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墨書 Inktalez
In 1949, the California Institute of Technology lured Qian Xuesen away with an enticingly high salary, offering him a prestigious tenure in the field of jet propulsion.
Not to mention the regular salary, the annual stipend provided by the institute was roughly equivalent to three times the average annual income of a household in the United States at that time, not including additional research funding.
Even ordinary Americans knew of him. He had outlined blueprints for intercontinental transport rockets to the public and predicted that the goal of landing on the moon could be achieved within thirty years, making him a household name.
At this point in his life, what more could he ask for?
Thus, as the 1950s arrived, Qian Xuesen was riding high in the United States.
Little did he know that an unforeseen disaster was about to befall him, a monumental change that would alter not only his life but also the course of a nation's history.
The FBI had set its sights on him.
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The unlucky days began on June 6, 1950.
That day, it drizzled lightly, and the sky was overcast, seemingly foreshadowing Qian Xuesen's future.
Two FBI agents visited Qian Xuesen's office at the California Institute of Technology. They had only one question they wanted to clarify with him—
Have you ever joined the Communist Party?
Qian Xuesen felt utterly bewildered. He was a pure scientist, not particularly interested in politics; how could he possibly participate in political activities?
The FBI then asked him if he knew someone named Robert Weinbaum.
Qian Xuesen recalled that name.
It was back in 1938, about twelve years ago. He had just arrived at the California Institute of Technology and was invited by a friend to an informal gathering held at the homes of faculty members.
Weinbaum was a teaching assistant in the Chemistry Department, and his home was the most frequented place for these gatherings. As they became more familiar, Qian Xuesen even recommended Weinbaum for a new position.
The FBI informed Qian Xuesen that since they were friends, he should know that Weinbaum was part of the American Communist Party, and the gatherings he attended at Weinbaum's house were actually meetings of the American Communist Party's Pasadena chapter.
Ah, Weinbaum was a communist? In defense of his friend, Qian Xuesen sincerely told the FBI that he couldn't be sure if Weinbaum was a communist, but he believed Weinbaum was loyal to the United States and its government. True, sometimes he spoke a bit passionately, but in those times, many young people leaned "left." What did that really mean?
The FBI gave him a meaningful look and slowly said, "What about you? You must be a communist too, otherwise how would your name appear on the party member list?"
Qian Xuesen was stunned. His name on that list? Impossible.
The FBI told him that his name was written next to someone named John Decker, which gave them reason to suspect that this "John Decker" was actually his alias.
This was even more absurd. Qian Xuesen had never even heard of that name.
He firmly denied it.
The FBI's visit this time did not expect Qian Xuesen to immediately confess everything; they were merely trying to intimidate him.
At the same time, another net was being cast toward Qian Xuesen—on the same day, the U.S. Military officially signed a notice prohibiting him from accessing classified projects and revoked his research clearance.
It seemed that these measures imposed on Qian Xuesen resembled a sinister trap, deliberately set for him to fall into.
In fact, the FBI's visit and the military's letter were not impulsive actions but rather the result of long-term planning.
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