Ahead, the repair truck fishtailed from side to side over loose rocks.

“But in a few weeks,” said Santa, “there will be hundreds of GIs at Trinity, and they’ll all be wondering why they’re there and what they’re doing. They’ll be talking to MPs, who will overhear scientists talking—that’s human nature—and there will be some anxiety, because GIs are not scientists, about being in proximity to a nuclear explosion. You see, there won’t be a radiation problem, but there may be a psychological problem. Even though they know the Army would not put soldiers in a situation that was not entirely safe. After all, here’s a bomb that’s supposed to blow up a city with just a few pounds of refined ore. I was wondering how you two feel about that.”

“The city part’s okay,” Ray said.

“Don’t ask us,” Joe said.

“But you might feel anxiety,” Santa suggested. “You two are the ones transporting that refined ore. Even though you know you’re surrounded and protected by dedicated officers, you might feel anxiety.”

“You don’t feel any anxiety?” Joe asked.

“None,” Santa assured Joe. “Not a bit.”

Joe glanced back. Behind Santa, the canister floated securely in the web of straps and steel frame.

“No dedicated officers in this fucking wagon that I notice,” Ray said.

“Then you, Sergeant Stingo, do admit to ambivalence.”

“It was an ambulance,” Ray said. “Now they made it into this wagon.”

“No, I mean ambivalence.”

“It was. It’s not now.”

Ray stirred. All the paranoia that had been floating free up till now was starting to come together, to find its target after two hundred miles. It hadn’t coalesced, hadn’t quite fixed, but he twisted in his seat the better to regard Santa.

“Ambivalence, Sergeant. Wanting two things at the same time.”

“Yeah,” Ray muttered. “Two ambulances. We could bring twice as much.”

“Anyway,” Santa persevered, seeing no warning sign in the red eyes staring at him, “I asked myself, How can I treat a problem when I know nothing about it? How can we prepare for the possible mass emotional crises of the test site without seeing at least some enlisted men now in close proximity to hazardous radioactive material?”

“That’s why we’re here?” Ray asked.

“Because only you and Sergeant Peña actually know what the cargo is. The regular drivers and even the security officers only know that it’s vital to the war effort.”

“We’re here because of you?” Ray asked.

“That’s what I was just saying.”

“We’re here because of you?” Ray wanted to be sure.

“That’s what I said.”

“Because of you?” Ray’s eyes jerked back to the road when Joe hit a rabbit. His fingers twisted the handgrip of the tommy gun.

“Because of me,” Santa said with good-humored firmness to avoid any more semantic confusion.