“When you are on my ship, nothing is personal. Both your co-captain and captain can see it in your face.”
He shifted some more, hands in his pocket, clearly allowing himself to become upset. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted.”
“I’m not sure I can handle another mail call, sir.”
“Meaning?”
“Yesterday, sir. I received a letter from my parents and everything other than ‘hello’ and ‘we love you’ was cut out. It’s not fair what’s happening to them!” Robert exclaimed. “And now, I see the way these men look at me … like I’m some sort of traitor.”
“Take it easy, soldier. I’ll see if I can help you get better information when we get back, but you can’t let it affect your responsibilities on this flight. We clear?” Nick disliked being so direct, but he knew he needed to be firm as Robert had become darker and more isolated recently, both on and off the job.
Robert’s lack of a response raised Nick’s need for an answer. “Private?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll keep it in check.”
“Now, why don’t you offer to get those men some coffee … with a smile?”
When Robert returned, he saw that the four men had fashioned a map table out of several collapsed seats. He served each a cup of coffee. It was easy to see the area of the men’s focus was the vast wilderness section northeast of Fort Yukon. All conversation stopped until the coffee was served, a second trip for more sugar was accomplished, and he left.
After several hours flying over relatively uncharted portions of the Yukon Flats and northwest to Chandler just south of the Brooks Range, the major walked to the cockpit and addressed Nick directly.
“Captain, I’d like a course adjustment to the northeast toward an unnamed range of mountains about one hundred miles south of the Artic Ocean. Can you find them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Strange sight-seeing tour, don’t you think, Captain?” Red said after the major left. Red had been particularly quiet about the trip until now.
“My orders didn’t disclose anything that would tip off their objective. Leave with a full tank of gas, take them where they want, and bring them back in one piece. That’s pretty much it. It is hard to imagine what the major’s up to.”
“Where’d they come from?”
“Some place in New Mexico. Alamogordo, I think their flight plan said.”
“I know that area. It’s the desert’s version of what we’re flying over right now. It made the dust bowl, where I grew up in Perry, look like some life-after-death, celestial oasis for camel jockeys.” His broad smile, combined with the sun’s ray catching the corner of his eyes, softened the Okie tone to his voice. “Did you notice anything else?”
“Just that one of their bags is marked, CLASSIFIED: J. ROBERT OPPENHEIMER—PHYSICIST. Obviously, above our pay grade.”
The remainder of the flight went without incident. Only a few questions were asked by the group from New Mexico, and they were specifically directed at Captain Morgan while separate from the others. In all cases Robert and Red were not included. They were questions about accessibility, weather conditions during the fall, wildlife populations, and activities of the locals, if there were any, of specific locations they passed over. Nick answered as best he could, but much of the area they were flying over hadn’t officially been mapped. Any knowledge of the outposts came from anecdotal tidbits from the few trappers that bush pilots encountered when making supply deliveries and hide-cartage trips to Fairbanks. Pilots, like Nick, were a practical source of information, as well, for their occasional flights and related observations while serving the army in Alaska.
Enroute to Fairbanks from Yukon Flats
October 14, 1943
My Dear Martha,
We had an interesting trip today. Can’t tell you much other than it was over uncharted country. We passed over old gold mining areas near the eastern border of Alaska. Just about every creek bed in the area has been dredged. They are inoperative now on account of the war. There are trails, roads, and sluices all over the hills there. It certainly must have changed a lot from the virgin country it once was back before the ’90 gold rush. From there we flew to the Brooks Range and then up to the Artic Ocean. Very desolate. We get good radio reception in the air. I sure use it a lot, and I’m glad you bought it for me. Playing “Begin the Beguine” now. Heating the batteries after they’re dead increases the chemical activity, and they last for a while longer then. War news has still been discouraging.
Yours,
Nick
CHAPTER 12
“Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me,” Robert explained to Vladimir while they continued their lunch in the mess hall. “It’s hard to imagine why we flew over so much useless landscape yesterday. I mean, we’re fighting a war and the army is wasting time on a sight-seeing tour … with a major no less.”
After lunch Vladimir opened his second pack of cigarettes. He lit up as Robert told him about the flight. His questions were subtle and gently maneuvered Robert through a recollection of the entire flight—even the part about being chastised by the Captain because of his attitude. He had to be careful not to show too much interest, though. “Big waste of time, yes? Maybe Japan will launch full-scale attack on Fort Yukon. Just like Dutch Harbor.” Both men laughed. Robert lightened up a bit while they lingered over coffee.
“My father would have same kind of visits at Vladivostok. Many staff people from Kremlin would always waste his time. Difficult to tell their purpose, but always a waste of time. Like your Major Gordon, what could he know from New Mexico that would benefit war effort here?”
“Maybe Fort Yukon is classified and Mr. Oppenheimer is some famous geologist who will discover a new gold vein to fund the war effort?” Robert’s question was filled with sarcasm, yet only outlandish ideas seemed to make sense.
