How Did the C.I.A Lose a Nuclear Device?

Jeffrey Gettleman, Hari Kumar, Agnes Chang and Pablo Robles | The New York Times | Dec 13, 2025

If you can’t access the article on the NYT website, you can view an archived version here: https://archive.is/UBkks The interactive images don’t show up in the archived version so you’ll have to scroll past some blank space.

Buried beneath the rock and ice of the Himalayas, in one of the most remote places on earth, lies a sensational chapter of the Cold War, and it’s not over yet.

What happened to the American nuclear device, which contains Pu-239, an isotope used in the atomic bomb dropped on Nagasaki, and even larger amounts of Pu-238, a highly radioactive fuel?

Nobody knows.

Extensive interviews with the people who carried out the mission and once-secret documents stashed away in American and Indian government archives reveal the extent of the debacle, and the ways American officials at the highest levels, including President Jimmy Carter, tried to cover it up years later.

The documents trace the anxiety spreading in Washington and New Delhi. Back then, just as now, the United States and India had a tricky relationship. They were both worried about China’s growing nuclear capabilities. They were both watching the Soviet Union’s designs on Afghanistan. They both had a precarious Cold War chessboard to manage. And just like today, the two nations, as the world’s two largest democracies, had reasons to partner up but didn’t trust each other.

Becoming a Centenarian

Calvin Tomkins | The New Yorker | Dec 15, 2025

If you can’t access the article on the New Yorker website, you can view an archived version here: https://archive.is/ab4oE

Old age is no joke, but it can feel like one. You look everywhere for your glasses, until your wife points out that you’re wearing them. I turn a hundred this year. People act as though this is an achievement, and I suppose it is, sort of. Nobody in my family has lived this long, and I’ve been lucky. I’m still in pretty good health, no wasting diseases or Alzheimer’s, and friends and strangers comment on how young I look, which cues me to cite the three ages of man: Youth, Maturity, and You Look Great.

It seems that I am legally blind. This comes as a surprise. Last year, Murk Heinemann, our longtime ophthalmologist and friend, showed me on my annual visit a photograph that revealed some macular degeneration in my right eye; with luck it might not get any bigger, he said, and he prescribed a stronger lens for the other eye. I’ve always felt that my eyes were functioning more or less normally, given their age. Much of the time, I don’t wear my distance glasses—the world is a little blurry, but I don’t bump into things. Since the pandemic, Dodie and I have been spending more time at our place in Rhode Island. I went to the local eye clinic there a while ago, because I was having trouble reading small print, and the optometrist I saw must have passed the results on to the Rhode Island Department of Human Services. At any rate, a very pleasant young woman came to the house to break the news that I was legally blind, and that the town we live in had amenities to offer, including a tax break.

Here’s what I got, without even asking: 1. A red-and-white walking stick, whose colors are the international signal for a legally blind and deaf person. 2. A cube clock with a large yellow button that, when pressed, elicits a slightly impatient male voice announcing the time. Another button activates an alarm, which can be the sound of a bell, a horn, a cuckoo, a beeping, or a two-tone chime. 3. A talking book reader, with someone reading aloud; this one is the “property of the U.S. government” and must be returned if I don’t want to use it, or die, or something. 4.Twelve Pilot Bravo Bold Point Marker Pens. 5. A talking alarm clock that you wear on a chain around your neck. 6. Three copies of a letter certifying that I am permanently legally blind, to be used when applying for a handicapped-parking certificate or a tax adjustment. It was all somewhat overwhelming. So far, I’ve put away the cane, which was heavier than the one I’d been using, and tried writing with a Bold Point Marker Pen, which left a smudge on my index finger that I’m still trying to scrub off. I plan to look into the tax break. (I did, and I didn’t qualify.) The rest of my booty lies in a corner, untouched. New stuff is daunting to old guys, especially when the instructions are in small print.