“As good as can be expected.” Robert realized how much he had come to enjoy his companionship with Vladimir. They had no obligations to each other, just a common bond as outsiders to the system—in some respects to the war itself. Robert felt a unique level of acceptance by Vladimir. “Yes, I have been gone. It wasn’t an easy trip. My mother died in Manzanar a day after my visit.”
“My deepest regrets, comrade,” Vladimir replied, shifting to a genuine use of his word for “friend.”
He listened to Robert’s saga over the last several weeks, including a reference to his trip to Anchorage where he met with Cricket. There was no mention of the liaison, of course, but the timeline validated the truth of his movements. They talked more of Robert’s visit to the camp, and Robert revealed his disgust with the conditions and treatment his parents had to endure. At one point he said, “If I could do something to end this war I would, and right now I’m not sure whose side I would take.”
“On my trip back to Moscow while you were gone, I had the same feeling. All my boyhood friends are dead, lying in a ditch somewhere on the western front. And for what? I just want it to end.
“So, what brings you back to Fairbanks?” Vladimir steered their conversation toward present activities.
Robert looked around before responding. “It seems that our dignitaries from New Mexico want another look-see of the Yukon Flats area. This time it’s for a few days. I’m to be their gopher for the trip.”
“Gopher? That is little ground animal, no?”
“Sorry, it’s just an expression. It means that I’m the one who will go for things whenever the brass has a request,” Robert said slowly, enunciating “go for.”
“That’s a good one,” Vladimir laughed. “I know of this job, too. What do you think they will ask you to go for?”
“Don’t have the foggiest idea. Cricket just said they wanted the same crew. We’re taking the C-45A, so we’re definitely planning on landing.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow is what I was told, but I’ve not seen our ‘cargo’ yet. They’re expected to arrive sometime today.”
Vladimir turned his face toward the window and watched a transport takeoff on one of the runways. He needed to press Robert for more, but was reluctant. If he was going to bring Robert into his confidence, he would have to choose his words very carefully. “I need to inform you of something important,” Vladimir said, following his instinct that this was the right time.
“You sound serious.”
“It is. Serious enough to get both of us killed.”
“Go on,” Robert said, cautiously leaning closer while on the edge of his chair, resting his elbows on the cafeteria table.
Vladimir lit another Camel, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly while looking around the mess area to ensure that they wouldn’t be overheard. “You and I share a common threat. For me the threat is losing someone I love who lives in Shimoda.”
Robert cocked his head without losing eye contact as if to say, now you have my attention.
“For me the threat is losing Okimi. For you, it’s bigger. Your parents have many relatives in Japan, no? They will be at risk of attack by the U.S. that will be beyond what the world has seen. The reaction by the Japanese government to such an attack will likely keep your father in prison for years to come. But if I tell you more about this threat, I add to my own risk of being jailed as a spy in your country.”
“What are you saying?” Robert wasn’t alarmed or threatened. He was intrigued and wanted to know more.
Vladimir had to be careful. His career would be over if the conversation went badly. He was within a minute of making a move that could cause him to spend the rest of his life in a military prison. In his entire career as an agent, it was this moment that held the greatest risk. It was this moment that his judgment would either spell success or failure. Up until now he had always been right. He never quite knew the formula for bringing in a new operative—developing trust, compelling circumstances, timing, good judgment on both sides—but it always came in a moment of spontaneity. It was never planned. Had his estimation of Robert’s deepening discontent been correct?
“Can I trust you to let me explain what I know? Before you answer, let me say that if you share my concern, we can work together. If not, nothing can ever be said between us again.” Vladimir meticulously observed Robert’s body language for clues. His interest was high. He was positioned on the edge of his chair; his arms were open, not closed and defensive.
“It’s okay, go ahead,” Robert responded with an expression of curiosity.
Vladimir paused for a full minute, taking in Robert’s expressions during the silence. He was convinced that he could trust him. “My government is certain that the United States is close to the successful development of an atom bomb—close enough to begin planning the testing process. It’s referred to as the Manhattan Project. Are you familiar with this effort?
“Not by that name, but there’s been scuttlebutt about a bomb of enormous destructive power. Details are very hush-hush.”
“Germany, Japan, and Russia are also working on such a bomb, but my superiors think that the United States will be first. What does that mean? Such a bomb with the power to destroy a city the size of Manhattan will mean that key cities in Japan and Germany will be targeted. As I said, for me I may lose Okimi. For you, the peaceful existence of the Japanese people in the United States is at risk. You can see that this bomb would be very bad for many people. I have been instructed to pay attention to progress of this Manhattan Project.”
Robert rubbed his lower lip with his thumb and index fingers while he thought. He then spoke deliberately to Vladimir, maintaining fixed eye contact. “My peaceful existence in the U.S. ended when they put my parents in prison. What they’ve done to my parents and others is inexcusable. If I could help to save innocent victims from a bomb planned for Japan, I would. But I’m not aware of anything about the Manhattan Project. ”
“I would never put you in jeopardy, Robert. At this time, anything involving the men from Los Alamos over the next few days would help me very much.” Vladimir paused to inhale. “Can I count on you and leave my request at that?”
