big lesson. Questions to our diplomats. It was stupid.”
Jim laughed. “So what did you do?”
“We bought everything else through a second party, or subcontracted it. The silver came from the Denver Mint. No problem there. Likewise the bronze, but the goat hair and acacia were dead giveaways, we thought. So we had to be very surreptitious. Still, someone’s bound to notice that a lot of acacia has been purchased. We think it’ll be written off as coincidence.”
“It’s interesting how everybody’s expectations were off the mark,” observed Jim. “Seems it’s been like that with me from the beginning. Every time I tried to put one foot in front of the other I’d find myself on a new path.” He looked around and noticed that all eyes were on him. He felt embarrassed.
“Sorry, General,” said Jim. “You were saying ...?”
“No, apologies, Wilson. Remember what I told you.”
Jim nodded but said nothing. He certainly remembered the General telling him not to hold back any commentary, but Jim wasn’t an outspoken person. Opinionated, yes, but he was never one to shoot his mouth off in front of strangers. Now, unlike anyone else, he had a license to kill, so to speak. He felt like a loaded gun unsure of where to aim.
Gene noticed Jim’s embarrassment. “I’ve had the same perceptions. It’s almost like Murphy is running the show.”
“Murphy.” The General chuckled. “Runs the military. So what else is new?”
The group continued their tour and eventually came back to the Gold Room, as the General called it. Aaron and Marta had just begun the cut. Sparks showered from the workbench as the laser’s green light cut unerringly into the sheet of gold.
Jim noticed that neither Aaron nor Marta Kohlmetz were touching any controls.
“If you are going to watch you’ll need protective glasses,” Marta warned them. “There are extras under the workbench.”
Jim noticed that she was watching the screen of a laptop computer. Jim knew something about computers, so he joined Marta to see what she was doing. When he got close enough he could see that the program she was running controlled the laser.
“I see,” said Jim, “you’re running a CAD program.”
“You know of this?” she said in a delightful Swiss accent.
“I do computer graphics,” said Jim. “You know. Quark. Photoshop. Illustrator.”
“Please put these on,” said Marta, as she handed Jim a pair of dark glasses. “An artist needs to protect his eyes, no?”
“I guess so,” said Jim as he slipped on the nearly opaque sunglasses. He looked at the laser. It had already completed nearly half the cut and was following the line on the tissue drawing exactly. The tiny spot of bright light moved at a steady one centimeter per second as a shower of sparks sprayed in all directions.
“You’re blasting some of the gold to smithereens,” commented Jim.
Marta looked at him. “What is a smithereen?”
“The smallest possible particle of matter,” said Jim with a straight face. “It’s related to lint.”
“Lint?” said Marta. Then she laughed. “You are a jokester, no?”
“Only around beautiful ladies,” quipped Jim.
The laser continued its cut until it finally met its starting point and the entire piece of gold sprang from the sheet with a sharp metallic clang. Jim noticed that the edge looked squared off and finished. He ran his thumb along the cut. It was smooth and cool to the touch.
“Very impressive.”
When Jim turned around the General was behind him. When their eyes met the General smiled but made no comment.
Jim decided to test the General’s own rule and spoke his mind. “Any problem, General?”
The muscles around the General’s eyes changed but he managed to maintain a smile. “Coming along nicely,
Wilson. Thank you.” The General moved away but Jim, a bit perplexed by the General’s response, wouldn’t let it go. “What does that mean?”
The General stopped walking and turned sideways to Jim. Then he signaled for Jim to join him a respectable distance from the rest of the group.
Jim knew he was might get a tongue lashing, but he figured it was worth it if it would bring the problem between him and the General to a head. “Is there an issue?” the General asked.
“I don’t understand your behavior toward me or Gene, for that matter. Why were you so hard on him before?”
“I thought I made that clear, Mr. Wilson,” said the General. “Seemed like Henson was putting ideas in your head. With anyone else, okay, no problem, but you are here to give US ideas, not the other way around. Is that simple enough for you?”
