Read Online The Incidental Spy by Libby Fischer Hellmann - Free Book Online Page B

it’s by creating a chain reaction that will essentially ‘cook’ uranium and produce energy. While it’s cooking, it forms plutonium, which we need for the bomb. Once it’s cooled, we will try to separate the plutonium from the uranium. But the plutonium will be highly radioactive, so we have to build machines that can do all this by remote control.”
    “I had no idea.”
    Irving grinned. “Yes. But you see, there are other scientists around the country experimenting with other materials. It’s almost a race to see which team produces results first. Of course, we think it will be us,” Irving said with a hint of pride.
    The sound of footsteps clattered outside the door to the reactor room. Irving’s eyes went wide. “The guard is coming back. We have to get out.” He grabbed her arm, and they sprinted to the stairs in the corner of the room. “Follow me.”
    * * *
    Back home twenty minutes later, after a long goodnight kiss, Lena drew a sketch of the reactor. She searched her memory to make sure she included all the details. She was nearly finished when the phone rang.
    “Lena? It’s Ursula.”
    “Hello. Are you all right? Is Reinhard?”
    “We’re fine, but I have some bad news.”
    Lena stiffened.
    “We received a letter from friends back in Berlin. They said your parents were rounded up last year and resettled in the East.”
    Lena squeezed her eyes shut. “Where?”
    “Who knows? The rumors are somewhere in Poland.”
    Lena nodded to herself. She’d gone to an occasional service at KAM Isaiah Israel where the rabbi told congregants what was really happening to the Jews in Europe.
    Ursula paused. “I think you need to prepare yourself,
liebchen
. You have no doubt heard about the Nazis’ Final Solution. There is little doubt about their future. I am so sorry.”
    Lena didn’t reply for a moment. “I understand. Thank you, Ursula.” She replaced the receiver quietly, as if any additional sound would break the telephone into pieces.
    She went back to her sketch of the Pile. She wanted to tear it up, tell Hans she hadn’t been able to complete the mission. Then she had a better idea. She stared at the drawing. She couldn’t change it too much; Hans had told her she wasn’t their only asset. Still, she was probably the only asset who’d actually been inside the Pile. She altered the sketch just enough, removing the faucets, the “booths” on the side of the Pile, and the cushiony material on the ceiling.
    * * *
    The next morning on her way to work, she sought out a crevice in a waist-high stone wall on Dorchester. It was the primary dead drop for her rolls of film, but the sketch, which she’d slipped into a white envelope, was too large for the space, and the envelope was clearly visible. Flicking an imaginary spot off her jacket, she glanced in both directions. No one was coming. She casually dropped the envelope back in her purse and returned home. She opened the curtains in the living room, raised the window, and moved the flowerpot filled with pansies to the other side of the sill.
    Hans dropped by her apartment after work. The thick summer sun was still so punishing that even the shadows held no relief. Rings of sweat stained Lena’s blouse under her armpits, but when Hans arrived, he was wearing a wool jacket. She was about to ask why he was torturing himself, but when she watched him tuck the envelope into his inside pocket, she understood.
    The next day as she walked to work, she started to think about breaking it off with Irving. Her job was done, but, of course, Irving didn’t know she’d been using him, and he’d summoned up all his courage and asked her out to the movies. She’d politely declined, claiming she needed to spend more time with Max, which was true. Her son was the love of her life. Isn’t that why she was doing this in the first place? She’d just have to tell Irving she wasn’t ready for a relationship—the mourning period for Jews usually lasted a year