Joe could see woolly patches of buffalo grass, rabbit brush and yucca spears. Also, man-made burrows where crusher gauges had been buried, standing pipes with crystal gauges and threaded stakes of electrical wire running from South-10,000 to the tower base. No clover.

Down at the ranch house where the core had been assembled, a man was swimming in the cistern. It was a concrete cistern with double tanks for the cattle that used to run on the ranch. The man swam back and forth tirelessly for several minutes, then climbed out, dried himself and dressed in white coveralls, cap, booties and gloves. Harvey got into a Dodge coupe, drove to the blacktop and turned to South-10,000.

Everywhere Joe looked, vehicles and men on foot were quitting the six-mile radius around the tower. On the West blacktop a jeep with four flats carried a full load of GIs. Farther in that direction, darkening clouds rose over volcanic peaks. Against them and the mist of the Oscuras, Trinity was a last-lit golden strand. But dust devils were moving in, spinning around abandoned instruments, and thunder was becoming more regular.

“There’s an invisible world out there. A new map, a cartography of Geiger counters, seismographs and gauges. Joe, I’ve been thinking about those Mescaleros. If you start chasing them, you might not come back for a day or two. You and I have been through so much, it would be tragic if we didn’t share this climactic moment.”

Joe wished the tower were higher, the glasses stronger, so that he could see Hilario rolling down from Santa Fe. The lieutenant governor probably had a state trooper driving. The crowd would be coming from the Texas line, cowmen with fist-sized wads of money. Pollack would just be sliding into his Cadillac now.

“I’ll make sure I’m back in time.”

Oppy leaned on the rail. “The future is here, tonight. The world will revolve around us. You don’t think the MPs will be able to watch for Apaches?”

“MPs don’t know where to look.”

Joe imagined Roberto and Ben hiding in a Model T. Maybe a pickup truck poking along the highway, with Felix at the wheel, a couple of cows in back. Anna must be in Chicago, among the concrete towers rising by the lake.

“That’s their problem. I want you with me,” Oppy said. “Until the test is over. Forget the Indians; you’re staying with me.”

Joe scanned the range. “I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?” Oppy asked, as if he’d heard Joe wrong.