other scientists grew to hate him for it.
"Lu Li," I said during a pause, "first let me express my great sadness over Andrew's passing."
The physicist shook her head. "That not why I ask you here. I want to know about this morning. What really happen to my Andy?"
I hesitated to speak frankly in the house. Seeing my anxious expression, she went to the fireplace, knelt, and reached up into the flue. She brought out a sooty cardboard box, which she set on the coffee table. I'd seen the box before. It contained several pieces of homemade electronic equipment that reminded me of the Heathkit projects my father and I had worked on when I was a boy. Lu Li withdrew an object that looked like a metal wand.
"Andy sweep house this morning before work," she said. "Plugged all the mikes.
Okay to talk now."
I glanced at Rachel. The subtext was clear. Lu Li knew the score on Trinity, or at least she knew about the NSA's security tactics. Geli Bauer would probably have this house torn apart as soon as Lu Li left for the cleaner's or the grocery store. I was surprised she had waited even this long.
"Have you left the house at all today?" I asked.
"No," Lu Li said. "They won't tell me what hospital they take Andy to."
I doubted Fielding had been taken to a hospital. He'd probably been flown to NSA headquarters at Fort Meade, Maryland, probably to some special medical unit for an autopsy, or worse. The British might complain later, but that would be the State Department's problem, not the NSA's. And the British—framers of the Official Secrets Act and the "D" notice—had a way of falling into line with the United States where national security was concerned.
"I still think we should whisper," I said softly, pointing at the wand. "And I think I should take that box with me when I go. I'm afraid the N"— I stopped myself—"the company security people might search this house the first time you leave. You don't want anybody to find it."
Lu Li had been raised in a Communist country with ruthless security police.
Her willingness to believe the worst was deeply ingrained. "Did they kill my Andy?" she whispered.
"I hope not. Given Andrew's health, age, and habits, a stroke was possible.
But... I don't think it was a stroke. What makes you think he might have been murdered?"
Lu Li closed her eyes, squeezing tears out of them. "Andy knew something might happen to him. He tell me so."
"Did he say this once? Or often?"
"Last two weeks, many times."
I exhaled long and slowly. "Do you know why Andrew wanted to see me at Nags Head?"
"He want to talk to you. That all I know. Andy very scared about work. About Trinity. About..."
"What?"
"Godin."
Somehow I had known it would be Godin. John Skow was easy to hate—an arrogant technocrat with no moral center—but he did not generate much fear. Godin, on the other hand, was easy to like—a genius, a patriot in the best sense of the word, a man of conviction— yet after you worked with him awhile, you sensed a disturbing vibration radiating from him, a Faustian hunger to know that disdained all limits, disregarded all boundaries. One thing was plain: anyone or anything that stood between Godin and his goal would not remain there long.
Godin and Fielding had got along well in the beginning. They were from roughly the same generation, and Godin possessed Robert Oppenheimer's gift for motivating talented scientists: a combination of flattery and provocative insight. But the honeymoon had not lasted. For Godin, Trinity was a mission, and he pursued it with missionary zeal. Fielding was different. The Englishman did not believe that just because something was possible, it should be done.
Nor did he believe that even a noble end justified all means to attain it.
"Did Andy have papers to show me?" I asked hopefully.
"I don't think so. Every evening he make notes, but every night before bed"—she pointed to the fireplace—"he always burn them. Andy very secret. He always try to protect me.
"Lu Li," I said during a pause, "first let me express my great sadness over Andrew's passing."
The physicist shook her head. "That not why I ask you here. I want to know about this morning. What really happen to my Andy?"
I hesitated to speak frankly in the house. Seeing my anxious expression, she went to the fireplace, knelt, and reached up into the flue. She brought out a sooty cardboard box, which she set on the coffee table. I'd seen the box before. It contained several pieces of homemade electronic equipment that reminded me of the Heathkit projects my father and I had worked on when I was a boy. Lu Li withdrew an object that looked like a metal wand.
"Andy sweep house this morning before work," she said. "Plugged all the mikes.
Okay to talk now."
I glanced at Rachel. The subtext was clear. Lu Li knew the score on Trinity, or at least she knew about the NSA's security tactics. Geli Bauer would probably have this house torn apart as soon as Lu Li left for the cleaner's or the grocery store. I was surprised she had waited even this long.
"Have you left the house at all today?" I asked.
"No," Lu Li said. "They won't tell me what hospital they take Andy to."
I doubted Fielding had been taken to a hospital. He'd probably been flown to NSA headquarters at Fort Meade, Maryland, probably to some special medical unit for an autopsy, or worse. The British might complain later, but that would be the State Department's problem, not the NSA's. And the British—framers of the Official Secrets Act and the "D" notice—had a way of falling into line with the United States where national security was concerned.
"I still think we should whisper," I said softly, pointing at the wand. "And I think I should take that box with me when I go. I'm afraid the N"— I stopped myself—"the company security people might search this house the first time you leave. You don't want anybody to find it."
Lu Li had been raised in a Communist country with ruthless security police.
Her willingness to believe the worst was deeply ingrained. "Did they kill my Andy?" she whispered.
"I hope not. Given Andrew's health, age, and habits, a stroke was possible.
But... I don't think it was a stroke. What makes you think he might have been murdered?"
Lu Li closed her eyes, squeezing tears out of them. "Andy knew something might happen to him. He tell me so."
"Did he say this once? Or often?"
"Last two weeks, many times."
I exhaled long and slowly. "Do you know why Andrew wanted to see me at Nags Head?"
"He want to talk to you. That all I know. Andy very scared about work. About Trinity. About..."
"What?"
"Godin."
Somehow I had known it would be Godin. John Skow was easy to hate—an arrogant technocrat with no moral center—but he did not generate much fear. Godin, on the other hand, was easy to like—a genius, a patriot in the best sense of the word, a man of conviction— yet after you worked with him awhile, you sensed a disturbing vibration radiating from him, a Faustian hunger to know that disdained all limits, disregarded all boundaries. One thing was plain: anyone or anything that stood between Godin and his goal would not remain there long.
Godin and Fielding had got along well in the beginning. They were from roughly the same generation, and Godin possessed Robert Oppenheimer's gift for motivating talented scientists: a combination of flattery and provocative insight. But the honeymoon had not lasted. For Godin, Trinity was a mission, and he pursued it with missionary zeal. Fielding was different. The Englishman did not believe that just because something was possible, it should be done.
Nor did he believe that even a noble end justified all means to attain it.
"Did Andy have papers to show me?" I asked hopefully.
"I don't think so. Every evening he make notes, but every night before bed"—she pointed to the fireplace—"he always burn them. Andy very secret. He always try to protect me.
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