“Not how he sees it, Captain.”
“Well, the Colone…”
The bullet clipped the top of Barkmann’s helmet long before the sound of the shot reached Allied ears.
Raised voices indicated that the officers and NCOs of Baker Company were rousting their men into the trenches, ready to deal with whatever threat had declared itself.
Barkmann checked his helmet and ran an enquiring finger along the new silver line.
“This a regular occurrence, Al?”
He knew it wasn’t, but fell back on understated bravado to mask his nervousness at the close call he had just experienced, which Gesualdo identified for what it was.
“Hell no. First time, otherwise I’d not let the both of us stand up there watching them exercising. I ain’t that stupid! I’d have just left you standing there and hope to get a promotion.”
Barkmann threw a mock punch at his friend.
“You bastard! My report to the Colonel’ll reflect your insubordination.”
“Do your worst. Anyway, I’m gonna do the rounds, See you back at my bunker shortly. You’ll report the action?”
“Roger that, Al, and yep, I’ll get straight on the horn.”
Whilst Gesualdo went round his troops, keeping heads down, assessing the situation, Barkmann sat alone in the modest bunker, holding his hands out over the stove that kept winter at bay.
Hands that were, despite his best efforts, trembling uncontrollably.
0942 hrs, Monday, 20th January 1947, Dai Ichi Life Insurance Building, Tokyo, Japan.
The USN officer was halted in mid flow as MacArthur failed to understand a term.
“Let me stop you right there, Commander.”
“Sir?”
“What in the name of the Lord is a centrifuge?”
“Might I answer that, Sir?”
“Please do, General Groves.”
“Sir, in layman’s terms, it’s a machine that spins at incredibly high speed, permitting the separation of different grades of the same element. In my line of work, that might be uranium 235 from uranium 238, the former being used for nuclear fission, such as in the bombs.”
“Just like a spinning top, you mean?”
“Sort of, Sir, but spinning at an incredibly high rate.”
“So what makes these so special?”
“They spin at the highest possible rate, Sir.”
“Such as? Five thousand rpm? Six thousand rpm?”
“Sir, you must understand that it’s difficult to say for sure. We haven’t examined an actual machine, but the drawings and figures discovered in Nishina’s office have been analysed and… well… I’m assured that the projections are a rate of fifty-eight thousand revolutions per minute, with a factor of plus or minus three thousand.”
“Incredible. Almost a thousand revolutions a second.”
“Yes Sir, it is, and yes, almost.”
“How many of these things would they need to make material for a bomb?”
“That depends on how long they are run and how many are run at the same time.”
“OK. How many do they have?”
“None that we’ve found.”
“Then that’s good news surely? Isn’t it?”
MacArthur saw Groves’ face and decided it simply wasn’t good news at all.
“Sir, our intelligence agencies have ascertained that these centrifuges have been constructed… we’ve found some parts… evidence of delivery… we even have an engineer who assisted in installing the array.”
“Array?”
“Yes… sorry, Sir… that’s the term for a line-up of these machines.”
“How many then?”
“Sir, we found a single building, previously unknown to us. It was empty, but contained the mountings for fifty-four devices.”
“Fifty-four… which I assume is enough?”
“More than enough, Sir.”
“OK. Thank you… Commander?”
“Sir. What we know is limited, but what we suspect is grave indeed.”
MacArthur relit his pipe as he was assailed by words that meant nothing but trouble.
“Our best guess, based on the available intelligence, is that the centrifuges were loaded into one or both of the Special type submarines and removed from Japan, possibly to the Soviet Union, and if so, probably by way of Sovetskaya Gavan, or a location on the Soviet mainland as yet unknown.”
“And then they went on this huge voyage to nowhere?”
“Given the belief that the submarines made it to the Southern Atlantic, that could mean they are anywhere, but it makes sense that they were being taken to somewhere Soviet controlled, or at least, not controlled by us.”
“But if they’ve dropped the damn things off already, why the big voyage?”
“That’s the issue that’s exercising us, Sir. Maybe they haven’t dropped them off and it was purely a collection of other equipment… and of personnel… and they’re now on their way to wherever.”
“Does Naval Intelligence have any other suggestions on the identity of ‘wherever’, Commander?”
“It would be speculation only, but the FBI and other assets have turned their attention to South America, the west coast of Africa… and Sweden.”
“Sweden? Why on earth Sweden?”
“Just some noises that were apparently heard in the capital. Nothing specific. But the British are checking them out now, Sir.”
Beria would have been delighted to know that his distractions had all been noticed and were taking focus away from the actual area the Allies should have concerned themselves with.
“And this briefing is being given to Eisenhower in Europe, and to the President, yes?”
“The President already had his briefing, Sir. It was he who directed the FBI to investigate in support of the intelligence agencies.”
“One thing, General Groves. If these things have been operating since they disappeared, would they be producing the right sort of uranium by now?”
“Yes.”
“Enough for a bomb?”
“Yes, more than one.”
“Damn.”
“That’s why finding these machines is now priority, Sir.”
“And once they’re found?”
“We destroy them, no matter where they may be.”
“And risk war again?”
“I think the President might say that it’s better to risk a war now when we hold all the cards, rather than have one later where we may well face a stacked deck.”
“Damn. Keep me informed.”
1021 hrs, Monday, 20th January 1947, NATO Headquarters, Frankfurt, Germany.
Eisenhower’s briefing had just finished and he was left to contemplate the incredible news with Walter Bedell-Smith, Kenneth Strong, and Omar Bradley for company.
The four leaders sat silently drinking coffee, trying to grasp the enormity of what they had been told.
It was Bradley that broke the silence.
“So, stop me when I go wrong… even if they do develop a device they ain’t got anything to deliver it with. No rocket, no bomber of note, nothing.”
“General Bradley,” Kenneth Strong interjected, “I believe what was said was that we know of no such delivery system, not that they don’t have one.”
“Yeah, sorry. You’re right. Either way, we’ve no idea where these things are spinning or how much of this U-235 stuff they’re kicking out.”
Eisenhower stubbed out his cigarette and waved a finger at no one in particular.
“I tell you one thing. I don’t buy the South America – Africa thing. Neither do I buy Sweden. Wherever they are, the whole goddamned shebang has to be close at home, where the commies can keep it tight and protected. It has to be in Russia… somewhere in Russia. Heck, we don’t know for sure that the stuff went in the subs, do we? Could well be that they unloaded everything on the Pacific coast and it all went inland by rail.”