“Okay.” Robert was energized for the first time since his parents’ detention. He finally felt like his life had a purpose and that he would be able to do something to help his father. His pact with Vladimir felt very freeing.
CHAPTER 21
Major Gordon handled the brief introductions while they were standing next to the C-45A. “Since we’re going to be together for a few days, we might as well get to know each other. We know who you are and you know who I am, but I believe we neglected to introduce my companions on the last trip. This is Dr. Robert Oppenheimer,” he said, pointing to a willowy man with sharp facial features who stood about six feet tall. Dr. Oppenheimer’s stare off into the distance and compliant handshake clearly let everyone know that he didn’t expect to be communicated with unless instructed. He seemed more interested in finishing his cigarette before boarding. “This is Lieutenant Max O’Reilly,” the major said.
Lieutenant O’Reilly was more sociable. He greeted each crew member with a hearty handshake and a smile. “Glad to be aboard,” he said in a thick Irish brogue. His sturdy physique pegged him as an athlete, probably football or baseball player or maybe both, and his clear eye contact and confident stance marked him as a man of single-mindedness.
Last to be introduced was Ronald Reisdorf, a young man in civilian clothes. He was hard to read during the introductions, as he was preoccupied with adjusting his steel-rimmed glasses that were constantly sliding down his long nose. He didn’t have much to say and appeared to be more a thinker and doer than a talker. Nonetheless, he greeted everyone pleasantly. The major gave no indication to the men’s responsibilities, or the purpose for their trip.
Everyone boarded the plane. Nick and Red climbed into the cockpit. The guests took seats near the rear of the craft, leaving
room for Robert up front. With only eight seats there wasn’t much privacy.
There was a thick layer of fog covering the airfield. It extended over the river valley and didn’t stand much of a chance of burning off for several hours. The tower informed Nick that they would not reach clear skies until three thousand feet.
“Major,” Nick said, standing in the aisle. “We can wait a few hours for this pea soup to clear or charge ahead on schedule. Your call.”
“Are you suggesting there’s risk in making the takeoff now?”
“No, just uneasiness for those not familiar with the turbulence of blind takeoffs in mountainous terrain.”
“Captain, I can assure you that you don’t need to treat us like some of the skittish Northwest passengers your airline caters to. Move on.”
“As you wish.”
The C-45A followed the taillights of an army Jeep for their runway approach and tuned the plane until the magnetic compass matched the precise direction of the assigned runway. Once the gyrocompass was set, Red took special care to concentrate on it to hold course within a degree or two. After completing their cockpit checklist of instruments, engines, and flight controls, they were ready. The landing lights were off to eliminate their reflective glare off the fog.
“Ready for takeoff,” Nick said.
As they gathered speed into the fuzzy void and then felt the ship’s liftoff, each man prayed silently that they would avoid the sinister, lurking disaster manufactured by their imagination. Despite the perfection of the takeoff, Nick couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been punished like a schoolboy in the principal’s office in his reaction to the major’s brusque remark about “catering to passengers.” Within minutes they broke through the fog and into a perfectly blue sky. With the winter sun low on the eastern horizon, they could just make out the peaks of the White Mountains, poking their majestic crowns of snow heavenward.
Within the hour Nick was circling a runway cut into the forest just to the north of Yukon Flats. During the winter the gravel runway wouldn’t present any challenges as long as it was clear of any snowdrifts or chunks of ice from the snow plow. Nick made a first pass of the runway at tree level to confirm the runway was clear, and in minutes they were on the ground. Nick was happy it was a daylight landing, as communications with ground personnel was non-existent. Two vehicles met them, though, as they taxied into position to tie the plane down.
Grant Pearson, acting superintendent of the Mt. McKinley National Park, and Bradford Washburn, mountaineer, scientist, and explorer on contract with the U.S. Army to test the effectiveness of cold-weather gear, met the entourage with two drivers as they disembarked from the plane. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the major said with familiarity once on the ground. “Lieutenant, help the crew with the dispatch of our gear while Mr. Oppenheimer and Mr. Reisdorf join these men to begin our planning for tomorrow’s activities. We don’t have a lot of time.” The major’s tone was full of self-importance as he motioned with his hand for the others to get into the lead Jeep. “Brief these men as to what’s expected,” he added.
Lieutenant Max O’Reilly buttoned his coat and rubbed his hands for warmth as the vehicle drove away. “Looks like your job is to babysit the help, Lieutenant,” Red said, not concealing the irritation in his voice.
“Seems as if the army hasn’t informed you much about the nature of this junket,” the Lieutenant said with an apologetic tone.
“No, I’d say not,” replied Nick, “but I have a feeling you’re about to.” The crew stood there on the frozen airstrip waiting for an explanation.
“First, let me apologize to you, Captain, for you not receiving this information first, but hopefully you’ll understand when I tell you that this mission is top secret. You will not know what that mission is, but I can say that your selection as a crew was based on your previous familiarity with the project team. Everything about this mission is on a need-to-know basis.”
