Free Stealing Trinity by Ward Larsen

you will have very specific, written orders relating to this matter. Drop it and zip your lips. That's it!"
    The civilian strode out the door, Colonel Rasmussen tagging along behind.
    Thatcher bristled. "Who the devil does he think he is?"
    In a practical sense, Thatcher and Ainsley found out three hours later. The orders came straight from the War Office. Isolate Klein indefinitely, and don't breathe a word about any of it.
    Ainsley broke the news to his friend over an ale at the Cock and Thistle.
    "This has come from the very top, Michael. We must honor it."
    Thatcher studied his Guinness. "Bloody eejits! It doesn't make sense, Roger."
    "What do you mean?"
    "If this Manhattan Project is such a minor issue, why all the huff?"
    "So there's more to it. The Yanks want to investigate the matter themselves."
    "But they're not! That's what doesn't follow. If it was a breach of some critical program, they'd be grilling poor Klein six ways. Instead, they order him locked down, tell us to shut up, and disappear."
    Ainsley shrugged and took a long pull on his mug.
    Thatcher continued, "It's something terrifically important, I tell you. Braun, Wespe, and this Manhattan Project --it all goes beyond the war."
    "Our hands are tied, Michael." Thatcher didn't respond and Ainsley gave him a stern look. "Tied, I tell you!"
    "Of course, Roger."
    A hard silence fell. Thatcher looked to the wall at the back of the bar. There were two dozen photographs of young men and women. They were nailed into every space, a makeshift memorial to the locals who had given their lives for the cause. Each would have had families, friends, comrades-in-arms. So many, Thatcher thought. So much suffering. He paid for the round and told Ainsley he was going home.
    They both knew it was a lie.
    It wasn't so strange, Braun thought, being a spy. In a way he felt like he'd been one his entire life. He had taken a gunfighter's seat in the posh restaurant -- his back to the wall and with a commanding view of the entrance. It seemed a natural precaution.
    He'd only been in America for thirty hours and, though exhausted, everything was falling well into place. The truck he'd stolen yesterday in Westhampton was now parked amid a half dozen similar rigs at a roadside restaurant, this one far busier than the place where he'd first found it. The choice of the truck had been fortuitous. It was a mover's truck, delivering the worldly possessions of some well-to-do family. Braun had stuffed a suitcase with clothes, which were far better in fit and quality than the squat driver's, along with a considerable collection of jewelry. The driver himself, minus eighteen dollars that had been in his pocket, was now folded neatly into a large trunk at the front of the trailer, and the rear doors secured by a padlock.
    Next had come a bus ride into the city, and a night in an anonymous hotel in the borough of Queens. This morning, an inexpensive breakfast prepared him for the riskiest maneuver -- quietly exchanging the jewelry for cash. Claiming it to be an inheritance, Braun split the collection and pawned it at three different shops. He allowed the merchants a steep premium for cash, knowing the magnitude of the bargain would suppress any unease about the source of the goods. In the end, he pocketed three hundred eighty dollars --more than he'd ever had in his life.
    Only now did he allow himself the luxury of a good meal. In spite of being famished, he lingered for twenty minutes over the menu, studying the offerings like a fallen priest in a whorehouse. It was the waiter's description of the chef's selection du jour that sealed things. Preceded by a generous salade assaisonnee and a glass of Chablis, the rack of lamb proved sumptuous, the meat literally falling from the bone. Braun lingered with each bite, pausing, appreciating.
    As he did, he watched those around him. Amid dark wood trim and velvet seats, middle-aged businessmen sat at their regular tables. They mingled in clusters or, in