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where necessity conducted a reign of terror。 Questions slowed reflexes； and reflexes were all that
separated him from his dead friends and enemies； green on green。
The idea of fighting against women； of killing them； had sickened him。 Then he had learned that
bullets and bayonets had no sex。 Men died just as finally when they were killed by a woman； or
even a child。 The jungle made only one distinction； that between life and death。
In Burma he learned that death； like the jungle； had neither sex nor age； only a color。 He learned
that whatever the question； survival was the only answer that mattered。 People lived and people
died。 There was little to gain and too much to lose in agonizing over one death or one life； evil
or good。 He was no more cruel than he had to be to survive； and he did survive。
Yet it was Okinawa； not Burma； where he learned the deepest meaning of horror。 Okinawa；
where waves broke green and white against cliffs； drowning the screams of children hurtling
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down。 Okinawa； where babies were thrown to the sea。
Finn woke； cold and sweating； the way he always woke when Okinawa bloomed silently in his
dreams。 Yet the images did not stop when he woke up。 They never did。
Every aspect of Okinawa was unfaded； indelible； from General Groves’ curt instructions before
Finn left； to the children wheeling and turning like awkward birds down the face of the cliff。
He had been an observer in Okinawa； not a soldier。 General Groves’ surrogate。 Groves did not
trust the other generals to give Truman accurate reports of the cost of the first American
invasion of a Pacific island that was home to large numbers of Japanese civilians。 Groves called
Okinawa a dress rehearsal for Japan。 He had demanded that Finn observe it as only a former
jungle fighter could。
Finn had asked why。 General Groves had not answered。
Okinawa had been a disturbing experience from the beginning。 Instead of fighting； as he had
been trained to do； Finn waited safely until an area was secure。 Then； guarded by a trio of
seasoned Marines； he went in。 He had quartered the battle zones despite the protests of his
guards。 He had seen the bodies of Americans and Japanese； and bloody meat that defied
identification。
He could never remember how long he spent on Okinawa。 Hours blurred into days； separate
battles coalesced into a single truth； the Japanese； soldier and civilian alike； would not surrender。
Women fought alongside men and children alongside their parents。 But that was no more than
Finn had expected； not different from Burma； a familiar shade of green。
He had talked to a boy who was thirteen and ashamed that he had not died in battle； he had not
been able to keep up with the retreating Japanese force。 Finn’s Japanese was fluent。 Under gentle
questioning； the boy admitted that he was part of a large group of soldiers’ families who had not
been evacuated in time。
Finn followed a Marine patrol to the place where the boy said families were hidden。 There the
island was steepsided； eroded by the sea。 Because Finn was a VIP； he was not permitted to risk
himself in what could be an ambush。 He stayed behind with his three guards on one horn of a
deeply curved cliff that ile long。 On the other horn； across the water； was a
small clearing along the cliffs edge。 He watched it through his binoculars； wondering if the boy’s
family was waiting there。
The worst of what followed was the silence。 Women and children running from American
soldiers until there was no place left； nothing but wind above and rocks below。 It should have
been the moment of surrender； when mothers gathered children in their arms； comforting them
and hiding their small faces from the enemies running out of the jungle。
There was no surrender； no comfort。 In silence； older children lined up and threw themselves off
the cliff and onto the rocks below。 Some died immediately。 Younger children were hurled to
their deaths by their own mothers； children’s screams lost in the wind； mouths black circles in
faces too young to understand。 The mothers followed quickly； arrow straight； welcoming death
as a place where no children screamed。
In his dreams they spun and turned and fell endlessly； and they all wore a single face； the face of a
child too young to understand。 The child fell； twisting until he could see his mother’s face。 Then
he held out his arms in perfect trust that his mother…murderer would snatch him back to safety。
The child fell； wrapped in trust and silence； until he smashed onto rocks and only silence was left。
