The Haigerloch Project

“The only agency with operatives working in the ‘black’ inside Germany proper, sir, is our Secret Intelligence section— OSS-SI,” Rosenfeld added.

“Any of them qualified to handle this?”

Rosenfeld shook his head.

“I am certain not,” he said. “We only have a handful of agents inside.”

There was a knock on the door. Captain Barnes entered, handed a sheet of paper to McKinley and left.

The general read the information aloud:

“Decker, Johann — physicist. Born Düsseldorf, 1901. Professor theoretic physics, Heidelberg. Investigated disintegration products of radium, thorium and actinium, and the behavior of beta rays. Investigations in the field of quantum theory and atomic structure and behavior. Worked on development of quantum mechanics, 1931. Nobel Prize in physics, 1934. Professor in Berlin; member of Kaiser Wilhelm Institute of Physics, 1937. Joined Degussa, Frankfurt, 1944—position and activities unknown. Considered one of Germany's leading scientists in the field of atomic research. G-2 states exfiltration request originated with Manhattan Project.”

McKinley looked at Colonel Reed.

“Seems your people wanted this Decker fellow,” he said. “And I can understand why.”

Reed was turning deep red.

“Yes, sir,” he said with obvious difficulty. Then he could no longer contain himself. “Damn that Need-to-Know nonsense!” he exploded. “How in hell can I function when my right hand doesn't communicate with my left — even in sign language?”

McKinley smiled.

“Don't let it get you down, Reed,” he said. “I've got the same problem right here.”

He turned to Rosenfeld. He grew sober.

“It's your baby, Major,” he said. “How do you want to handle it?”

Rosenfeld frowned lightly in concentration.

“Probably as a one-man infiltration — rather than a team effort,” he said. “The man would have to penetrate a strict security project in the heart of enemy country.”

“He'd have to be one hell of an agent,” Reed commented.

“He would” Rosenfeld looked at General McKinley “I can profile him.”

“Go,” McKinley said.

“He'd have to speak German like a native, know his way around the country. He must be thoroughly trained and have experience in the field. He must be a scientist with enough knowledge in the atomic field to know what he is looking for— and to recognize it if he finds it — but not enough knowledge of our own progress to be a real danger if captured.” He thought for a moment. “He must be in good enough physical condition to be able to handle himself in any tight situation, and he would have to have a good cover with a valid excuse for not being in the German armed forces, if he is to be able to move around.”

“Pretty tall order — even for your OSS,” Reed commented dryly.

“Can you lay your hands on a man to fit that bill?” General McKinley asked. “Fast?”

“How fast?”

“Forty-eight hours.”

Rosenfeld looked startled. “We can try.”

“Get on it,” McKinley said. “Keep me fully informed.”

“Yes, sir.”

McKinley stood up. He walked over to the window. The sky was as blue as he had ever seen it. He weighed his options…. Johann Decker's statement was unconfirmed, but he felt in his gut it was valid. Attempts could be made to verify it. Were significant amounts of uranium actually going to Haigerloch? That was a key question. What were the realistic risks in sending into Germany an agent who knew about the Manhattan Project, however sketchily? He suddenly appreciated Groves’ stand on that baseball-player incident; saw the dilemma clearer than ever. If the man was caught, he would be made to talk. Eventually. McKinley had no illusions about that. Would the risks be outweighed by the possible benefits? If the Nazi undertaking at Haigerloch definitely was an atomic-bomb project— was there any choice at all?

He turned to Rosenfeld.

“Major,” he said, “I want a penetration mission prepared as quickly as possible, ready to jump off at a moment's notice.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will tell you if—and when. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

McKinley walked back to his desk. He turned to Reed. He looked deeply troubled. He hesitated. Then—

“Reed,” he said soberly, “has the Manhattan Project been penetrated?”

Reed slowly shook his head.

“Half an hour ago I would have said no,” he answered slowly. “Absolutely not…”

He looked grimly at the general.

“I — don't know.”

8

He squinted through the grimy window at the crisp morning light. From the shadows of his dingy room he cautiously looked up and down the alley below. Only two days before, he had almost been caught….

He'd barely walked out of the fleabag on Lee Street near the B&O Railroad when a carload of eager-beaver FBI men had barreled up. It had taken all his sang-froid to join the small, curious crowd that quickly gathered to watch as two of the agents rushed in the front while others raced to cover the rear. He had to hand it to them. He'd been on the air less than fifteen minutes….

He glanced at his watch. It was almost time.

He took a deep breath. A sharp pain knifed through his chest. That damn wound. About time it stopped bothering him.

He took stock. Again.