A polite steward received the visitor and showed him to a little cottage which would be his home. It was remote enough so that he wouldn’t be in anybody’s way; apparently someone had been moved out at two hours’ notice, for not all the bureau drawers were yet emptied. Remembering his camouflage, he asked how soon he could view the paintings; he was taken there at once, and spent a pleasant hour studying the best collection of English portraits he had ever seen. One could not have lived in the same house with these august and stately ladies and gentlemen and not have proper manners. When his hostess came to join him, Lanny was not surprised that she looked and acted as if she had stepped out of a large gold frame. In the two months that Lanny spent in this gray-haired lady’s home he never saw her looking otherwise, and she never asked him a single question about himself, his past life, his family, his friends, or what he was really doing over there in the cottage.
The master of the estate returned from New York the next day. He was somewhat shorter than his wife, dapper and cheerful. He was an investment banker, now semi-retired, as he phrased it. He wore a white mustache, and his manners reminded Lanny of Otto Kahn in the spirit world. But Mr. Curtice was pure “Aryan,” from a long way back. He must have recognized Lanny as a fellow-member of the ruling caste. What he thought about the invasion of his ultra-fashionable university by Jewish refugees from abroad was a subject that he never referred to. The institution, like most in the country, had gone in heavily for war work, and about this the visitor heard much.
Princeton is an old town, English in its culture and sympathies. Lanny might have met agreeable company here, but that wasn’t in the cards; his breakfast and lunch were brought to him at the cottage and he dined with the family only when there were no other guests. Art books and catalogs from the library were brought to him and he spread them ostentatiously on his work table; but they were not what he worked at. There was a radio set in the living-room, and a New York paper was brought with his breakfast each day. The colored servant who brought it asked for a list of his wants, and whatever they were, the articles appeared with the lunch.
In a period of two months Lanny went off the estate only once; he got his exercise walking on the extensive grounds, generally after dark, and most of that time he was repeating atomic formulas in his mind. It was the life of a monk—which is what many of the worshipers of scientific truth are. They are permitted to marry, but often their wives are worshipers also, and work side by side with them in the laboratories, sharing the thrills of the discovery of truth, perhaps the greatest which can come to man or woman. There are no more continents or islands left for a Columbus or a Captain Cook, but there are universes of the infinitely vast and others of the infinitely small; also, as Lanny Budd knew well, there are universes inside the mind of man, waking for generations of explorers.
VII
Next morning came one of the great adventures of a P.A.’s life—or so it seemed to him. Soon after he had finished breakfast there came a light tap on the cottage door and when he opened it there was an old gentleman. He was shortish and slightly plump, and had a round cherub’s face which all the world knew and either loved or hated. He had a gray mustache and a generous thatch of gray hair, and apparently the latter was difficult to subdue so he just let it alone. He wore no hat, and his clothing consisted of a white shirt open at the throat and a pair of trousers which bore no signs of a pressing iron. He was one of the sights of this decidedly prim town and he must have known it; he watched it through a pair of twinkling brown eyes, and greeted it with the happiest and most charming smile that anybody on earth could imagine.
“Mr. Budd?” he inquired, and then: “Good morning. I am Professor Einstein.”
“Oh, come in, Professor!” exclaimed Lanny. He was overwhelmed by the honor, and said so, whereupon the great man replied: “I am the one to say that, for they tell me you have the courage to go back into Nazi Germany, which is something I could never do. Both our services are needed, so we shall be friends.”
“Thank you, with all my heart; Professor.”
“Ja wohl—to work! I am going to try, in the fewest words, to give you an outline of the problem we are seeking to solve. It is too bad that we have to use these giant forces to destroy life instead of to build it up; but that has often been the way in the history of science, and it is tragically so now. We confront a situation where Germany will get the atomic bomb if we do not. That is our only possible justification. I take it we agree that the National-Socialist terror has to be put down, and that everything else has to wait upon that.”
“Certainly, Professor.”
“I want to begin at the beginning, and I do not want to speak one word that you do not understand. Will you promise to interrupt me the moment I say anything that is not perfectly clear to you?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“When I was a youth, my teachers were all certain that the atom was a tiny lump of solid material, and that nobody could possibly divide it—I was rebuked for suggesting such an idea. Today we know that the atom, so small that its nucleus is estimated at two and one-half trillionths of an inch, is a miniature solar system, reproducing the phenomena, and obeying the laws which govern all the universe. We have, of course, never seen an atom, or any of its parts; we have only seen their effects. We do not know whether they are really particles, or waves, or what; we can only call them manifestations of energy, apparently electrical. Around the nucleus revolves a cloud of electrons, and between electrons and nucleus appears to be empty space, just as in our solar system. The number of the electrons determines what we call the atomic number, and this varies from hydrogen, the lightest of all substances, which has one electron, to uranium, the heaviest, which has ninety-two. You will not need to learn the table, because you will be dealing for the most part only with uranium. That will be a relief to you, I am sure.”
“Yes, indeed. Professor,” said Lanny, as humble as any schoolboy. At the same time he smiled, for it was not easy to resist the elderly cherub’s warm kindness.
