“Oak Ridge is Site X,” Dulles said. “What this is—these are—are photographs of the weekly progress report on the four projects they’re setting up there to separate enough weapons-grade uranium from uranium ore to make a weapon. Or weapons. Atomic bombs.”
“Where’d you get this report?”
“From the Germans. Specifically, from Fregattenkapitän Otto von und zu Waching, who is Admiral Canaris’s deputy.”
“Meaning the Germans have a spy—spies—in Oak Ridge?” Graham asked incredulously. “That’s bad news. You haven’t told Donovan?”
“No, I haven’t told Donovan.”
“Why not?”
“The Germans don’t have spies in Oak Ridge. The Russians do. The Germans apparently have people in the Kremlin. According to von und zu Waching, that’s where those photos came from.”
“How long have you known about this?” Graham asked.
“Since two o’clock this afternoon. Canaris got word to me that he thought it would be to our mutual interest if we got together with von und zu Waching—”
“ ‘We’?” Graham interrupted.
“You and me. He asked for you by name. So I sent you the ‘come to Portugal very quietly’ message. Canaris doesn’t play games, for one thing, and for another, I really didn’t want to deal with whatever this was by myself.”
“What the hell is it all about?”
“What comes immediately to mind, obviously, is that it is not in the best interests of the German Reich for the Soviets to have an atomic bomb. Stealing the knowledge of how to make one from us is a quick way for them to get one.”
Graham nodded his agreement.
“This is all you got from this guy? What’s his name?”
“Fregattenkapitän Otto von und zu Waching. That’s all. He asked if you were coming, and when I told him you were, he ‘suggested’ we wait until you got here before we got into anything else.”
“Where is he now?”
“In his room, waiting for me to call him.”
“Call him,” Graham said.
[TWO]
“Good evening,” Fregattenkapitän Otto von und zu Waching said five minutes later, with a bob of his head.
He was in civilian clothing, a gray-striped woolen suit that looked a little too large for him, a once-white shirt—which instantly brought to Graham’s mind the advertising campaign that tried to convince American housewives that the use of a certain soap powder would absolutely protect their husbands’ white shirts from turning “tattletale gray” and thus suggesting they were failing to properly care for the family breadwinner—and worn-out shoes.
The Germans are running short of soap. And material for suits. And shoes.
It’s as simple as that.
“My name is Graham,” Graham said, offering his hand.
“Your reputation precedes you, Colonel,” von und zu Waching said. “I am, as I’m sure Mr. Dulles has told you, Otto von und zu Waching, and I have the honor of being Vizeadmiral Canaris’s deputy. Thank you for coming. I am sure you will feel the effort was worthwhile.”
His English was fluent, with a strong upper-class British accent.
“Let’s hope so,” Graham said.
“Would either of you be offended if I outlined my position here? Our positions here? I suggest that would be useful.”
“By all means,” Dulles said.