The Incidental Spy (3 page)

M
ax Stern was born two days later on September 5, 1939. Lena had an easy labor: her water broke at noon; by seven, Max made his appearance. He was a perfect baby boy: dark hair and lots of it, a lusty cry, and a determined chin that said he would not be ignored. They named him after Lena’s father Maxmillian—who, if not already dead, was clearly lost to Lena.

Lena took her time recovering, so Karl organized the
bris
. He found the
Mohel
, invited the guests, ordered trays of food. Lena spent the entire time in the bedroom with Ursula. The baby gave a sharp cry when the
Mohel’s
scalpel sliced his foreskin. Lena ran to the bathroom and threw up.

Max was the most adored baby ever. Lena thought of him as a little prince and, of course, quit her job to take care of him. She was determined to become the mother he deserved. After all, his birth was proof that the Nazis, no matter what, had not prevailed. It was her job to make sure it stayed that way.

Over the next year she carefully washed his diapers and bottles, made sure he had plenty of fresh air, sang and talked to him constantly. The experts said the more you talked to your baby, the smarter he would be.

Still, in the dark hours of the night, she was beset with fear. A mere sniffle meant a rush to the doctor. She worried whether she was feeding him enough. Whether he was sleeping too much or too little. Even a diaper rash made her nervous. In the deepest, darkest part of her brain she was sure that one mistake, one careless error on her part, would mean the end. Karl, who had bounced back from his depression over the St. Louis, tried to comfort her, but her outlook, so broad before, shrank into a tiny world view of what Max needed, what Max did, how Max fared. His powdery baby smell was the most seductive aroma she could imagine.

Max was asleep one summer night in July, 1940, when Karl got home. Lena usually tried to keep Max up to see his father, but tonight his little head drooped, his eyes closed, and she had to put him to bed. It didn’t help that Karl was often late now that research on chain reactions and uranium compounds had picked up.

Much of the new work, he told her, was done in Berkeley, New York, and Britain, but Compton was the head of National Science Academy, and his opinion was sought on everything dealing with nuclear research. That meant lots of staff papers, analyses, and theoretical discussions that lasted until the middle of the night.

Lena had climbed into bed herself and was nodding off when Karl came into the bedroom. She could smell his beery breath across the room. Karl rarely drank. She decided to ignore him, but when he stumbled over his shoes and let out a yelp, she switched on a lamp and rose up on her elbows.

“Are you all right, darling?”

“Yah, yah,” he replied.

“You’re drunk.”

“Quite possibly.” He let out a loud burp as if to prove the point.

Lena shook her head in mock annoyance. She couldn’t be angry with Karl.

“It was a crazy day. Some of us went out for a few beers to calm down.”

Lena pushed herself to a sitting position. If Karl needed a few beers to calm down, this was important. “Why don’t I make you some coffee?”

“Thank you,
liebchen
.”

Ten minutes later, she brought a steaming cup into the bedroom, handed it to her husband, and got back into bed. She watched as he took a few cautious sips. A few minutes passed. Karl’s furrowed brow smoothed out, and he looked calmer.

“So,” she said. “What happened? “

He sat on the edge of the bed. “I will tell you. But first, you must take an oath that you will never repeat any of this to anyone.”

“Of course,” she said. “Remember, I used to work there.”

He nodded. “I remember. Did you ever meet an Army officer, Colonel Charles Collins? He came to the Department often once the government created the Uranium Committee.” Karl fingered the sheet Lena had draped around herself, as if he could feel Lena’s skin through it. “He always demanded to meet with Compton privately. As if he was in charge and Compton worked for him.”

“I don’t recall him. Was he a scientist?”

“Not really. He took a course or two in college, Compton said, but he thought he knew it all.”

“Just like an officer. They put on a uniform and think they rule the world,” Lena said. “They are the same the world over. Why did Compton put up with him?”

“I wondered the same thing. It turns out he didn’t.” Karl smiled.

“How do you mean?”

“So.” Karl grabbed his coffee and took another sip. “I don’t know if I told you, but in May—well, this gets rather complicated—the Germans seized one of the largest heavy water production plants. It’s in Norway.”

“Heavy water?”

“It’s a type of water that can help build nuclear weapons. It showed the world that Germany is serious about producing an atomic weapon.”

Lena nodded.

“Things at work accelerated quickly after that. The Brits and the Americans do not want to fall behind, you see.”

A flash of irritation washed over her. “Yes, but what does this have to do with you getting drunk?”

“I’m getting to that.” He dropped his knee and ran his hand down the sheet that covered her, stopped at her breast, and cupped it. She was still nursing Max, and her breasts were heavy and full.

She flicked his hand away. “Well?”

He sighed. “Well, last month the government reorganized its nuclear research program. They’re looking into several different ways to separate isotopes and produce a chain reaction. But the key is that military representatives will no longer be on the committee.” He paused. “So when Collins came in today he was told he had no further reason to come into the department.” Karl grinned.

“And?”

“The Colonel was not happy.”

“I don’t understand. What does it mean, no more military on the committee?”

