Revelation

'It may be made part of the record.'

'The entry is of course in German, a language in which I believe you are fluent, Doctor. Perhaps you would read it out in English for this Subcommittee. Do try to be accurate; I have an English translation in front of me.'

Petrosian read through the brief paragraph. It was a Gestapo file about him, and it was the first time he had set eyes on it. He couldn't control the trembling in his voice:

Petrosian, Lev, student of physics, born 29 December 1911. Subject is associated with Communist cell active in Kiel. Was previously active member of Communist Party in Leipzig. In 1932 and 1933, contacted known pro-Soviet academics during visits to Berlin and Heidelberg. Visited briefly the Austrian Jewess Lise Meitner at the Nobel Institute in Stockholm.

Russelheim, RSHA IVA, Gestapo Field Office, Kiel.

'The letters RSHA —' Dodds-Himmler began.

'—refer to the Central Office of Security Police,' Petrosian interrupted. 'Our paths have crossed.' Something dangerous in Petrosian's voice; Dodds backed off.

'Associated with communist cells… active member of Communist Party.' Dodds waited for Lev's response, his eyebrows raised. There was an expectant stillness in the room. Lev remained silent. 'Would you please explain the circumstances.'

'I was a student in Germany. In those days the communists were the only real opposition to the fascists.'

Mister Arkansas was displaying his teeth again. 'You don't say,' he repeated with exaggerated sarcasm.

'I ran with them for about two years. That was from 1932 to 1934. Not out of belief in their system, but because I opposed the Nazis.'

'Opposed them? By running with Communist street gangs?'

'With respect, you just don't know what it was like.'

Alvarez was passing down another piece of paper, this one like a sheet from a stenographer's notebook. 'I'm going to show you a page from a notebook left on your desk at Los Alamos on March 1945. It was drawn to the attention of the Board of Regents some weeks ago.' Petrosian's hands were trembling slightly as he took it.

'Would you confirm that this is your handwriting?'

'Yes.'

'It has calculations on it.'

'Yes. How did you get hold of this?'

'We ask the questions here. Look at the handwritten note on the top right-hand corner of the page. Mister Chairman, the actual writing was done on the page above, but the message was recovered by the FBI through high contrast photography and other techniques. Doctor, would you read it out, please?'

'Jurgen, Grand Central, 4.15 p.m.'

'This is a note to meet someone called Jurgen, is it not?'

'Yes.'

'In your handwriting?'

'Yes.'

'Who is this Jurgen?'

'Jurgen Rosenblum. A colleague from my pre-war days. I was arranging to meet him in New York.'

'And did you?'

'Yes.' Petrosian was beginning to feel faint. His back and thighs were wet with sweat.

'What precisely was the nature and purpose of this meeting with Rosenblum?'

'Why do you make it sound like something sinister? It was a simple social meeting. We have a common bond. We'd both been persecuted by the Nazis, we'd both escaped from Nazi Germany. You clearly haven't the faintest idea what that means to those of us who came through. As to the purpose of the meeting? The purpose was talk. We talked about people we knew who'd made it out, people who hadn't. We talked about science. We talked about books. We talked about the ladies. We talked and we talked —'

'Was political discussion part of all this talk?'

'Stuff like that, yes, of course.'

'I'll bet,' Alvarez said. He paused. Then: 'Did you not meet Rosenblum in an internee camp for enemy aliens in Sherbrooke, Canada, in 1939? And did you not there register with the Communist Party through Rosenblum?'

'Register? What are you talking about?'

'You know perfectly well, and before you continue with that insolent tone, sir, I ask you to remember who you're talking to. I'm not suggesting that application forms or membership cards changed hands. How was it done, Doctor Petrosian? With a handshake in some quiet corner? A nod and a wink? An understanding that in due course you might be approached for information? Were you ever a loyal resident of America? Or have you not always been a mole, a sleeper, a Trojan horse, first in Harwell and then Los Alamos?'

'No.'

Alvarez said, 'Mister Chairman, I wish to enter the following documents in the record. They are, first, decoded extracts of messages obtained in 1939 by the British MI5 between Moscow and the Russian Embassy in London. They refer to one Leo, a GRU officer planted amongst the internees for the specific purpose of befriending refugee scientists and opening up what they call "channels of communication". The second document is an assessment by MI5 that the GRU agent in question was probably Jurgen Rosenblum.'

'Why was this Rose in Bloom allowed into America?' Mister Arkansas asked.

'The fog of war,' Alvarez replied. 'The MI5 filed their report away, and our FBI wasn't notified of their suspicions until 1943. A long surveillance failed to come up with anything until 1951. That was the meeting between Petrosian and Rosenblum.'

'Where is Rose in Bloom now?' Mister Arkansas wanted to know.

'He is living openly in New York City.' Alvarez turned his attention again to the sweating physicist. 'I'd like to get back, if I may, to the meeting you attended on July 7th at the home of Paul and Hannah Chapman.'

'It was a social evening. Their wedding anniversary, as I recall.'

'So you said. Who else attended this social evening?'

'You want me to name names?'

'You ain't a commie, right?' the Arkansas congressman asked. Lev nodded. 'So what's the problem?'

Petrosian momentarily closed his eyes. He hesitated, took a deep breath, and then said, 'Okay. Okay. Okay. I did attend one meeting of the Communist Party. There were about twenty of us present.'

The room went still.

'We were addressed by a very important Hollywood personage.' Petrosian's voice was shaky, and he was taking breath in deep gulps.

'Take your time. Tell us about it.' Mister Arkansas's eyes were gleaming. Confess your sins, my son. Unburden your soul.

'This was July 7th, just after the Chapman party. I was directed to go to Greers Ferry Park after dark.'

'Who delivered this message?'

'My—' Petrosian lowered his voice '—my controller.'

The tip-tip of the stenographer; the faint whirr of the movie cameras; something rustling in the parched grass outside.

'Your controller?' The congressman's voice was almost a whisper. Don't break the atmosphere. Let the confession flow. He leaned forward across the desk.

'Yes. My controller.'

'Who was this controller?'

'I've never set eyes on him.'

'How did he deliver his message?'

'It came to me by thought rays.'

A bewildered expression crossed the congressman's face.

Petrosian continued, 'There was a flying saucer in the park. It was about fifty feet across and twenty high. There was an open ramp and I went into it. I sat at a porthole and it took off. We went right up there at amazing speed but I didn't feel any acceleration. We flew over to Los Angeles to collect John Wayne. He just materialized right there in front of us, in the middle of the saucer.' There was a suppressed belly laugh from the back of the room. Petrosian continued: 'Then we went on to Saturn, which by the way is my home planet. It only took us half an hour. There we met the Leader. He was tanned with long blond hair and kind blue eyes. He told us that world domination by aliens is the only way forward for the salvation of mankind and world communism was only a step on the way and asked if we would help in this great enterprise.'

The deathly hush had been replaced by a scattering of giggles, and now laughter was surging through the room. The congressman, his face contorted by anger, was hammering the gavel. He shouted, 'I hairby cite Doctor Lev Paytrojan for perjury and contempt of these hair proceedings,' but Petrosian, mouth up against the microphone, was still testifying: 'Then the Duke gave us the low-down on how his boys were infiltrating Hollywood and influencing American minds while he acted the part of the anti-red to fool people like you. There are lots of fine Hollywood Americans in this enterprise, I'll give you that list now.'