He drove another hundred yards to find what he wanted — a telephone pole next to the road. He steered the truck carefully, accelerated a bit, and smashed into it, corrupting the left front quarter panel. He reversed, then charged again, this time giving treatment to the right headlight and bumper. The truck was a cosmetic disaster to begin with, but after ten minutes of battering it looked like a casualty from the Russian front.
As Braun guided it back to the junkyard, the radiator spewed steam and the steering wheel pulled hard to the right as rubber scraped metal. For a final resting place, he pulled the mess up to a swinging section of the fence that served as an access point to the junkyard. He was sure that by noon today his donation would be drug inside, no questions asked.
Five minutes later, the license plate and key went spinning into the Rio Grande. Once again, Braun began to walk.
Chapter 31
He spent three days in a flophouse south of Albuquerque. It was nestled in the Manzano Mountains, near Route 60, and run by a Spanish-American couple who spoke little English. Braun had learned long ago that it was the have-nots, the simple people, who would ask the fewest questions. The police would be less welcome at the Manzano Inn than the quiet patron who had paid cash in advance for a dirty room — simple breakfast and dinner included. The arranged term had been two weeks, though Braun only expected to stay half that long.
He'd hitched rides south to the area, and had immediately stumbled onto the place. It was ideal for his purposes — quiet, and only three miles from the strange dead-drop location Karl Heinrich had chosen. Braun had already made one dry run, borrowing a bicycle from the innkeeper for a late morning ride. On that occasion, he had picked out the correct cement road marker and climbed to the crest of the hill. There, he'd found nothing aside from the clearing Heinrich had described, and a magnificent view of the Rio Grande Valley. Tonight he hoped for more.
It was three o'clock in the morning, and the slim moon was little help. Braun found the road marker again, but only after passing it once. He walked the bike into the scrub and leaned it against a tree. From the handlebars he unhooked a kerosene lantern, also borrowed from the inn, and Braun stoked it to life.
The climb, which had been simple in daylight, would be a far greater challenge at night.
Braun started off carefully, keeping the lantern low and in front to illuminate trouble spots — loose rocks, fallen tree limbs, stray roots. The forest here was similar to Santa Fe, thick, stunted vegetation that clawed its way across dusty soil to probe every crevice for water and nutrients.
He reached the top at precisely three forty-five. Heinrich had been insistent on the time, thought Braun could not imagine why. By definition, a dead-drop meant that Die Wespe would be nowhere near the place. And Braun could hardly envision anyone else coming to this godforsaken wilderness at such an hour. He was breathing heavily and, as he stood straight, he imagined that the fat little Nazi must have been panting like a dog after such a climb. Again, he wondered what was so special about this time and place.
At the crest of the hill was the same clearing he'd seen last time, but in the lantern's light he saw something new. A tripod, the kind used by photographers, was centered on the best level ground. It was equal to his own height, and a small box was mounted on top. Braun went to it and put the lantern close. A metal plate read: spectrograph. On the opposite side was an orifice of sorts, oriented toward the south.
Braun looked out and saw the wide valley, barely visible in moonlight that filtered down through broken clouds. A few tiny clusters of light punctuated the landscape, all many miles away. He remembered Heinrich's next instructions. Go twenty paces toward the valley. He lowered the lantern and counted steps. Reaching sixteen, a knee-high rock blocked his path. Immediately behind it was a canvas bag. Braun set the lantern carefully on the rock and opened the bag. A handwritten letter was on top.
Rainier
Our plan is progressing well. Here are the documents that you asked for. They are enough to convince anyone with a background in the field that my information about the Manhattan Project is invaluable. I have also detailed everything I know with regard to my travel plans. We must meet on the island of Guam. The ship we discussed will make port at 9:00 a. M. onJuly 27th. I will come, ashore, with every thing at the first opportunity. From, there, we, must rendezvous with the, others as quickly as possible,
Look at the papers Later, Rainer. At this moment it is more, important for you, to check your watch. At precisely 3:55 you must use the protection in the bag and Look to the southern, sky. The test is scheduled for 4:00, forty miles south of where you stand. You, are about to witness history my friend assuming this incredible thing works.
Karl
The test, Braun thought. That's why Heinrich had chosen this place. Rendezvous with the others — he truly believed the Reich would carry on. Braun marveled at how an educated man could be so blind. But then the ranks of the Nazi Party had included many such learned men, and they had proven blind indeed — every vision, every idea obscured by the blackness of hatred.
He checked his watch — 3:51. Braun reached into the bag and pulled out a thick folder of documents, a welders mask, and a bottle of suntan lotion. Suntan lotion. He wondered if it was Heinrich's idea of a joke. He stood and again regarded the nighttime vista.
Braun shook his head. He could not bring himself to apply the lotion, and he tossed it back into the bag. He did, however, resign to pulling the welder's mask over his head. It was heavy and ill-fitting. The dark glass faceplate turned the world nearly black. Braun could no longer see his watch, and the resulting limbo of time made him tense. He had seen every kind of explosion known to man, some at an uncomfortably close range. What kind of thing, he wondered, could require such precautions? And forty miles, a ridiculous distance. At this range there would be nothing — perhaps a momentary flash on the horizon.
He waited for what he thought was fifteen minutes. Nothing happened. A coyote howled a plaintive wail. Braun heard a rumble in the distance, but it was only the familiar, gentle roll of a distant rain shower. He took off the mask and tossed it aside in disgust. So where was the awe-inspiring weapon, this revolutionary idea? Had it been a failure? Had the Americans spent billions of dollars pursuing worthless, chalkboard theories? He eyed the folder of documents. Did Wespe have anything of value?
Braun again sat on the rock and began to read. The first document was some kind of scientific synopsis, an introduction to a collection of diagrams and calculations that were attached. The handwriting on the cover page was clearly Heinrich's, matching the letter Braun had already read:
Uranium Enrichment: The Gaseous Diffusion Method
Several pounds of the fusionable, isotope, U-235 are necessary for a single bomb. This desirable isotope exists naturally at the ratio of only 1 part in 140, thus physical methods of separation, are required Three possible solutions were originally identified: electromagnetic separation, thermal diffusion and gaseous diffusion. Of these, gaseous diffusion has proven the most effective, though it requires significant industrial capacity.
In principle, when uranium is converted to a, gaseous compound (uranium hexafluoride), it can be forced through a porous screen The heavier U-238 isotope moves more slowly and is effectively "filtered" This process must be repeated roughly 5,000 times to achieve the nominal weapons-grade purity of 93 % U-235.
Attached are copies of blueprints of the American K-25 plant, a forty-four acre facility at Oak Ridge, Tennessee. The magnitude of this production site, cannot be underestimated It was built at a, cost of 500 million US dollars. I believe it is feasible to construct a, smaller scale version By avoiding certain errors, efficiency can be improved Particular attention must be given to the materials used in construction Uranium hexafluoride is extremely corrosive, and will react violently with grease or oil. Also, maintenance is paramount, as contaminants have resulted in a continuous series of setbacks and shutdowns. The Union Carbide Corporation runs this facility, and a copy of their operating manual is included here…