wondering why Hoover was going to so much trouble over this. It bothered him that Martel might know something important that the number-three — all right, number-four — man in the FBI wasn't privy to. And whatever this Manhattan project was, it was surely important.
Grierson stepped out into the early evening chill. The film would be analyzed for any subde gestures on Martel's part, but Grierson already knew that nothing new would be discovered. That was a problem; the Navy was breathing hard down Hoover's neck on this. Clearly Martel had some friends in high places, and without clear evidence of Martels guilt, the case would soon be dropped. If that happened, Hoover would focus back in on alleged leaks within FBI counterintelligence and several of the defense plants that Grierson was responsible for.
Even the hint of a screw-up was enough to put someone on Hoovers blacklist.
Grierson climbed into his car and started back for the ugly confrontation he knew awaited him at FBI headquarters. He was learning to hate James Martel.
CHAPTER FOUR
November 15 Berchtesgaden, Germany
The room clattered with scraping chairs and clicking heels as the Führer entered the palatial conference room with its open-walled view of the Alpine countryside. As he moved to the end of the long marble conference table he felt again the quickening, the narcotic thrill unknown since the last days of the Russian campaign. Both the victories won at the negotiating table and the triumphs earned in dictating to an empire paled to insignificance when compared to that greatest of all human endeavors, war— this time against the United States of America. In a way he would regret it when this last and foremost opponent ceased to exist, but then he had always been a sentimentalist.
To his left stood Field Marshal von Manstein, his chief of staff for the army. Next to Manstein was Doenitz of the Navy, and then Air Marshal Kesselring, Chief of Air Operations. To his right, down the other side of the table waited Himmler, Göring, Kaltenbrunner, who headed intelligence, the ever-present Bormann, and Albert Speer, head of industrial production and economic strategic planning:
Hitler's gaze fixed on General Kaltenbrunner. "The updated report you turned in yesterday. Do you vouch for it?"
"The reports are most reliable, my Führer. They come straight from the President's own Chief of Staff. Furthermore, what he's saying dovetails with reports from other sources."
"Then it is all too clear," Hitler announced. "They will try to lull us with hackneyed platitudes about peace—until this wonder weapon is ready. Then watch how their song changes. If they have this bomb first, that farmer and his fat degenerate friend in London will dictate to us."
He paused and looked around the room.
"To us!"
Hitler's gaze returned to his intelligence officer. "Is the estimated date we have for completion as reliable as the rest?"
"Such things are never certain, of course, but Harrisons Chief of Staff believes it to be accurate. The Russians too believe the Americans will achieve their target date. A couple of the American and British scientists, Communist sympathizers, are leaking information to Stalin, and they believe the dates." Kaltenbrunner carefully did not discuss his own pipeline into the Kremlin.
"Gott im Himmel!" Hitler roared. "The idiot Americans will give this bomb to the Russians—Stalin will be at our throats!"
"In a way we are fortunate," the intelligence officer continued when Hitler had calmed himself. "Had they maintained their initial pace they would have the bomb right now. Luckily, they slowed down their atomic research lifter Pearl Harbor so that they could devote all their resources to dealing with Japan. Alas, once the war was over, Roosevelt managed to get the projects priority upgraded again, under the code name 'Manhattan.'
"We already have two intelligence teams in place to survey the main manufacturing site for the bomb."
Emily White
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