“In practice, it does not mean much. It’s just so that we can get enough funds to focus on the science without depending on the military for budget approval. But clearly, they will not be excluded for long. Whatever we come up with, they’re going to implement.”

“But Collins wasn’t satisfied?”

“What do the Americans say? Not for a ‘New York minute’? He became belligerent, started to make threats, said he would go to the top to complain. That the military
should
be in charge of us.”

“With him as leader, no doubt,” Lena said.

Karl nodded. “Of course. Then he stomped out.”

Lena mulled it over. “My goodness. Such excitement!”

“At any rate, Compton stayed in his office for a while. Then he came out and gave us a stern lecture on confidentiality. He said it was vital that no one know anything about our work. Including our families. That everything we do is a matter of the utmost national security. To be held in the strictest secrecy.” Karl bit his lip. “If he finds out I told you this much, he will fire me.”

“I will tell no one. You know that.”

“Yah, I know.” He caressed her cheek. “So, that’s why we went drinking. We were all a bit—how do they say in English—shaky. Suddenly, we are not at all sure what the future holds.”

Lena slipped her arms around her husband. “Don’t worry. I will not pry any secrets out of you. Now come to bed.”

B
y the time Max was eighteen months, Lena did something she should have done years earlier. One night in March, 1941, she wrote to Josef. She had no idea if he was still at the Budapest address she had for him, but she told him about Karl, Max, her life in America, and the Physics Department. She apologized for not writing sooner. She didn’t know how to explain. Their love had made sense during the traumatic years in Berlin. He had been her lighthouse; the beacon of her hope. But she had moved on. She didn’t say that in the letter; she simply said she hoped he could forgive her. She didn’t expect him to respond, but she felt better for writing.

To her surprise, a month later she received a reply. Josef was still in Budapest. His mother had passed and his father was frail, but he wanted her to know he understood. “Time releases no one,” he said. “Life always changes.”

In fact, he was seeing a woman himself, and the letter Lena had written he took as a reprieve. He intended to ask this woman to marry him. He wished Lena nothing but the best for her and her family. Lena’s eyes filled as she read the letter. At the same time, her guilt lifted. She felt lighter than she had in years.

As spring advanced into summer, Max was starting to talk, and his conversations, peppered with real words as well as baby talk, were a delight. Lena chatted with him most of the day, and both Lena and Karl were convinced he was an intellectual giant.

One afternoon, on a beautiful summer day that reminded her of the day they were married—it was hard to believe it had been four years already—she wheeled Max in a new-fangled baby stroller to a park adjacent to South Lake Shore Drive. Now that the North and South legs of the Drive were connected, it was busier than ever, and they crossed the street carefully. Lena meandered down to the beach at 59th Street and spread a blanket over the sand. She and Max spent the afternoon building sand castles and dipping their toes in the frigid water.

When it was time for Max’s nap, she put him down on the blanket and lay down beside him. She must have dozed off too, because the next thing Lena remembered, the sun was peeking through the trees from the west. She checked her watch; they had been asleep two hours.

Hurriedly, she roused Max. He wanted to go back to the water. She clutched his hand and made one more trip to the edge of the lake, then settled him in the stroller for the journey back home.

As she made her way from the beach back to 57th Street, Lena had the sense she was being followed. She whipped around but didn’t see anyone. She frowned. Max chattered away; she had to focus on him. She kept going. Once they’d crossed 57th Street to the sidewalk, the feeling intensified. She spun around again. This time she caught the shadow of a figure melting into the narrow space between two buildings. Someone
was
following them.

But who? Hyde Park was one of the safest neighborhoods in Chicago. She began rolling Max’s stroller so quickly that Max started to fret. She tried to shush him, explaining they had slept so long they were late getting dinner. Max seemed to understand, because he stopped crying.

The feeling faded as she passed the shops of Hyde Park, but she was still wary. She kept looking around; no one seemed interested in her. She forced herself to stop in at the butcher’s for a veal roast. Then she bought small potatoes and fresh green beans at the market two doors down. At the last moment, she added ripe tomatoes.

Back home she locked the door, something she rarely did and turned on the radio. It was filled with war news, none of it good. She started preparing dinner, wondering who had been following her and why. She was certain it was a man; she’d seen a flash of dark pants and a striped shirt.

When Karl got home, she told him.

Karl frowned. “You have no idea who it was?”

She shook her head.

He looked like he was seriously thinking. Then he looked up. “Are you sure?”

She shot him an irritated glance. “Of course. Do you think I would make this up?”

“No. But I cannot believe it was intentional. Perhaps it was a hobo who wanted your money.”

She shook her head. “He did not make a move toward my wallet.”

“In that case, I have no idea,
liebchen
. Maybe forget it. It might have been…” Karl shrugged… “A prank? A mistake?”

“And if it happens again?”

“We will deal with it,” he said firmly.

She kept her mouth shut.

D
ecember 7th, a chilly Chicago Sunday, changed everything. Lena and Karl had put Max down for a nap. Lena decided to make a batch of latkes for Hanukkah, which would start in a week’s time. She was looking forward to the fact that Max might actually understand some of what the holiday was about this year.

