PROLOGUE

July 15, 1945, New Mexico

In a cabin on the grounds of Harry Miller’s Tourist Court, in the town of Carrizozo, Elizabeth “Diz” Graves and her husband, Al Graves, were busy setting up their equipment. Intertwining wires of various colors crisscrossed the room, and odd contraptions with several buttons to press sat atop window sills, along with timers ready to buzz, all to monitor the level of radiation that was about to drift in from the test area. “The Gadget,” as the test bomb was originally known, had been brought to an isolated desert spot in New Mexico known as Jornada del Muerto, Spanish for “Journey of the Dead Man,” a name many people would eventually find very appropriate. The secret mission, and the Gadget itself, had been code-named “Trinity,” referencing a poem by the famous English poet John Donne.

Diz and Al Graves had also lugged to the cabin a seismograph (an instrument to measure the ground’s vibrations), a Geiger counter (a type of particle detector to measure emissions during a nuclear blast), a shortwave radio (a type of long-range radio transmission that allowed Diz and Al to hear signals from a distance), and a portable electric generator. The man who’d rented them the cabin had found it all very strange, this young couple dragging along so much unusual equipment, and asked out loud if they planned to blow up the area. Diz and Al hadn’t answered him but merely smiled—a private joke passing between them, one the man would never understand. They went on to tell the owner that they would stay just two nights, as they were driving across the country and were only stopping for a short rest. The owner must have thought it odd that a heavily pregnant woman would be driving so many miles in the heat, for any reason at all. But he didn’t say anything and he didn’t require any further explanations.

On entering the cabin, Al had spread their gear on the floor and atop one side of the bed, leaving a portion of it empty in case Diz needed or wanted to lie down, although he didn’t think she would take advantage of a rest.

Diz was now a little over seven months pregnant and, suddenly worried that the radiation would hurt the unborn child, had asked her superiors for an assignment some distance away from the test site. Compared with the experiments she’d undertaken before, this project was the most dangerous of them all.

Her husband had supported her decision, although he had been surprised by her request to be away from the main site. When he’d met her during his graduate studies, such a thing as a little radiation would not have bothered her. Her fearlessness and drive were the two character traits that had appealed to him more than anything else about her personality. She had also possessed a bit of a gruff exterior that dared anyone to tell her how things ought to be done or to disagree with her. That’s why he found it odd to see her so skittish, so concerned about the outcome of the experiment, though he knew it was because of the baby.

As he unpacked his equipment in the cabin, Al watched his wife walk up and down the room, either worried about the blast or because the baby was moving wildly inside her. Diz was excited, and while she knew that she was still some weeks away from delivery, she hoped the pressure she felt wouldn’t induce contractions.

The cabin in Harry Miller’s Tourist Court had a window facing west toward the test site, and on its sill Al had propped the Geiger counter. They checked all the instruments, and as darkness cloaked the area they began to listen over the shortwave to the voices coming from the test area. Hours later, they heard the countdown, and they began to whisper along with it as it inched forward. During the last seconds, the shortwave radio failed, and the voice faded away. Diz continued to count on her own, keeping track.

Although the test site was nearly thirty miles away, they heard the blast clearly, and Diz Graves knew that the bomb had gone off. All her worries and questions would now be answered. The radioactive fallout brought along by the wind did not reach them until some hours later, and by the afternoon, Diz was alarmed to see the readings on the Geiger counter as its needle swung to the right. As more hours passed, the needle on the counter shot all the way off the scale. Al shared his wife’s concerns and he decided to telephone base camp to see what the scientists were doing. He was informed that General Leslie Groves and various members of the military were trying to figure out whether or not the area’s residents needed to be evacuated, but while Al was on the phone, he learned that they had decided against evacuation. Diz continued to take readings, her mind eased by the fact that by late evening the radiation levels had tapered off. Al made a quick telephone call to the officials to let them know the latest developments.

Despite their eagerness to complete the project, Al and Diz Graves, like many in the scientific community, had come to suspect that they were leaning over the edge of the unknown and were afraid of what they would discover there. While the bomb was being constructed, they had wondered what truly would happen if and when it exploded. Would it actually work? What would the outcome be if it did?

They had joined the others in Los Alamos because they feared that the Second World War would last for several more years, that Adolf Hitler would be the first to build the bomb and unleash it on the rest of the world, and that every other country would have to pay the consequences. They had, in a sense, asked no questions about the validity of their work; they had not wondered about the lives of the innocents who would be caught in the middle of the conflict or whether they should have built the bomb just because they had the means to. It had seemed to them that what they were doing was justified, the only course of action they could have taken to save their lives and the lives of others.