“I don’t see what ideas I could contribute beyond those represented in my drawings,” replied Jim. “Is this Freud, here, or is this an ark recreation?”
“Didn’t you hear a voice?” asked the General.
“Just now? Where?” said Jim.
“No, earlier. Years ago. When you were working in New York?”
Jim stared at the General, dumfounded. “Where do you ... who told you ...?”
“I know everything about you, Mr. Wilson,” said the General. “Everything. I know about that scar on your dick. I know your wife kicked her cocaine habit.”
“Bullshit!” said Jim. “She never had ...”
“She never told you,” said General Wilcox. “No problem. It’s history.”
Jim felt his knees go weak.
“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to have this conversation, Wilson. But it was your choice. I think you are a sensitive, Jim,” said the General. “I know what I say may hurt, but it doesn’t bother me. I do what I need to do to get the job done. That’s why they wouldn’t let me retire. That’s why I’m here.”
The General took a few steps away, then turned and came back to Jim’s side.
“Do you think I am enjoying this? Rethink that, friend. I could be on a fucking beach in Bimini. I should be, but I’m here. I’m here kicking you in the nuts so you’ll be a good civilian and do your country a favor.”
“I did the drawings. I told my story.”
“Think back to that voice, Mr. Wilson. I don’t like you but I know you’re not crazy. The voice you heard may have been the same one that gave you the ark idea.”
“I didn’t hear any voice about that,” Jim argued. “I read the Bible, I did the drawings.” He paused to think for a second then continued. “Okay, I might have been guided divinely. Then again, I might not have been.”
“That’s just it, Mr. Wilson. Nobody knows. If there’s a chance that you ... well, we don’t take chances in the U.S. military. We need all the help we can get. With you on hand, there’s a chance we might get a little divine inspiration. It’s as simple as that.”
“You have clergy on hand, don’t you?” asked Jim.
“Like I said. All the help we can get.”
He turned to walk away. Then, as though his conscience was still pinging a bit, he turned back to face Jim. “That shit about your wife. I’m sorry. Not for you but for her. No need for you to know. We all make mistakes. Do stupid things. Few of us can pull ourselves out of our own shit, all by ourselves. Your wife did that. If I was you .... well, it never happened. You know? Love her, Jim. When this is all over, love her and don’t let her go. She’s a heck of a lady.”
#
In his bunk at the end of the second day at Los Alamos, with the pungent smell of acacia lingering on his clothes, Jim searched his memory for moments when he might have noticed Kas’s cocaine use, but he gave up on that train of thought quickly. He knew that anyone can hide anything if it’s important enough to them. The important thing was that Kas had triumphed. Kas was with her sister, back at the nest. What mattered now was the phenomenon unfolding before him.
That evening Gene and Jim dined at a restaurant on the surface.
“It’s good to be up top again,” said Gene.
Jim nodded as he surveyed the town from the third story dining room of a restaurant called – euphemistically, Jim presumed – The Atomic Cafe. The place was having a Tex-Mex all-you-can-eat that they just couldn’t pass up.
Los Alamos reminded Jim of a high school campus turned into a full size town. What General Wilcox had dismissed as nothing when they arrived in the rain was a normal apple pie American town, the Los Alamos that the nation boasted as a center for scientific research, an icon of Yankee technology.
Gene chose the five star chili and Jim went for the Tejas Wings. They ate and laughed, and it seemed easy to forget for a few hours the strange hidden world beneath their feet. The General had instructed them to leave the subject of the ark below, if they were going to go up top, and Gene and Jim were more than glad to do so.
Looking out the large picture window Jim thought that the place was quite beautiful. All around them the rough landscape framed the setting sun. Trees, planted back during the time of the Manhattan Project, had long since achieved grandfatherly status, and even from this height Los Alamos had none of the appearance of a dusty western town.
Now the sun was beginning to splash sheets of orange and pink light across the sky, and the sunset became so compelling that everyone in the restaurant noticed.
