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each　other；　then　at　everything　except　the　experimenter’s　deadly　hands。
Finn　stared　at　each　man’s　face；　a　rictus　of　terror　and　sickness　overlaid　with　sweat。　He　had　seen
such　expressions　before；　Marines　watching　helplessly　as　children　plummeted　onto　rocks　far
below。　He　knew　that　feeling；　the　worst　shade　of　green　in　all　of　the　jungle’s　green　hells。
And　he　knew　he　looked　like　the　men　behind　the　glass；　sweating　and　afraid。
“That　counter　goes　with　me；”　said　Finn；　turning　his　back　on　the　lab。　“I’m　not　going　to　sit　on　a
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bomb　I　can’t　hear　ticking。”
Los　Alamos
88　Hours　Before　Trinity
Heat　from　the　desert　floor　a　mile　below　twisted　up　the　plateau’s　rugged　sides。　Walking　out　of
Omega　Building　was　like　walking　onto　a　griddle。　General　Groves　wiped　his　face；　but　it　was
more　than　heat　that　made　him　sweat。　The　laboratory　accident　had　delayed　the　uranium’s
departure。　There　was　still　ample　time　to　drive　it　to　Hunter’s　Point　–　he　had　allowed　for
everything；　even　accidents　–　but　that　did　not　make　him　sweat　any　less。
If　there　were　any　more　long　delays；　he　would　be　forced　to　fly　the　uranium　to　San　Francisco。　That
was　something　he　was　determined　to　avoid。　There　was　too　much　country　in　the　west。　If　the　plane
went　down；　the　uranium　could　be　lost　forever。　He　had　a　horror　of　that；　of　the　uranium　falling
out　of　the　sky；　disappearing　into　the　cracks　of　the　empty　land。　So　long　as　the　canister　stayed　on
roads；　he　felt　reasonably　reassured；　if　something　came　apart；　he　would　know　where　it　had
happened　to　the　nearest　yard。　The　ocean　was　a　different　proposition；　more　difficult　to　control；
more　dangerous。　He　had　done　what　he　could　about　that　–　Finn。
Behind　the　General；　strapped　to　a　dolly；　the　nickel　canister　burned　in　the　sun。　The　soldier
pushing　the　dolly　was　sweating　freely。　Even　on　wheels；　the　canister　was　unwieldy；　unreasonably
heavy　for　its　size。
Behind　the　soldier　walked　a　man　in　civilian　clothes　–　business　suit；　hat　and　tie。　He　carried　a
Thompson　submachine　gun　with　professional　ease。　He　watched　everything　but　the　canister　itself；
his　dark　eyes　as　restless　as　his　body　was　calm。
The　small　procession　stopped　in　Omega　Building’s　loading　area。　Five　cars　were　parked　on　the
asphalt。　None　had　military　markings。　All　but　the　first　car　carried　four　men。　The　first　car　had
three。　The　middle　car’s　trunk　was　open；　revealing　a　steel　framework。　The　framework　was　welded
to　the　car’s　body。
“Load　it；”　said　Groves。
Two　men　from　the　middle　car　got　out　and　hoisted　the　canister　off　the　dolly。　Though　both　men
were　strong；　the　canister　was　difficult　to　handle。　Metal　rang　against　metal　as　the　canister　landed
in　its　specially　built　cradle。　One　of　the　men　swore　and　rubbed　skinned　knuckles　while　his　partner
locked　the　canister　into　place。　The　car　settled　on　its　heavy　springs。
Groves　watched　the　locks　close　and　the　trunk　lid　slam　down；　locking　automatically。　The　keys　to
the　cradle　and　trunk　were　already　in　Hunter’s　Point。　Anyone　who　wanted　to　remove　the　canister
before　then　would　need　a　cutting　torch　and　a　lot　of　patience。
The　man　who　had　guarded　the　uranium　on　its　short　trip　from　the　lab　got　into　the　back　seat　of
the　first　car。　The　open　door　revealed　two　more　submachine　guns　in　a　rack　on　the　floorboard。
The　driver　looked　up　at　Groves。　The　General　made　a　curt　gesture。　The　first　car　drove　off。
Precisely　three　minutes　later；　the　second；　third　and　fourth　cars　left。　The　third　car　contained　the
uranium。　Three　minutes　later；　the　last　car　left。　All　cars　were　in　continuous　radio　contact　with　one
another。　They　would　check　in　with　the　General　at　frequent；　predetermined　intervals。　There　was
no　way　the　car　or　canister　could　be　lost。
Yet　Groves　stared　at　the　road　a　long　time　after　the　last　car　had　disappeared。　He　hated　knowing
that　the　uranium　was　physically　out　of　his　grasp。
Juarez
75　Hours　Before　Trinity
The　eye　of　god　was　dusty。　Tiny　flecks　of　desert　grime　had　settled　on　the　god’s　eye　over　the　years；
blurring　the　sharp　geometric　patterns　woven　at　the　center　of　the　design。　The　tiny　tassles　at　each