Vladimir’s weekly report back to Moscow included a summary of their discussion. It was his job to submit an encrypted message of everything that went on, regardless of its apparent importance. He knew from his experience as a listening agent that a team of people at NKVD headquarters under the command of Agent Andrey Sirak meticulously pieced together bits of information from hundreds of listening posts in at least eight countries. To his knowledge, he was one of only a dozen agents positioned in the United States. The relationship with the United States was simply one crafted out of practical need. There could be no basis of political friendship with their vastly differing ideologies. Lenin’s pre-WWI Bolshevik revolution had seen to that. Now, Stalin and Roosevelt shared only one common interest in what the Russian’s called the Great Patriotic War and that was to defeat the Third Reich. Beyond that, each government’s self-interest took over.
Vladimir’s efforts had a direct affect on the war with Germany. He trained the Russian P-38 pilots in Fairbanks who then dealt strategic blows against the German First Panzer Division, Fourth Panzer Division, and a reconstituted Sixth Army. Vladimir’s information on the performance of each of the Russian pilots in P-38 training also supported their successful deployment. Generally, his weekly reports were consumed with this kind of tactical information, but occasionally he combined this information with his general observations covering the occurrences taking place at Ladd and Elmendorf Airfields. The mention of the Fort Yukon tour led by Major Gordon and J. Robert Oppenheimer’s classified bag and civilian involvement would be detailed in the “other items of interest category” in his next report. Sending the reports was easy for Vladimir because he had a ready-made shuttle service provided by the constant deliveries of P-38s from Alaska to Russia. Only he and Agent Sirak knew the combination to the lock securing the ammo box used to carry the report. Once received, NKVD headquarters would direct their efforts in an encrypted reply communication, if need be, based on Agent Sirak’s priorities.
Three days after sending his report Vladimir received the following message.
RETURN IMMEDIATELY TO MOSCOW FOR FURTHER INTERROG
ATION REGARDING LAST REPORT. REPORT TO ME DIRECTLY UPON ARRIVAL.
AGENT ANDREY SIRAK
To be recalled abruptly came as a shock to Vladimir considering the priority of his involvement in the P-38 program. And, he couldn’t ever remember Agent Sirak sending his orders directly.
Two days later Vladimir arrived at the Balashikha army base outside Moscow at 4:00 p.m. A driver met him on the tarmac and chauffeured him directly to Lubyanka Square, which was just past Red Square. His post in rural Alaska did not prepare him for the formality and imposing design of this immense, yellow-masonry building that covered an entire city block. Noticeable also was Stalin’s destruction of many old churches that once decorated the area around the square, which he had heard about from other agents. The combination of this destruction and the onerous presence of the remaining NKVD headquarters’ building, known for its torture cells, reaffirmed a sense of fear experienced by many during the Chetkan period of internal spying and policing.
He had very little sleep during his series of flights covering more than four thousand miles and the international dateline, but he knew that it would have to come later. Right now, his mental framework, influenced by past experiences with Chetkan brutality and coupled with the intimidation of twenty-four–hour security surveillance over present NKVD operations, left Vladimir a little wobbly in the knees. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had made a horrific mistake in his last report. He’d gone over it multiple times during his flights, however, and found nothing unusual. He was escorted into the building and through a series of poorly lit hallways to the third floor. His escort gestured toward a simple wood-frame chair where he was expected to wait. No one talked.
After ten minutes of waiting a harsh voice called out from beyond the door: “show him in!” The military admin on duty snapped to attention with a look of uncertainty on his face. The man behind the door was clearly someone to be feared.
“Agent Sirak is ready for you,” the admin stated as if Vladimir was not cleared to hear the original request.
Vladimir Dubisskiy stood at attention upon entering the corner office. His gaze encompassed a large, elegantly furnished room with mahogany-paneled walls and many matching tables, which he assumed were for briefings or closer observation of maps. There were two large windows adorned with elegant blue drapery with red piping and red sashes, matching the colors of the Russian flag. These windows overlooked the Red Square.
The entire atmosphere was in contrast to the starkness he witnessed elsewhere in the building, indicating that Agent Sirak held an important position in counterintelligence. More commanding than anything, however, was an exceptionally large map of the United States hanging on a sidewall. Otherwise, the office was very efficient and reflected a man well in control of the events surrounding him.
“Please be seated,” Agent Sirak said, motioning to a table near the large map. At about fifty, six feet two, and in excellent physical condition, the man commanded a formidable presence. “We have not met, no?” He extended the wooden cigarette box after removing one for himself.
“Thank you.” Both men paused to light up. Vladimir exhaled a lungful of smoke and continued. “No, sir. I don’t believe we have met, at least not to my knowledge.”
