Opening Moves

From memory, she turned to the page she had last read a week ago, turned the paper over and skimmed the first new entry for anything of note. Frustratingly, it was solely a list of things to do around his own living quarters. The next page was more fruitful with some complex electronic circuitry, most certainly in the hand of another, possibly trying to show Irving what he had been talking about. A swift click of the button and it was captured by the Minox. Another shot to make sure the image was captured, just as she had been taught.

After that, there were a few pages of notes on what looked like physics and a page of doodling followed by some amateurish pictures of female breasts. Pervert. No picture of that was necessary.

Another turn of the book and then the Holy Grail gazed up at her from the paper.

Emilia was looking at an impressive sketch of an atomic bomb, apparently called ‘Little Boy’, accurate dimensions boldly recorded and with precise annotations on critical masses.

The camera rolled four times on that and she felt the perspiration trickle down her cleavage, although the bathroom was cool enough.

On the next page was a list of ‘favourite women’. Emilia had no interest in that so failed to notice she had made number three.

She stopped dead when she turned the next page over.

There in a bold hand were the words ‘16th create a rainbow, 17th all go home.’

‘Create a rainbow’ was an expression she had heard a few times. It was an insider’s jokey comment about the expected visual effects of a full-scale explosive fission reaction.

She took no pictures. There was no point. She understood perfectly. Suddenly the sweat dripped off her as she stood naked, digesting the enormity of what she had just read.

Thinking quickly, she re-hid the camera and unlocked the bathroom door, slipping quietly back into the bedroom and returning the book to Irving’s trouser pocket. Ensuring everything was at it was before, she quietly ran the hot tap until warm water came out. A quarter glass was enough and she moved to the bed and lay down. Pulling back the sheet, she made a swift movement and the liquid was spilled on the mattress around Irving’s groin. Putting the glass on the floor by her side, she rolled back to Irving and started to violently shake him.

A sleepy Irving moaned “Wassup honey? You want more? Huh baby?”

The tone of the reply quickly made him aware that not all was rosy in the garden and that his services were not to be needed again that night.

“Get out you dirty bastard! You’ve peed in my bed! Go on Irving, get out!”

His hand shot down and was greeted with warm dampness.

“Shit! Ok honey… quiet… shit… I’m sorry… oh gee… sorry” Every lean to recover an item of clothing or bend to hook out a shoe was punctuated with an apology. Emilia would have found it comical, had her mind not been consumed with more pressing matters.

“Please don’t tell anyone Emmy. It musta been the Bourbon honey. Sorry”

He vacated the room, having dressed in record time, and hurried off before his embarrassment overcame him.

Emilia, still naked, threw back the sheet to allow the air to dry the bed, then she grabbed a robe and a chesterfield.

Sitting quietly in her private space, she analysed what she had just discovered. Less than four weeks ago she had found out that the project was more advanced than anyone thought. Now she held proof that, less than three weeks from today, the project would test an atomic device. She had heard the talk but it had always seemed months off, possibly years. Yet here was a simple comment in a notebook that she knew was confirmation that the Manhattan project was about to go live.

“Fucking hell!”

This needed to go out straight away and so she sat to her desk, brought out her text book, and wrote a lovely girly letter to her cousin. She even referred to the unfortunate nocturnal urination of her drunken lover, just in case anyone still read them, which of course they did. The film would go out next time she took a trip over to Santa Fe but this had to go out tomorrow. She also included one other word.

‘Wellington’.

Chapter 5 – THE LEGIONNAIRE

The superior man is modest in his speech, but exceeds in his actions.

Confucius

0712 hrs, Sunday, 1st July 1945, Bad Kreuznach, Occupied Germany.

In a world of the toughest men, he was an enigma. Slight of figure, balding and of modest height, he could have easily been ignored if he crossed someone’s path in civilian clothes, although the tell-tale signs of bearing and fluidity of movement would be there for those that knew of such things. In his uniform of Colonel in France’s famous Foreign Legion, he presented a figure of awe and reverence to his troops, and of total professionalism to all others.