Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第15部分

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driver’s　side；　then　rolled　down　the　window　and　peered　out。　The　cream…colored　flower　truck　was
across　the　street；　nearly　a　block　to　the　rear。　Between　the　flower　truck　and　the　laundry　truck　was　a
car　with　a　red　blanket　in　the　rear　window。
“The　green　car。　Take　her　from　it。　Go　to　the　white　van　with　the　red　rose　on　the　side。　See　it？”
Salvador　leaned　over　the　seat　and　looked。　“Yes。”
“A　Japanese　is　in　the　truck。　A　friend。　Knock　out　the　blonde；　tie　her　and　drive　the　van　up　here。
Just　knock　her　out；　don’t　kill　her。　Understand？”
“Yes。”
Salvador　turned　and　picked　his　way　past　the　bodies　to　the　rear　of　the　truck。　His　foot　hit　a　canvas
bag　containing　the　smaller　piece　of　uranium　and　sent　it　skating　aside　until　it　thumped　up　against
the　bag　with　the　larger　piece　of　U…235。　Radiation　bloomed　in　a　soundless；　subtle　rush　of　blue；　so
faint　he　did　not　see　it。
Salvador　opened　the　rear　door　and　got　out。　After　a　quick　look　around；　he　walked　toward　the
dark　green　car。　Mist　swirled　capriciously；　but　the　red　blanket　was　like　a　beacon。　Even　so；　he
hesitated　before　he　opened　the　car　door。　The　car　looked　empty　and　cold；　its　windows　un…fogged
as　though　nothing　warm　breathed　inside。　Then　he　saw　that　the　windows　were　rolled　down　just
enough　to　let　out　any　telltale　warmth。　He　peered　inside；　but　saw　only　a　back　seat　heaped　with
more　rumpled　blankets。　Knife　in　hand；　he　opened　the　back　door。
“Se？orita？”　whispered　Salvador。
Beneath　the　blankets；　Vanessa　smiled；　thinking　it　was　Refugio’s　voice　whispering　to　her；　Refugio
delivered　to　her　by　Masarek；　as　promised。　The　muffling　blankets　were　no　impediment　to　her
silenced　。38。　She　aimed　as　she　had　practiced；　at　the　exact　center　of　the　open　door；　regretting
only　that　she　could　not　see　Refugio’s　leer　dissolve　into　horror　as　he　felt　death　tearing　at　his
body。
Vanessa　pulled　the　trigger　again　and　again。　Only　the　twitching　blankets　marked　the　silent　passage
of　bullets。　Salvador　reeled　backward；　fell；　and　felt　the　cold　surface　of　the　street　engulf　him。　He
reached　toward　the　blankets　as　though　to　warm　himself。　Then　he　felt　nothing　at　all。
Vanessa　waited　beneath　the　blankets；　holding　her　breath　and　counting　silently。　Nothing　moved
in　or　outside　the　car。　When　she　reached　thirty；　she　threw　aside　the　blankets　and　gulped　air
untainted　by　cordite　and　smoldering　wool。　All　she　could　see　of　the　man　who　had　whispered　to
her　was　a　broad；　blunt　hand　clenched　around　a　trailing　edge　of　blanket。
She　yanked　off　her　dark　scarf　with　her　left　hand　and　snapped　the　cloth　across　the　fingers　clinging
to　the　blanket。　There　was　no　flicker　of　response。　Deliberately；　she　raised　her　gun　and　fired　a　shot
through　the　hand。　It　twitched　from　the　bullet’s　impact；　but　did　not　bleed。　Dead。　She　kicked
aside　the　hand　and　squirmed　out　of　the　back　seat。
The　man　slumped　against　the　pavement　was　too　big；　too　broad；　too　thick。　Refugio　was　smaller。
She　turned　over　the　corpse　with　her　foot　and　looked　into　dead　eyes　that　were　not　Refugio’s。
Then　she　looked　up　the　street　at　the　pale　van　parked　neatly　along　the　curb。
Had　something　gone　wrong？　Had　Masarek　been　forced　to　kill　Refugio　himself？　Or　was　it