“So, what’s our role to be,” Nick said, emphasizing an acceptance of what he had no control over. He made a mental note to tell Cricket what he thought about this assignment. Outwardly he controlled his dissatisfaction.
“You and the co-captain won’t be needed until our flight back. PFC Endo will be assigned to me, with your permission, of course, for camp details and mess duty.”
“Robert, I don’t believe the lieutenant is really asking for my permission, but are you okay with this arrangement?”
“The C-45A only requires a crew of two, so I’m not surprised. And, with you being an ATC contract pilot, not regular army, the lieutenant outranks you on the ground,” Robert stated flatly.
“What’s the length of our stay?” Nick asked, moving on.
“Not definite, but the plan is for two days. You’re free to take in the sights … just be ready for a departure when the major orders. Mr. Washburn has arranged for us to stay at his winter camp not far from here. The others will stay there, too. Any other questions?”
Nick conjured the meaning of the word “sights” as he looked around at the frozen landscape filled with a mix of barren hills, forested glens, and open pastures. Two days here could be interesting, he thought. Maybe I can try to find that mountaineer couple John and Peg Cable I met last year.
“Captain, permission to speak?” Red asked.
“Permission granted.”
“Lieutenant, it’s not my purview to know everything, but the presence of Mr. Pearson has me a little confused. He’s quite a bit off the ranch as the acting Mt. McKinley Park superintendent, don’t you think?” Red’s study of Alaska was showing with the implication in his question of the great distance between their current location and the park.
“Can’t comment, co-captain, other than to say that Mr. Pearson’s knowledge of Yukon Flats area has special relevance to the mission.”
“Sounds like I’m going to have to satisfy my curiosity another time.” Red’s tone of dissatisfaction was anything but subtle.
“If there are no other questions, let’s get the gear off the plane and loaded up,” the lieutenant said, ending the short query.
CHAPTER 22
The flight from Ladd with the team from Los Alamos was on time. Grant Pearson and Brad Washburn waited in their vehicle and chatted with the few minutes available. Grant had arrived shortly before noon direct from the U.S. Army Recreation Camp at Mt. McKinley. He flew the Piper J5-A himself.
“Uncle Sam has asked us to do some strange things, but I think this little project takes the cake. I just don’t get the purpose of showing these folks around. So, what do you know about this mission, Brad?”
“Not much. Didn’t they give you an explanation?” Brad asked, knowing that as a contract worker his own ignorance in military matters was par for the course. He first met Grant about a year earlier when testing cold-weather equipment at Mt. McKinley Army Recreation Camp, where Grant had assisted with various expeditions.
“No. And I don’t think we’re going to get one either. Sometimes these army bastards can be a pain in the ass.”
“That’s strange … the lack of an explanation, I mean,” Brad said, knowing that Grant hated being in the dark. Grant had an arrogant streak in him and generally thought he was right. On the rare occasion when he didn’t have an answer, he would stand there with his hands jammed in his pockets, jaw extended, and get a sullen look on his face, trying to blame someone else for his ignorance. He hated the title “acting superintendent,” because as far as he was concerned the current National Park Service superintendent didn’t measure up, and crowded his freedom. He carried himself with the swagger of the superintendent title and assumed that the job would soon be his once his boss retired. Both Brad and Grant were of the same height, but Brad was wiry, whereas Grant was more muscled. Both were young men in their early thirties, but Brad’s accomplishments as a mountaineer and cartographer overshadowed Grant’s self-aggrandized reputation as an Alaskan pioneer. Grant would have you believe that there was nothing he hadn’t accom
plished in the Alaskan wilderness. Truth was—Brad felt he was overrated.
“Maybe they are waiting until we’re all together to give us a briefing,” Brad continued with his standard sense of practicality.
“Maybe.”
Brad knew that what really galled Grant was being ordered around. The politics of being an errand-boy didn’t suit Grant’s self-image. Luckily the flight was on time, as even waiting a short time in the vehicle at the beck and command of the major put Grant in a sour mood.
“Who’s the pilot?” Brad asked, noticing the textbook landing.
“Nick Morgan, on loan from Northwest. That’s about all I do know other than we’re to be the tour directors for this soirée.”
“Seems to know his business,” Brad commented, ignoring Grant’s sarcasm.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Major Gordon said, shaking their hands vigorously. After dispatching the flight crew and his lieutenant, Major Gordon motioned Brad and Grant to their Jeep. He could see by their blank expressions as he approached that a little public relations work was in order. Introductions were made and they climbed inside the Jeep. “We appreciate your help. I apologize for the lack of information surrounding this little project. And I’m afraid it’s not going to get any better either since the purpose of the trip is classified. I did ask for the two best men available, however. Both of you came highly recommended in your knowledge and abilities. I’ll try not to make you feel like Girl Scouts in how we work together over the next few days, but in reality, I will be getting information from you, but won’t be able to give anything in return about the mission.”
“Can you give us an overview of what you’d like to accomplish?” Grant asked.
“I’ll do that as soon as we get to camp and lay out the maps. I assume that our camp will be secure, Mr. Washburn?”
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