But being pregnant and feeling the child growing inside her had changed Diz’s and Al’s ideas somewhat. What would the bomb let loose? Diz had asked her husband one night when she was unable to sleep. What would their child and the children of others inherit? How would the blast, if successful, be seen by the world at large? Those were their questions as they’d waited in the cabin for the bomb to go off. Now they would get their answers.

Not too far from the cabin where Diz and Al Graves had set up their apparatus, Diz’s younger coworker, Joan Hinton, huddled under a blanket, trying to protect herself from the rain that night. Joan was shaking, not only because she was cold and jittery, but also because she was feeling angry and, in a strange way, profoundly offended. She hadn’t been officially invited onto the test area to view the explosion, and she didn’t know why. Unafraid, she had decided to see it anyway. She deserved to, she had told herself over and over as she left the dormitory; given all that she had contributed to the bomb’s construction, she deserved to see it.

She had given the officials plenty of time to change their minds, but the invitation hadn’t arrived, so Joan had asked for the help of a friend who also worked for the Manhattan Project—a research and development project undertaken by the United States during World War II to produce the first atomic bomb—and who happened to own a motorcycle. Off Joan and her friend went, riding wildly to the site as they tried to dodge government jeeps. When they arrived, they met another couple who also had wanted to view the blast, and together they quietly sneaked inside the perimeter while it was still dark and waited for the countdown. They settled on a hill some fifteen miles away from the official detonation area; in spite of the distance, they knew they would get a very clear view of the explosion.

The air seemed bitterly cold to Joan, even though it was July. Deep darkness engulfed them, but they could not light any matches or portable flashlights, as they feared being discovered by the authorities. It took a few moments to get accustomed to the surroundings, but when they did, Joan’s eyes could distinguish the slopes of the mountains, the hills around her, and the fine blades of grass that swayed in the breeze. Up above, a thick layer of clouds covered the sky, and there were no stars flickering that evening, no moon to guide their view.

She was aware that the test was going to happen sometime that night, but then the hour passed and nothing happened. Looking up, she knew that the rain was to blame. She scanned the sky and the hills, wondering what would happen if the test did not go ahead as planned, what failure would do to her coworkers, to the scientists and engineers who had been working nonstop for months.

But then, at 5:30 AM, it came. They noticed an astounding ball of light cutting through the sky and felt the heat coming toward them as the bomb went off. Joan and her friends felt a blast shake the ground. It was a ripple at first, then a more powerful and erratic tremor beneath them, the earth shaking and rumbling as if protesting. “It was like being at the bottom of an ocean of light. We were bathed in it from all directions. The light withdrew into the bomb as if the bomb sucked it up. Then it turned purple and blue and went up and up and up,” she said later.

“We were still talking in whispers when the cloud reached the level where it was struck by the rising sunlight so it cleared out the natural clouds,” she went on. “We saw a cloud that was dark and red at the bottom and daylight on the top. Then suddenly the sound reached us. It was very sharp and rumbled and all the mountains were rumbling with it. We suddenly started talking out loud and felt exposed to the whole world.”

Everything was suddenly illuminated, and where darkness had been a few minutes earlier, she could now see clearly for miles around. The mountains, the hills, the sky, the grass, the stunned faces of her friends—everything was aglow. There was a moment of pride when she reflected on what she had contributed to the project, and also a moment of apprehension for precisely the same reason. But, regardless of how she felt, one thing was true: The atomic age had just arrived.

Sitting at a desk in her laboratory in Washington, DC, Dr. Elizabeth Rona was interrupted by an assistant who brought in a telegram. She reached out and unsealed the envelope, then looked up at the clock affixed to the wall: It was early morning, before classes started. All around her were tubes and microscopes and bubbling gases; the essence of her work. Here, in the United States, she had tried to replicate the laboratories in which she had worked in Europe, but it seemed to her that something was always missing. She didn’t know precisely what.

The air all around her seemed to vibrate. She remembered the time months earlier when she had received a similar telegram, also marked RESTRICTED, inviting her to help in a secret effort to end the war, asking her to offer her expertise on plutonium. And, intrigued by the possibility, she had accepted without hesitation.

Today, it appeared as if that expertise had come to fruition. The bomb had exploded, the telegram said. The test in New Mexico had been a success. And she had not even been invited to view the explosion. But it didn’t matter to her whether or not she had witnessed it; what mattered was that the Americans had succeeded first. At that moment, she thought of her friends and relatives still stuck in Europe and the innocent people caught in the middle. What would happen to them?