Masarek　who　was　dead　and　Refugio　alive？
Vanessa　shook　herself　impatiently。　Masarek　was　no　child　to　be　killed　by　Mexican　smugglers。
Nonetheless；　she　would　take　care　to　keep　a　car　between　herself　and　the　van　as　she　approached　it。
Refugio　swore　softly　as　the　woman’s　gold…white　hair　slipped　from　cover　to　cover　like　a　ghost。
He　had　been　watching　in　the　sideview　mirror　when　Salvador　fell　backward　out　of　the　car。
Refugio　could　not　tell　precisely　what　had　gone　wrong；　but　he　could　see　that　Salvador　was
certainly　hurt　and　probably　dead。　Refugio　also　knew　that　Kestrel　wanted　the　woman　alive。
Silently；　Refugio　rolled　down　the　window　on　the　passenger　side　of　the　car。　The　barrel　of　his　。45
scraped　on　metal　as　he　aimed　back　along　the　body　of　the　truck。　Kestrel　wanted　the　blonde　alive；
yes；　but　he　wanted　the　metal　even　more。　Refugio　knew　he　was　too　weak　to　take　a　live　prisoner
who　had　dispatched　Salvador　as　coolly　as　a　campesina　grinding　corn。　He　would　have　to　kill
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Vanessa。
Vanessa　darted　along　the　curb　to　the　cover　of　another　car。　Sweating；　Refugio　took　aim　carefully；
knowing　that　if　he　waited　any　longer；　she　would　be　behind　his　van　in　a　blind　spot。　His　finger；
slippery　with　sweat　and　blood；　took　slack　out　of　the　trigger。　He　exhaled　until　there　was　no　air
left　in　his　lungs；　then　held　very　still；　waiting　for　Vanessa’s　blond　head　to　appear　over　the　trunk　of
the　car　behind　the　van。
The　sound　of　Refugo’s　unsilenced　。45　shattered　the　early…morning　calm。　Glass　exploded　and
bullets　screamed　off　metal。　Ana　woke　up　in　a　rush　of　adrenaline；　disoriented　by　the　heavy　smell
of　roses；　thinking　she　was　a　child　again；　awakened　by　firecrackers　thrown　by　her　brothers　to
frighten　her。　Then　she　remembered　where　she　was；　and　why。
Three　more　shots　came；　sounds　so　loud　that　Ana　suppressed　a　scream　only　by　biting　her
knuckles。　She　desperately　hoped　that　the　shots　were　not　related　to　Refugio　or　Kestrel　and　hence
to　her；　but　she　knew　hope　was　false　and　fear　was　true。　Kestrel　was　far　away　and　she　was　here；
afraid。
She　eased　aside　the　curtain　and　stared　out　the　windshield。　At　first　she　saw　only　gray　light　and　fog
dripping　onto　the　pavement；　shining　in　the　middle　of　the　street。　Then　she　realized　that　it　was
glass；　not　moisture　glistening　on　concrete。　Halfway　up　the　block　stood　a　car；　its　door　open；
something　black　huddled　against　the　side。　Farther　up　the　street　was　a　car　with　darkness　where
windows　should　be；　and　something　black　huddled　against　the　back　of　the　car。
Shots　came　like　sharp　blows。
Vanessa　was　flattened　on　the　pavement；　shards　of　glass　winked　in　her　hair。　She　tasted　blood　and
fear　and　anger　all　at　once。　Her　silenced　gun　spat　several　times　before　it　was　empty。　She　had　used
too　many　bullets　on　the　man　who　should　have　been　Refugio。
She　knew　if　she　stayed　she　would　die。　She　knew　she　would　die　if　she　tried　to　get　the　uranium。　She
knew　Masarek　was　dead　as　certainly　as　if　she　had　killed　him　herself。　She　also　knew　how　far　it　was
to　the　border。　Many　things　could　happen；　many　people　could　die。　Refugio　would　be　one　of
them　–　if　she　could　get　out　of　this　rancid　gutter。
