About This Series

The U.S. nuclear complex occupies a sizable chunk of the American West, and the nuclear family vacation seemed the perfect itinerary. There's the Nevada Test Site, where more than 1,000 nuclear tests were conducted, near Aunt Bertha's home in Las Vegas; Los Alamos, birthplace of the atomic bomb, where cousin Laura works and lives; nearby Sandia, which makes the "nuts and bolts" that go into nuclear weapons; Trinity, where the first atomic bomb was detonated; and Livermore, the Bay Area-lab founded by Edward Teller, near Sharon's brother Marc, his really cool wife Kacey, and our favorite foodie physicist, who has asked for anonymity but has certainly influenced the spirit of this series.

We didn't make it to a sister in Huntsville, Ala., aka "Rocket City," nor did we see a brother in Colorado who lives near the North American Aerospace and Defense Command, but there's always next year.

Timing also played a role. The 60^th anniversary of Trinity, the first explosion of an atomic device, was approaching, as was the usual summer timing for our family vacation. Let's do both, we thought. As Manhattan Project veteran Wolfgang Panofsky told us in explaining his own reasons for organizing a 60^th anniversary gathering, "We don't think any of us will be around for the 70^th."

Let's hope he's wrong.

Why the fascination with nukes? Well, Nathan has spent the last few years following U.S. military operations around the world, while Sharon is hard at work on a book about the Pentagon's bizarre pursuit of a "nuclear isomer weapon." And did we mention that we are married?

The labs themselves are often compared to a dysfunctional family, complete with squabbles over money, sibling rivalries, and distant parents; Congress often hints that a little more adult supervision might be in order. All three laboratories face intense scrutiny over their budget and security, and Los Alamos has had a particularly rough time of late. After "losing" two classified computer disks last year, Los Alamos was effectively sent to its room and grounded by an overbearing director who shut down operations at the lab for more than six months. It turns out the missing disks never existed.

But while visiting family presents one set of difficulties, traveling around the nuclear weapons complex, which includes the three nuclear laboratories and associated test sites, poses another challenge entirely. The distances are large, the security tight, and the bureaucracy overwhelming. To write this series, we began three months in advance, seeking various permissions to visit the national laboratories and nuclear test sites.

An old joke circulates about the nuclear laboratories. The government gives the order to jump. Sandia salutes smartly, says "Yes, sir!" and jumps. Lawrence Livermore swings into action: It flies in experts from around the world, holds a lengthy symposium, and then presents the government with 500-page conference proceedings on the subject of "jump." Los Alamos gives a quizzical look, pauses for a moment, and then says, "F___ you."

About a month before our road trip, we seemed to hit a wall. Sandia, managed by Lockheed Martin, responded with corporate efficiency, preparing a preliminary itinerary and e-mailing neatly ordered security forms. The two design labs, managed by the University of California, proved more inscrutable. Livermore reassured us that they were working on the issue but needed to consult with Washington. From Los Alamos, we were greeted with stony silence, at first.

Even the Nevada Test Site required prompting. "This is historical, right?" asked one wary public-affairs official. The Army, which runs White Sands Missile Range, site of the Trinity atomic test shot, was the most prompt—they agreed without hesitation to take us on a guided tour. Then again, Trinity for them is no more than a historical marker.

Then we received word that we would have to clear things with the National Nuclear Security Administration, the arm of the Energy Department that oversees the nuclear weapons complex. The explanation was that our reporting project involved more than one lab. The NNSA seemed to want assurance that we were writing a sincere article on the future of nuclear weapons.

Once satisfied, the NNSA quickly gave the green light and granted an interview with Linton Brooks, head of the NNSA, who gave us more than an hour of his time and an honest assessment of the difficulties facing the nuclear weapons stockpile. On our way out of the interview, Brooks seemed relieved to speak primarily about the national labs rather than security snafus at Los Alamos.

"It's nice to talk to someone about something other than missing disks," he said.

In the end, we were provided an enviable lineup of interviews that included top officials from the nuclear weapons program at each lab; they discussed the role of the labs quite openly and shared their personal histories, often in great detail. We conducted wide-ranging interviews on the laboratories' missions—ranging from weapons maintenance to international cooperation—and we were accompanied by public-affairs officials deeply immersed in the history of the labs. Many weapons scientists also spoke to us informally to provide us the flavor and details that are sometimes missing from official interviews.

We had to furnish proof of citizenship, Social Security numbers, places of birth, etc., to arrange our lab visits, and each lab had its own set of rules. In one case, we had to provide serial numbers for all our recording equipment, but that still failed to satisfy a security official, who was reluctant to allow exotic-sounding Sony portable minidisc recorders inside the facility.

In a laboratory system that has received almost nonstop criticism from the press, we were greeted graciously and openly, but we were always reminded that we were visitors from outside the gate. The point was made clear at the Livermore High Explosives Application Facility when someone switched on the intercom to announce a return to normal business: "The uncleared visitors are leaving the building."