Chapter Twenty-seven
November, 1942
Lena didn't know how she got through the month of November. Spying for both Hans and Collins, and reporting to Lanier as well, was nearly an impossible balancing act. And it was a performance—for Hans, Collins, even for Lanier. She felt like an actor playing three roles, and she had to keep track of what she said to whom. If she dropped just one line to the wrong player, she would be exposed, even possibly killed, faster than Superman's speeding bullet.
At least with Hans, she didn't have to worry about a physical copy of the intelligence she passed, genuine or not; the film from the Minox was a lifesaver. But Collins and Lanier required actual documents. She normally used carbon paper for the copies she typed, so she added two more sheets, but when the copies weren't perfectly aligned, they jammed in the roller and looked messy. Occasionally Lena would glance over at Sonia, afraid that that the girl would see what she was doing, but Sonia was preoccupied with her husband's return and seemed oblivious.
Incoming letters and memos had to be copied by hand. She started to sneak documents into her bag to take home to copy once Max was asleep. She was careful to disguise her penmanship, in case someone from the department might link it to her. Of course, it was easier to alter the documents that way. But there was also the problem of passing the materials. Collins maintained he had a top security clearance. But when she asked Lanier, he'd told her the man was lying. Still, she had no choice. She had to deliver the intel.
The first piece she passed Collins was a letter from Compton to the Army with an analysis of the latest news from Berkeley, California. J. was supervising the work of a group of theoretical physicists that included Felix Bloch, , , , and John H. Manley from Chicago's Met Lab. The group decided they would need twice as much fissionable material as they'd previously estimated to build the bomb. In a letter Compton had reserved judgment until the Pile yielded results.
At lunchtime Lena folded the letter, threw on her coat and gloves, and told Sonia she was going for a walk. Before going downstairs, she stopped in the ladies room and slipped the copy of the letter inside one of her gloves. Outside, she bumped into Collins as they'd planned, and casually dropped the glove on the ground. Collins bent over and picked it up.
That afternoon, he showed up in the office. "Ladies." He waved a red glove in Sonia and Lena's direction. "Do you have any idea who this belongs to? I found it outside."
Sonia looked over at Lena. "Isn't that part of the pair you just bought, Lena?"
Lena looked up in surprise. "Why, yes. It is. Thank you, Colonel. I must have dropped it when I went to lunch."
***
That night Lena stayed late to finish her work. She had just put on her coat to leave when Collins appeared at the door. She hated how he seemed to slip in and out of the shadows.
He flashed her a suspicious look. "How did you know I want intel on Oppenheimer?"
She shook her head. "I didn't."
His eyebrows arched.
"Colonel, I assume you want any information on the Manhattan Project that seems relevant. And to which you are not otherwise privy," she couldn't help adding.
He stiffened. "Well then," he cleared his throat, "Fate has intervened. I want whatever you can find on Oppenheimer. What he thinks, what he does, how much money he has, what he spends it on. When he takes a shower or cheats on his wife. Anything and everything."
Lena didn't reply.
"You know who he is," Collins went on.
"He's a colleague of Professor Compton's and a brilliant physicist."
"He is also known to associate with Communists, and we have a strong suspicion he is one himself. In fact, he is the reason I'm here. This man may well become the leader of the Manhattan Project when construction begins. We must keep a close eye on him." He paused. "Good work."
Lena walked home slowly. She couldn't do it any more. This was insanity. She would certainly be exposed and the retribution, from the Nazis or Collins or even Lanier, would ruin her. It had to end, one way or another, despite what the three men wanted. Fortunately, she had an idea how to stir things up, perhaps push events towards a speedy conclusion. When she got home she signaled for a meeting with Hans.
Chapter Twenty-eight
"There's been a complication," she told Hans when they met the next day.
"What?" Hans asked.
She told him about Collins. "I wanted to tell you before, but I have been afraid. I do not know how much he knows about my—our—situation. I wanted to be sure before I came to you."
Hans' face was unreadable. "What have you been passing to him?"
"Pretty much the same thing I've given you."
Hans grunted. "Make sure you tell me exactly what material he gets from now on." He appraised her. "Does he have any idea about our arrangement?"
"That's why I waited. He does not know. I am sure."
She expected Hans to be suspicious, to threaten reprisals, to punish her in some way. To her surprise, though, he smiled. "Well, well, this could actually be quite useful. Make sure you continue to update me on him."
Update him? That was all? Lena tensed. Hans really did seem unconcerned. But they'd had Irving killed for getting in the way. Her plan wasn't working. "How can you say Collins might be useful? He's a serious threat."
"What makes you believe that?"
Lena felt her anger build. "Hans, look at the situation. You have me spying for the Germans. Collins has me spying on the Communists. If he finds out, I am finished. Especially now that Hitler has invaded Russia."
"Lena, do not worry."
He was trying to soothe her. Badly, she thought. "You seem to forget it is my life at stake."
"You are doing a wonderful job."
She took a deep breath. "No. This cannot continue. I want out. That's why I told you about Collins. It has become too dangerous. I cannot do this anymore. Genuch ist genuch."
Hans nodded. "I understand. It will not be long now."
"What do you mean?"
"We all know that when construction begins, the Manhattan Project will relocate to other places. You will, of course, remain here. The only question is when the move will take place. We will reassess your options at that point."
"But what about Collins? What are you going to do about him?"
Hans seemed unperturbed. "Nothing. He's—what do the Americans say? 'Small potatoes.'"
Lena knew she would go straight to hell for thinking it, but she couldn't wait for the bomb to be built. At least she would be free.
If she was still alive.
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The Incidental Spy
Mystery / ThrillerYoung Lena Bentheim is forced to flee Nazi Germany for Chicago in 1935, leaving her family and boyfriend behind. After learning English, she eventually finds a new life as a secretary in the Physics Department of the University of Chicago. She meets...