point　of　the　diamond…shaped　framework　were　dirty；　their　bright　colors　made　drab　by　time　and
neglect。
Kestrel　stared　at　the　single　eye；　admiring　its　symmetry　and　symbolism…　and　the　irony　of　its
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position　over　one　of　the　busiest　beds　in　Juarez。　Perhaps　the　Aztec　god　whose　eye　hung　there
found　the　prepaid　writhings　of　two　or　more　bodies　amusing；　but　Kestrel　doubted　it。　Even　the
benign　gods　of　his　own　Buddhist　upbringing　looked　upon　prostitution　with　displeasure。
As　for　himself；　Kestrel　felt　like　a　man　condemned　to　a　curious　penance　in　one　of　hell’s　more
grubby　anterooms。
Voyeurism　was　foreign　to　his　nature；　but　he　had　spent　many　hours　crouched　in　a　tiny；　concealed
alcove　just　off　Rubia’s　crib。　Through　the　imported　Indian　screen；　Kestrel　had　seen　a　procession
of　straining　buttocks　and　heard　a　quantity　of　practiced　moans　and　lusty　grunts。
Kestrel　eased　his　cramped　muscles　by　flexing　his　body　subtly；　using　the　discipline　of　karate　that
had　become　second　nature　to　him。　The　discipline　was　mental　as　well　as　physical。　It　helped　him　to
endure　all　of　this　in　order　to　learn　what　Japan　must　know。
With　a　sigh；　Kestrel　looked　from　the　dead　god’s　eye　to　the　intricately　carved　screen　nine　inches
from　his　face。　The　figures　on　the　screen　depicted　all　the　coital　permutations　that　flexible；
determined　human　bodies　could　attain。　Kestrel　wished　that　reality　had　one…tenth　the　elegance　of
the　screen’s　stylized　matings。　He　had　learned　that　viewing　the　unvarnished　sex　act　was　more
distasteful　than　titillating；　and　more　tedious　than　either。
He　had　discovered　military　secrets　from　the　GIs　who　thrashed　so　inelegantly　on　Rubia’s　soiled
mattress。　He　could　not　trust　the　little　Rubia　to　pass　on　all　that　she　learned；　both　her　English　and
her　loyalty　were　erratic。　Thus；　he　was　forced　to　crouch　behind　erotic　carvings　and　witness　acts
that　were　stupefyingly　unerotic。
The　soldier　who　had　just　come　into　the　room　with　Rubia　looked　not　much　older　than　the
sixteen…year…old　whore。　He　was　short　and　red…headed；　one　of　the　instant　lieutenants　that
America　had　ground　out　to　meet　the　needs　of　war。　This　was　his　fifth　visit　to　Rubia。　She　had　told
Kestrel　that　the　soldier　never　questioned　why　she　spent　an　hour　with　him；　yet　charged　no　more
than　she　did　for　her　ten…minute　tricks。
From　what　the　soldier　had　said；　Rubia　was　the　only　diversion　in　a　series　of　boring　assignments
that　stretched　from　the　edge　of　California’s　Saltón　Sea　to　El　Paso；　Texas。　For　months　he　had
observed；　measured　and　retrieved　the　remnants　of　the　empty　bomb　casings　that　were　dropped
one　at　a　time　onto　the　desert　from　B…29s　flying　so　high　they　were　invisible。　For　a　very　young
second　lieutenant　who　had　expected　to　return　to　civilian　life　laden　with　medals　and　war　stories；
the　assignment　on　the　shores　of　a　landlocked　sea　had　been　a　bad　joke　with　no　punchline　in　sight。
As　he　often　complained　to　Rubia；　the　whole　purpose　of　the　bombing　runs　seemed　to　be　to　test　a
proximity　fuse　that　was　supposed　to　explode　a　bomb　several　thousand　feet　above　the　desert。　To
the　lieutenant；　developing　a　proximity　fuse　when　there　already　were　bombs　that　exploded　on
impact　made　little　sense。　Moreover；　to　develop　a　fuse　that　would　explode　two　thousand　feet　up
was　insane。　No　bomb　was　powerful　enough　to　do　much　damage　if　it　exploded　that　far　off　the
ground。　His　commander　had　speculated　that　the　fuse　was　for　a　leaflet　bomb　to　scatter
propaganda　over　Japan。
El　Paso　was　even　more　boring；　nothing　to　do　but　follow　technicians　around　as　they　strung　wires
between　concrete　bunkers　and　a　tower　five　miles　away　in　the　desert。　Nothing　about　his
assignments　made　sense　to　the　young　soldier；　except　the　smiling　whore　whose　fingernails　made
little　dents　in　his　erection。
“You　are　muy　hombre　today；”　Rubia　said；　squeezing　him。　“Almost　I　believe　that　you　have　no
other　woman　since　you　come　here。”
“Another　woman？”　he　said　in　a　thick　voice。　“Not　a　chance。　I’ve　been　on　duty　the　whole
goddamn　time。”
“Come；”　Rubia　said；　tugging　on　him；　leading　him　toward　the　battered　mattress。　“Come　and　tell
your　little　Rubia　how　it　was　with　your　time。”
“Not　a　goddamn　thing　happened；　as　usual。”
The　sold