Back East, Jim often marveled at how people would ignore nature’s beauty even when they’d paid big money to sit near the window and admire a view. The Top of the Sixes in New York, with its wonderful view of Central Park, was just such a place. Jim had dined there a couple times with a girlfriend who lived in New York and on his first visit watched a gorgeous sunset illuminate the city. Even though the sun filled The Top of the Sixes with dazzling amber light, no one he could see appeared to notice.
Not so at Los Alamos. People rose with their coffee and walked to the window to stand and admire the sunset, and the sun seemed to reciprocate by providing a show that contained every color of the rainbow and went on for almost a half hour.
When the last rays of deepest crimson gave way to a clearing sky full of stars, Jim and Gene strolled back to their table and sat down. They’d stopped by the buffet for a bit more cake and chocolate mousse.
As they sat enjoying their dessert Jim thought back to his days in New York. He told the sunset at the Sixes story to Gene, saying that he still couldn’t figure out why no one looked at the sunset.
“It wouldn’t be cool to ooh and aah at the sunset,” said Gene. “People who dine at the Top of The Sixes are there to be seen, not to see.”
Jim raised his eyebrows. “Simple as that?”
“I’m afraid so. Places like that are full of superficiality.”
“It’s a good thing I got out of there,” said Jim. Then he remembered the voice that had advised him to “Go out from among them.” Indeed. Ever since he’d left New York Jim’s life had taken positive turns. He met Kas, the love of his life, and he’d started a viable business. Perhaps that voice was from an angel.
Jim pondered the General’s admonitions to himself and Gene. Now he was sitting with Gene in complete privacy and felt he shouldn’t talk to Gene about his thoughts, feelings or the ark project.
The General’s tactic, obviously, had been to divide and conquer, leaving him in control. The idea angered Jim a bit. The General thought Jim had special abilities as a clairvoyant, based on a story his intelligence gatherers had found about a voice Jim once said he heard. Was the man grasping at straws? Why had that even mattered?
The more he thought about it, the more Jim felt that the General might be the loony his son described him to be. There was no real need to follow his advice. All that would accomplish was more power for the General over Jim, and he felt the General was already too big for his own britches, as Jim’s mother might have put it.
“I guess the General doesn’t want us talking about the project,” said Jim, fishing for an opinion from Gene.
Gene was noncommittal as usual. “Not while we’re up here,” he said. “It isn’t a good idea, I guess, ’cause you never know who’s listening.”
“That’s not why he doesn’t want us talking,” said Jim. “You know that.”
“Why do you think it is, Jim?” asked Gene with a patronizing smile.
Jim looked around to make sure no one was overhearing them. “He doesn’t want you putting ideas in my head.”
Gene laughed. “Is that what he told you? I’m afraid he’s got you snookered, Jim. The man is just an authoritarian getting in his last digs before retirement. What exactly did he tell you?”
“He thinks I have a special line to God or something. His people told him that I once heard voices.”
“Voices? You mean like ghosts?”
“Didn’t I ever tell you?” asked Jim.
“I sure would have remembered if you did,” replied Gene with a haughty laugh.
“If you really didn’t tell him, then I don’t know where he got it.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Gene. “General Wilcox doesn’t want me to suggest things to you because it might prevent you from hearing voices?”
The way Gene put it, it sounded silly. “Something like that,” Jim admitted.
Gene laughed again, this time in a derisive way. “Wait ’til I tell John that one.”
“No, Gene,” said Jim. “You’re not telling him anything. What I said was in total confidence and against the express wishes of the General.”
“Come on, Jim, he’ll love it. We gotta tell him.”
“No!” said Jim slamming his fist on the table.
Gene looked at Jim, flabbergasted. “Okay, okay,” he said. “My lips are sealed.”
Jim lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m telling you. This is serious. You may think this is ridiculous but I assure you the General was dead serious. If the General hears anything about my talking to you I think he’ll ship us both out.”