Vanessa　squirmed　backward　until　she　was　beneath　a　parked　car。　She　did　not　notice　the　macadam
tearing　her　hands　or　the　rivulets　of　blood　on　her　face　from　the　first　explosion　of　glass。　She　had
only　one　thought　in　her　mind：　The　man　who　had　killed　Masarek　was　trying　to　kill　her。
With　an　eel…like　motion；　she　squirmed　from　beneath　the　car；　feinted　toward　the　sidewalk；　then
spun　on　one　foot　as　a　shot　exploded　off　the　curb。　Instantly　she　crouched　over；　weaving　toward
the　green　car。
Refugio　swore　and　tried　again；　but　as　Vanessa　crossed　to　the　street　side　of　the　parked　cars；　she
put　the　back　of　the　van　across　Refugio’s　sights。　He　dragged　himself　over　to　the　driver’s　side　of
the　van。　Vanessa　was　already　inside　her　car。　He　heard　an　engine　rev；　tires　shrieked　on　moist
pavement。　She　turned　the　car　around　and　was　accelerating　away　from　him。　He　pulled　the　trigger
but　no　sound　came。　The　gun　was　empty。　He　reloaded；　but　it　was　too　late。　She　was　gone。
Ana　ducked　reflexively　as　Vanessa’s　car　careened　by；　then　looked　up　the　street　toward　the　van。
A　shout　rang　out　as　clear　as　a　shot。　Ana　looked　in　the　sideview　mirror。　Behind　her；　far　down　the
block；　an　old；　fat　man　in　a　gray　watchman’s　uniform　was　waving　his　arm　to　someone　behind
him。　The　watchman　must　have　realized　what　a　fine　target　he　made　on　the　suddenly　empty　street。
He　ducked　back　into　the　cover　of　the　brick　building　he　was　guarding。
Ana　wanted　to　follow　his　example；　to　retreat　like　a　snail　behind　a　protective　coil　of　shell。　She　did
not　want　to　climb　into　the　driver’s　seat；　start　the　van　and　drive　past　shattered　glass　up　to　the
laundry　truck。　She　did　not　want　to　do　anything　except　hide。　But　she　started　the　van　and　drove　up
to　the　laundry　truck　anyway。　Kestrel　had　taught　her　that　there　was　more　to　life　than　fear。
She　leaned　across　the　seat；　rolled　down　the　window　on　the　far　side；　and　called　out　softly：
“Refugio？”
If　Ana’s　hair　had　been　any　color　except　black；　she　would　have　died　in　Refugio’s　first　startled
reflex。　As　it　was；　Refugio　hesitated；　then　spoke　in　rapid　Spanish。
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“Ana？　Is　it　you；　Ana？”
“Yes。　How　are　you？”
It　was　not　an　idle　greeting。　Ana　was　concerned　by　the　thready　sound　of　Refugio’s　voice。
“Fine；”　Refugio　said；　lying。
Refugio　heaved　himself　over　the　seat　into　the　back　of　the　van；　swearing　volubly。　Sweating；　dizzy；
he　bent　over　the　two　canvas　bags　containing　the　uranium。　He　wanted　Ana’s　help　now；　but　she
was　only　a　woman；　if　she　saw　the　bloody　mess　inside　the　van；　she　might　run　away。　He　needed
her。　She　must　drive　for　him；　because　he　knew　that　the　pain　he　felt　now　was　nothing　to　what　he
would　feel　when　the　first　shock　of　being　wounded　wore　off。
“Refugio？”　said　Ana。　She　could　not　see　him；　could　only　hear　him。　“Do　you　need　help？”
Refugio　tried　to　pick　up　both　sacks　at　once；　but　could　not。　The　pieces　of　metal　thumped
together　in　their　sacks；　bounced；　then　rested　against　each　other；　separated　only　by　two　layers　of
canvas。　The　cloth　blushed　with　a　vague　blue　light。　The　heavier　sack　slipped　out　of　his　grasp。　The
blue　light　faded。
“Refugio？”　asked　Ana　again。
“　Yes；”　he　said　wearily。　“　Come　to　the　back　of　the　van。”
Refugio　opened　the　back　door　just　enough　to　hand　out　the　sack　containing　the　smaller　piece　of