“Your reputation precedes you,” said Sirak. “I have admired the attention to detail in your work for many years.” Vladimir noticeably relaxed as the tension from the anticipation of an unknown wrongdoing on his part drained from his neck and shoulders. “I even remember Shimoda. It was your first real assignment, I believe … barely into your twenties. Am I right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Agent Dubisskiy was shocked to hear Agent Sirak describe his involvement with remarkable detail. Agent Sirak’s description of the consulate general’s greed and the intricate network of operatives covering up the gold-smuggling operation was as if he had read Agent Dubisskiy’s report yesterday. “It was the details of your report then that struck me as commendable,” Agent Sirak concluded. What riveted Vladimir’s attention was the lack of waste in anything he said. Each word was chosen for a point and well coordinated with body language and gestures that marked him as a strong leader. What Vladimir didn’t know was that Agent Sirak was the originator of the Special Section of Counterintelligence of the NKVD, which he conceived of from firsthand discussions with Stalin immediately following the invasion of Germany. Agent Sirak’s place in Stalin’s inner circle of advisors, where state secrets were regularly discussed, was a closely guarded relationship, which left no room for mistakes.
“Have you ever reconnected with that lovely young Japanese girl—what was her name? Okimi Nakamura, I believe.”
Vladimir’s shock at this intimate level of knowledge was obvious, and he could barely reply. “Only once, regrettably. Several years ago.”
“Come now, Agent Dubisskiy. You are not surprised that we knew your situation, are you?”
“That was many years ago, sir, and I am surprised that it came up in this discussion when, in fact, I have never discussed her with anyone.”
“She still works in her father’s flower shop. She’s fine and still single. Considering the magnitude and direction of the war, however, that may not be important. I thought you’d like to know. You see, Agent, I too am preoccupied with the details.”
“Thank you for the information.” He swallowed as if to provide a delay in order to protect the many thoughts flooding his mind. Okimi still working in that little shop, the sweet smell of the flowers, their beautiful colors and arrangements, and, most of all, the perfection of the white jasmine all struggled for attention in his emotions, none of which could be released.
“On to the matters at hand,” the senior agent said, moving his attention to the large map of the United States. “I’m sure you are tired from your trip, so I will make this discussion brief. We can follow up tomorrow with additional questions you may have. Do you know what has our interest, Agent Dubisskiy?”
“Sir, I’ve read that report a dozen times and I cannot find it.”
“Let me enlighten you to one of the significant developments in America. I’m sure you’re familiar with U.S. geography, but I’ll refresh you with the whereabouts of a small mountain town in New Mexico called Los Alamos here.” He pointed to a dot on a map, which placed the town about thirty miles northwest of Santa Fe.
Classified, Vladimir instantly recalled as he remembered his discussion with Robert and the seeming irrelevance of the New Mexico connection took center stage.
“Let me fill in the pieces for you, Agent Dubisskiy. Since 1942, General Leslie Groves and physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer have been leading the U.S. project to design and build the first atomic bomb. Apparently, Mr. Oppenheimer had some boyhood connection to the geology of the Southwest and a school he briefly attended. As it turned out, this very school has facilities that suit the United States government purpose perfectly for this very secret project. If you don’t already know, this project has enormous implications for the outcome of the war, and probably the political climate of our world for years to come. Before I go further however, tell me more about this Robert Endo.”
As Agent Sirak listened to Vladimir’s response, he mentally categorized the thorough description of Robert’s upbringing, schooling, current responsibilities in the army, and psychological pressures stemming from his parents being interned. Vladimir smiled and relaxed during his description of their almost daily routine of eating together and discussing the happenings of the base.
“This Robert has become a friend, no?”
“In some ways he has, sir. Our discussions help me improve my English and keep me in tune with American culture in addition to base activities. We maintain sarcasm throughout our discussion as an amusement. It helps him talk.”
“You haven’t asked as yet, Agent Dubisskiy, but for your information I believe that “classified” may also refer to Yukon Flats.” Vladimir’s eyebrows raised in notable interest.
“You understand of cour
se, that if it is, finding out why that team of people was flying around Yukon Flats has become the most important element of your assignment. Information related to activities in the area and how it is connected to Los Alamos has the highest importance to the national security of the Federation.”
Vladimir had a peripheral knowledge about the race to develop such a bomb through his counterintelligence briefings, but he was never considered close enough to the politics of the project to be informed or involved first-hand. He basically knew that Germany, America, Japan, and Russia all wanted to have the weapon first as a tool to assert military supremacy. Beyond that he knew little. “I’ll need to be more informed in order to understand what to look for, what questions to ask … what questions not to ask.”
“Precisely. Over the next three days you will be exposed to everything you need to know. Pay attention. There aren’t any textbooks. Once back in the United States you will report your findings directly to me, no one else. In code, of course. There can be no compromise involving this assignment. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sure you are exhausted at this point. Arrangements have been made for you to stay on premise. We will meet tomorrow for breakfast at 0630. Have a good rest, Agent Dubisskiy.”
The door to the office opened in perfect timing with the end of Agent Sirak’s sentence. The uniformed admin gestured in a way that clearly indicated the end of the meeting and offered to lead him from Agent Sirak’s office back through the massive complex again, but this time to a room where he could rest. As he followed, crossing many corridors and up several flights of stairs, it wasn’t the excitement of classified U.S. locations that fired the neurons in his brain—it was the fragrant smell of Okimi’s hair, fresh from a rainwater bath, that renewed the bond held for so many years.
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