Karl was working from home. He was not supposed to bring home any materials from the office, but he never discussed them with Lena, and she didn’t ask. Otherwise, Lena and Max might never have seen him—he was so absorbed in his research. In July, a report from the British indicated that a nuclear weapon was a distinct possibility, and the Brits were going ahead with development.

Their enthusiasm spurred the Americans to re-analyze their findings. In November, Compton’s committee concluded that a critical mass of between two and one hundred kilograms of uranium-235 would produce a powerful fission bomb, and that for fifty to one hundred million dollars it could be built.

Lena, who was chopping onions and enjoying their aroma, turned on the radio. The Bears football game was on. The broadcast was interrupted around 1:30 PM with the news that the Japanese were bombing the Pacific fleet in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Lena clapped a hand over her mouth. Karl stopped working and they remained glued to the radio for the rest of the day.  Nearly twenty American ships, including eight enormous battleships, and almost two hundred airplanes were destroyed. Over two thousand Americans soldiers and sailors died; another thousand were wounded.

A day later, while officials were still sorting out the damage, FDR went to Congress and delivered a short speech calling December 7th “a date which will live in infamy.” Barely an hour later, Congress declared war on Japan. Three days after that the country was at war with Germany.

Lena descended into an unremitting state of anxiety. America was on the right side, but nothing was certain. She knew that events could—and did—change in an instant. The anti-Semitic laws in Europe, her flight from Germany, the loss of Josef, her parents’ silence,
Kristallnacht
. She felt powerless, like a tennis ball buffeted back and forth across the net, with no will of its own. The security she’d been able to create with Karl and Max rested on the precarious feathers of history. The slightest change could scatter everything to oblivion.

Ironically, her mood was at odds with the rest of the country. Bravado and cheerfulness prevailed, as though Americans were relieved, excited, even cocky about going to war. “Slap the Japs” could be heard in bars, people talked about “Jap hunting” licenses, and reprisals against Japanese-Americans began.

Japanese restaurants closed, their shop windows smashed. Americans boycotted everything Japanese, and there was much cheering and jeering from Chinatown, Japan’s sworn enemy. Lena couldn’t help comparing what was happening to what she’d gone through in Germany, although it wasn’t nearly as harsh. She was frightened at the prospect of war, but she couldn’t make herself hate the Japanese people.

Still, as the country geared up, she went through her days silent and brooding, waiting for something else to happen. Something bad was coming. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sit still. Even Max picked up on her tension and grew cranky.

* * *

It happened a week later. A layer of sleet glazed everything with a coating of ice. By evening it was covered by two inches of snow. The roads were covered with a deceptive white shroud. Karl would be walking home from the University, but he had no boots or scarf; the morning had been unusually sunny and mild for December. He was rarely home before midnight since Pearl Harbor anyway, so Lena didn’t wait up.

She woke a few hours later and checked the time. It was one in the morning, but Karl wasn’t in bed beside her. He hadn’t called either, which he usually did if he was going to be very late or decided to spend the night at the office. She peered out the window. More snow. He must be staying overnight at the department, she told herself. No one would be foolish enough to go out in this storm. She went back to bed.

She was startled awake by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. She looked at the clock. Three AM. Did Karl forget his key? He never had before. She wrapped her robe tightly around her, went to the door, and squinted through the peephole.             Two police officers stood outside, stamping their feet in the snow. Her pulse thundered in her ears, coursing through her hands, chest, and head. It was hard to breathe. What did they want? Were they coming for her? Or Karl? Why?

For an instant she was back in Nazi Germany. But this was America. Karl had suggested she keep a gun in the house. She’d refused, telling him they were safe here. That even the thought of a weapon was ridiculous. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

She cracked open the door, her hands trembling. “Yes?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Are you Mrs. Stern?”

She swallowed and nodded.

“I’m Officer O’Grady. And this is my partner, Officer Maywood. May we come in?”

“What do you want?”

“We need to talk to you about your husband.”

Lena’s stomach clenched, and she sagged against the door. Suddenly all she wanted to do was hurry back to bed and pull the covers over her head.

“Please, ma’am. Could you open the door?” O’Grady hesitated, as if he knew she was afraid. “We mean you no harm.”

She sized up the officers. Bundled up in overcoats, boots, and gloves, they didn’t appear to be carrying weapons. In fact the one called O’Grady took off his cap. Snowflakes melted on its brim. She opened the door wider.

“Thank you ma’am.” They came in and stood just inside the doorway. She closed it and planted herself in front of it.

“I’m afraid we have some bad news, Mrs. Stern.”

A steel band wrapped itself around her head.

“Your husband is Karl Stern?”

She nodded.

O’Grady took a breath. It sounded like a sigh. “We responded to a call of an accident in the snow. It was a hit and run. On 57th Street.”

The steel band tightened. Lena felt rooted to the floor.

“About an hour ago your husband was walking east on 57th Street. We believe he was coming from the University. That—”

She cut them off. “What happened?”

O’Grady looked down, away, then met her gaze. “Your husband was hit by an automobile. The driver must have lost control on the ice. The car hit him broadside. I’m sorry, Mrs. Stern, he didn’t make it. He’s dead.”