VIII
This patient great man went on to explain the elementary principles of his science. Lanny thought, it was as if Shakespeare were teaching the alphabet to a child. But the pupil didn’t have time to worry about it, being too busy trying to make sure that he understood every one of the twenty-six letters. He learned how it had been found possible to detach portions of the atomic nucleus by bombarding it with particles; great machines called cyclotrons had been built for this purpose, and a long series of experiments had been conducted. A particle of the nucleus, called the neutron, had been discovered which, having no electrical charge, could slip through the defenses of the nucleus. With these it had been found possible to bombard the uranium atom and tear it apart.
“So,” said Einstein, “in the last couple of years we have been able to think of making some practical use of this most tremendous of all forces. We are dealing with an extremely complex situation. There are species of atoms having the same atomic numbers, but different mass numbers, and these we call isotopes; the uranium isotopes are still uranium, but different in mass. One is U-238, so named because its nucleus contains 92 protons and 146 neutrons. Another has lost 3 neutrons, and so we call it U-235. This is highly unstable, that is, easy to set off; on the other hand, U-238 refuses to go off, and it puts out the fire, so to speak. Thus we are in the position of a man driving an automobile; we have the fuel which makes the car go and we have the brakes which stop it; the problem is to learn how to use each in the right quantities and at the right time. But instead of having a tankful of gasoline which may burn up the car, we here have forces so terrible that a handful might blow up a city. When a nucleus of U-235 breaks up, it throws off one or more neutrons, and these, when slowed down, break up new U-235 nuclei, and so on. This is what we call a ‘chain reaction’ and you can see how dangerous it might become; we might be in the position of the sorcerer’s apprentice in Goethe’s poem, who commanded the imps to fill the bathtub and then cou
ldn’t remember the formula to make them stop.”
Lanny ventured: “Might it not be that we could set all the atoms in the world to going at once?”
“Theoretically, yes; but it is enough to make sure that we do not explode the laboratory and the investigators.”
“So far I think I understand, sir. But Professor Alston mentioned a new element, plutonium.”
“We have succeeded in making various artificial elements. This one we named neptunium; then, very soon, we discovered that it changed into another element, which we called plutonium. This is ‘fissionable,’ as we say, meaning that it can be exploded. Not being an isotope of uranium, it can be separated from uranium by chemical means. We are now seeking what we call a ‘moderator,’ some substance with which we can surround plutonium, and which will slow down the neutrons to speeds at which they are more likely to cause fission. We have reason to think that the Germans are using heavy water for this purpose. Do you know what heavy water is?”
“I believe I have read that it is water whose molecule contains a heavier hydrogen isotope than normal water.”
“It is called deuterium oxide. One of the things our British friends would like very much to know is where the Germans are making this heavy water, so that they could bomb the plant; also, of course, the place where their atomic work is being done. It is desired to know the techniques they are employing, and what progress they have made; whether they are still in the laboratory stage, as we are, or whether they have reached the production stage. Every smallest indication is of importance, because it will help to give us our time scale: how many weeks or months or years we may expect before an atomic bomb is carried to New York by a rocket, or by a plane launched from a submarine near by.”
“I understand that part, Professor,” said the humble neophyte, “and I can only assure you that I will study as hard as I can and do my best.”
“Let us make a little test of your aptitude. I should like you now to recite to me the lecture you have just heard.”
“Oh, Professor!” exclaimed Lanny, quailing; then, with the tact he had learned among the diplomats: “It will hardly be a test, because Professor Alston has already given me an outline, and I have been dipping into books last night and this morning.”
“Never mind that,” said the teacher, whose appearance of simplicity possibly was deceptive. “Just repeat to me everything you can remember of the words I have spoken to you.”
Lanny began, and the patient great man listened attentively. Lanny did well, because he had really put his mind on it. He overlooked a few details, but when the teacher asked about these he was able to answer. To his relief Einstein said: “You have a passing mark. If you study conscientiously you should be able to understand the questions our scientists wish to have answered, and to remember the answers correctly.”
“I promise to do my very utmost, Professor.”
“I have asked one of my assistants, Dr. Braunschweig, to come to you this morning, and he is about due. He is in touch with this uranium work, and will give you confidential material to study; he will answer your questions and keep track of your progress day by day. Hereafter it will be better if he comes in the evening, so as to attract less attention.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
“And now, you tell me something, Herr Budd.”
“If I can, sir.”
“What do you think are the chances of the Russians being able to hold out?”
IX
Dr. Braunschweig was another of Adolf Hitler’s gifts to the United States of America. He was slender, pale, dark-haired, and wore nose-glasses. He was about thirty, and Lanny, discovering what was inside his head, was awe-stricken. Oddly enough, he came to realize that the young scientist was in awe of him, presumably because Lanny was Anglo-Saxon, and elegant, and proper in every way. The younger man had evidently suffered greatly, but he did not talk about it; he took a strictly professional attitude, and did his job with thoroughness. He went through the atomic story again, with much more detail; he opened up a large brief case and produced books, pamphlets, technical publications, mimeographed documents. The formulas were appalling, but Lanny said: “I will learn them. I will work the way you have worked.” He remembered, but did not repeat, the story of the Boston aristocrat who said to his indolent son: “If you don’t brace up and do something I’ll send you to Harvard to compete with the Jews.” Lanny knew that was the real reason why the Nazis hated the Jews—they were so hard to compete with.