uranium。
“Put　it　in　your　truck。”
Ana　reached　for　the　bag　before　she　realized　that　the　hand　holding　it　was　smeared　with　blood。
“You’re　hurt。”
“The　bag！”　said　Refugio　savagely。　“Take　it！”
Ana　snatched　the　bag；　flung　it　into　the　flower　truck　and　ran　back　just　as　Refugio　was　trying　to
climb　out　the　rear　of　the　laundry　truck。　Her　horrified　glance　went　from　his　leg　to　the　corpses　in
the　van。　She　closed　her　eyes　and　did　not　open　them　until　she　turned　her　back　on　the　bloody　van。
“Can　you　walk？”　she　asked。
“Take　the　bag。”
The　second　laundry　sack　was　heavier　than　the　first　had　been；　and　liberally　smeared　with　blood。
Ana　flung　the　bag　into　the　flower　truck；　slammed　the　door　shut　and　rushed　back　to　help
Refugio。
The　second　bag　thumped　to　a　rest　against　a　wicker　flower　stand　in　the　rear　of　the　truck。　The　first
bag　lay　partway　under　the　passenger　seat。　Only　gray　light　relieved　the　gloomy　interior　of　the　van。
In　the　distance　sirens　keened。　Ana　remembered　the　night　watchman。　She　had　no　doubt　that　the
sirens　were　coming　to　the　waterfront；　they　were　drawn　by　death　as　unerringly　as　vultures
spiraling　down　hot　desert　air。
With　a　strength　that　surprised　Refugio；　she　boosted　him　into　the　passenger　seat　of　the　flower
truck；　slammed　shut　the　engine　compartment　and　leaped　into　the　driver’s　seat。
The　van　turned　around　and　raced　along　the　waterfront。　Ana　did　not　notice　the　car　parked　along
the　street　leading　to　the　bridge；　nor　the　driver　blotting　up　blood　that　dripped　into　her　eyes；
making　driving　more　dangerous　than　hiding。
When　the　cream…colored　van　loomed　out　of　the　fog；　Vanessa　thought　that　Refugio　had　followed
her　to　finish　her　off。　She　grabbed　her　reloaded　pistol　and　aimed　toward　the　driver’s　side　of　the
oncoming　van。　Refugio　would　have　to　slow　down　to　get　off　a　telling　shot。　When　he　slowed；　she
would　fire。
The　van　swept　by　without　pausing；　but　not　before　Vanessa　recognized　the　man　slumped　against
the　window　–　Refugio。　Automatically　she　memorized　the　truck’s　license　plate。　When　the　van
turned　the　corner；　she　followed；　trying　to　keep　the　van　in　sight　without　revealing　her　own
presence。　Mist　and　morning　traffic　defeated　her。　Before　she　reached　the　Bay　Bridge；　the　van　had
disappeared　into　fog　that　would　not　burn　off　until　noon。
Vanessa　turned　the　car　toward　the　waterfront；　wondering　where　Masarek　was　and　whether　he
was　still　alive。　How　had　Refugio　escaped　him？　Where　had　the　second　truck　come　from；　and　who
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had　driven　Refugio　away？　But　most　of　all　–　where　was　the　uranium？
Sirens　ululated　through　the　mist；　converging　on　the　waterfront。　A　police　car　ran　a　stop　sign　at
right　angles　to　Vanessa’s　car　and　roared　down　the　street　leading　to　the　Good　Luck　laundry　van。
A　second　squad　car　quickly　followed。　She　eased　out　into　the　intersection　until　she　could　see　the
van。　Both　squad　cars　jerked　to　a　stop　near　it。　Policemen　leaped　out；　guns　drawn。　They　yanked
open　the　van’s　doors。　No　shots　were　fired。　No　one　came　out　of　it。
Vanessa　drove　by　the　entrance　to　the　waterfront。　If　Masarek　were　in　the　van　there　was　nothing
she　could　do　for　him。　If　the　uranium　were　there　–　Resolutely；　she　examined　the　possibilities　of