Finn had lowered the binoculars because he could no longer see。 The man in him raged； but the
warrior in him bowed with respect。 By death； if not by birth； the women and their children were
samurai。
He had written about that afternoon on the cliff in one of his many reports to Groves； knowing
as he wrote that the words were useless； that nothing could convey the silence and the horror；
the mangled families floating on the green tide。 In the end he had said what anyone who had
fought the Japanese in the jungle already knew： the defeat of Japan would require not only the
death of its soldiers； but also the death of its civilians； its very culture。
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In the six weeks since Finn had returned； General Groves had never mentioned the report。 It was
just as well。 Finn was not grateful to the man who had sent him to learn the last shade of green。
He shifted his weight on the steel chair； closed his eyes and tried not to feel anything at all。
Moscow
99 Hours Before Trinity
（Cable received by Lavrenti Pavlovich Beria； head of the NKVD。 Decoded。）
SHIPPING ROUTE MOST CLOSELY GUARDED SECRET LEFT AT LOS ALAMOS。
DESTINATION AND APPROXIMATE ARRIVAL TIME ARE KNOWN： HUNTERS
POINT； SAN FRANCISCO； 1800…2400； 15 JULY。
HUNTERS POINT ONLY POSSIBLE PLACE TO INTERCEPT BRONX SHIPMENT。
UNLESS STOP CODE RECEIVED BY 2400； 14 JULY； OPERATION WILL PROCEED
TO CONCLUSION。 VANESSA
Los Alamos
98 Hours Before Trinity
Major General Leslie Groves gathered up papers； among them Finn’s Okinawa report； tapped
the edge of the packet on the desk until they were lined up and placed them on top of another
neat stack of reports。 He pushed back from the desk slowly and stretched； feeling anxiety and
sleepless nights like sand in his muscles。
The corporal who sat on a straight chair at the far end of the office came to attention。 “Sir？ Do
you want Captain Finn now？”
“No。 I’ll get him myself；” said Groves； walking heavily across the room。 “Out of the way；
Corporal。”
The corporal stood； picked up his 12…gauge shotgun and pulled his chair away from the front of
the safe he guarded。 Groves spun the combination lock several times and then bent over the
lock； shielding its movements with his body。 He was a big； balding man with a military mustache
and a fleshy face。 He wore dress khakis that were devoid of insignia save for his single star and
the battlement pins of the Army Corps of Engineers。
With precise motions； Groves stacked the papers on a tray in the safe next to other reports；
removed a box of chocolate candy； and closed the safe’s heavy door。 It shut with oiled finality。
Automatically； Groves snapped home the bolts and spun the dial several times。 He straightened
slowly； walked to his desk and dropped the box of candy on the polished surface。
Behind him； the corporal resumed his position in front of the safe that held secrets men would
kill to steal or protect。
Groves left the door ajar as he stepped into the hallway。
The light was harsh； as barren of warmth as the gray walls。 All that he could see of the Manhattan
Project’s top counterespionage agent was a man dozing in a chair； a western hat pulled low over
his eyes。 Groves was not deceived by Finn’s relaxed appearance – he was as dangerous a man as
the country had to offer。
“Good evening； Captain；” said the General。
Finn pushed back his hat and stood in a single motion。 He did not salute； but Groves no longer
expected him to。 The military niceties that Groves used to good effect around conference tables
were not appreciated or used by fighters like Finn。 It was a measure of Groves’ administrative
acumen that he had won Finn’s wary respect。
“Good morning； General。”
“Is it morning already？” Groves checked his watch。 His eyebrows lifted。 “By God； it is。” His
thick fingers probed his eyelids。 The pressure of the Project’s deadline tightened around him like
a steel noose。 “Not enough time；” he muttered。 “Never enough goddamned time！ Who the hell
do they think I am – Christ？ They give orders and expect me to pass miracles and save the
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fucking world！” His anger was generalized； inchoate。
Groves dropped his hands and stared at Finn； daring him to comment。 The sight of Finn； young
and lean and tough； angered Groves。 The response was irrational。 He knew it； but did not
particularly care。 He did not have energy or time to care about anything beyond the Manhattan
Project。 It consumed his thoughts and his health； driving him beyond the point where men
break。 He had become an abrupt； tyrannical son of a bitch； but he had not broken。 He had
driven others over the edge of sanity； technicians and scientists； yet he always stopped himself