The P.A. buckled down to work. He ate his meals and then for half an hour or so he listened to the radio or read the newspapers; then he studied until he was dizzy. He would go out for a stroll, and feed the deer, or watch the peacocks and lyre birds and think how much they resembled in their manners the ladies and gentlemen he had known in the grand monde—the generals with their gold braid and precedence, the statesmen and plutocrats with their orders and sashes. Thus meditating, he would return to his task of undermining this world—for that was what the war was, now that the Reds were on the right side and it was another war for democracy.
At first it was very hard, for there was a new and highly technical vocabulary, and Lanny had forgotten what the symbols meant, if he had ever known. But every evening the faithful young doctor answered questions and explained what the neophyte had marked; and of course each thing the neophyte was able to understand made it easier to understand the next. “Don’t worry,” the tutor said, “you are making progress. As a rule it takes years to master this subject.” He would comfort the distracted pupil by setting aside whole sections in the books and publications. “You won’t need that; it’s theoretical, and we are concerned with practice.”
To an active mind it is fascinating to solve any problem, even a purely artificial one, say a cross-word puzzle, or one in chess. Other minds have taken these steps before you, but you, following them, feel that you are the pioneer, putting this and that together and drawing a conclusion, seeing one vista after another open before you, leading into regions where you, at least, have never been hitherto. Alston had said: “You will learn to love physics,” and so it proved. Lanny was fascinated by the order he perceived in this infinitely complex universe, and the time came when the “fissionating” of the atom became to him a game, a hunt, a race—even without the thought of the Nazis to be beaten, even without the thought of having Berlin blown up ahead of New York!
X
So passed the warm summer months; pleasantly, so far as bodily affairs were concerned, but with heavy strain of the spirit, because of the dreadful duel of death going on in Eastern Europe. There had never been a battle like it in all history; some nine million men, fighting day and night over a front of eighteen hundred miles. It went on for weeks, for months … it might go on for years. And so much depended upon it, everything that Lanny Budd cared about—the future of mankind. It was a constant temptation to turn the radio dials and hear the latest bulletins. Lanny kept himself at his studies only by saying: “If we can destroy Berlin, the Germans will have to fall back, no matter how far they have got!”
The Germans were on the offensive, so they had the advantage of knowing where the next blow was to come. They could prepare a blow at one place and then at another; they could feint, make it appear that their purpose was to take one fortress, then drive heavily toward another. A great wilderness in Eastern Poland, the Pripet marshes, divided their forces into halves. And where would their heaviest blows come, toward Leningrad or in the south? The heaviest blows seemed to come everywhere. The Panzers rolled, and crashed through the Russian lines; the Russians fell back; everywhere it was withdrawal after withdrawal, defeat after defeat, and that is the most discouraging kind of warfare.
Very soon the Germans were on Russian soil; and the Russians were following their promised “scorched earth” policy, as they had seen the Chinese doing for many years, leaving no food, no shelter for the foe. The Nazi radio blared proclamations of tremendous victories, the surrounding and ca
pturing of whole armies. You had sworn never to believe anything that Dr. Goebbels said, but you could never quite stick to the resolution. Even the worst liar in the world might tell the truth when he had everything going his way.
But this much was certain: the Soviet Armies were fighting. They fought all through that summer; and every time they killed a Nazi, it was one who would never invade Britain; every time they shot down one of Göring’s flyers, it was one who would never bomb London. The Soviets appeared to have an endless supply of men; and they had materials—what Uncle Jesse had said was true, they had been starving themselves to make munitions, because they knew they had a deadly foe on their doorstep, and the time allowed them was short.
The northern half of the Wehrmacht headed for Leningrad, and with the help of the Finns they got to the very gates. Then began one of the most dreadful sieges of history; a whole population of a great city, half starved and fighting for their lives, bombarded day and night, not merely by planes but by heavy siege guns. Workers in factories were turning out munitions even while the roof of the building was falling about their heads. What helped to save them was the fact that their half-mad Peter the Great had built this city in a marsh, and all around it was soft ground, impassable for mechanized armies, at least until it was frozen.
But in the south were the dry rolling steppes and the farmlands of the Ukraine, which Hitler had publicly announced as one of his desires. Nothing to stop him but rivers, and these are easily crossed by modern armies. So all those collective farms which Lanny had read and heard about were now being laid waste; those mines and bridges and dams—the great Dnieprostroy, which had been to the Russians, and to friends of the workers everywhere, a symbol of hope, a promise of a new society. “Collectivism plus electrification equals Socialism” had been Lenin’s formula, and the Russians had starved and toiled to attain this goal—the only case in history in which a nation had managed to industrialize itself without foreign loans. Britain and America had had a century and a half in which to do it, but the Soviet Union had had less than two decades. And now it was all being laid waste—great gaps blown in the dam, and the waters rushing down into the Black Sea, which did not need them. For these losses men and women wept in their hearts all over the world.