the　situation。　Either　Masarek　was　alive　and　had　escaped　with　the　uranium；　in　which　case　he
would　call　the　prearranged　number　to　re…establish　contact　with　her；　or　he　was　dead　and　the
uranium　was　in　the　van。　If　the　latter　were　true；　the　uranium　was　lost　to　her　and　to　Russia；　and　she
would　soon　be　as　dead　as　Masarek。　Beria　did　not　tolerate　failures。
There　was；　however；　a　third　possibility。　Refugio　might　have　managed　to　escape　with　the
uranium。　He　had　proved　to　be　a　more　formidable　man　that　either　she　or　Masarek　expected。　But
now　she　was　warned；　she　would　find　Refugio；　kill　him　and　take　back　the　uranium。
Vanessa　nodded；　choosing　to　act　on　the　third　possibility。　She　must　find　Refugio　quickly；　before
he　realized　that　what　he　had　stolen　could　be　sold　back　to　the　Americans　for　more　money　than
his　greedy　peasant　mind　could　imagine。　The　truck　was　her　only　lead。　Somehow　she　must　trace
the　truck。
Jornada　del　Muerto；　New　Mexico
5　Hours　14　Minutes　After　Trinity
Kestrel　drove　the　narrow　desert　with　fierce　concentration。　Heat　made　his　Indio　makeup　blur
and　run；　but　there　was　no　one　close　enough　to　notice。　Even　so；　he　would　have　to　pull　off　and
change　his　clothes。　A　flimsy　disguise　was　dangerous；　and　the　need　for　this　one　was　gone。
He　sped　toward　El　Paso　and　a　public　telephone　that　he　could　use　to　call　Takagura　again。　The
telephone　call　would　be　risky　but　necessary。　He　must　have　a　reply　to　the　message　he　had　sent。　If
new　orders　had　been　issued　he　must　have　those；　too。
Perhaps　Ana　had　called　Takagura；　reporting　the　success　or　failure　of　Refugio。
Kestrel　noticed　his　speed　and　slowed　down；　watching　for　side　roads。　In　his　haste　he　had　already
become　lost　once　in　the　maze　of　dirt　tracks　threading　through　the　Jornada　del　Muerto。　He　had
bumped　around　for　a　long　time　before　he　had　found　a　road　leading　back　to　the　main　highway。
Now　he　needed　somewhere　to　hide　long　enough　to　shed　the　Indio　disguise。
He　spotted　a　windmill　and　a　dirt　road；　and　swerved　off　the　highway。　The　dirt　track　dipped　into
an　arroyo　deep　enough　to　conceal　his　car。　On　the　lip　of　the　arroyo；　the　windmill　turned　lazily；
filling　a　stock　tank　with　water　one　deliberate　revolution　at　a　time。　Scattered　cows　chewed　on
mesquite　bushes；　undisturbed　by　the　dusty　car　that　had　coasted　to　a　stop　near　the　water　tank。
Kestrel　slid　out　of　the　car　and　watched　the　dirt　track　behind　him。　Nothing　moved　but　thin
spirals　of　dust　rising　into　the　sun。　He　stripped　and　scrubbed　himself　in　the　tank　until　no　trace
remained　of　his　Indio　disguise。　The　water　was　clear　and　surprisingly　cold。　The　listless　wind　dried
him　as　he　walked　back　to　？he　car。　Kestrel　watched　the　dust　puff　beneath　his　feet　and　the　horizon
endlessly　falling　away　beneath　a　hard　blue　sky。　He　marveled　at　the　land’s　immensity　and
austerity；　its　only　inhabitants　silver　mirages　twisting　above　the　sand。
Kestrel　stood　unmoving　in　the　pouring　light；　letting　heat　draw　tension　out　of　his　body。　After　a
few　moments；　he　rolled　the　clothes　he　had　worn　and　buried　them　in　the　arroyo。　The　cattle　stared
at　him　with　languid　eyes；　then　turned　away；　more　interested　in　mesquite　beans　than　in　the
enigmatic　motions　of　man。
Dust　from　Kestrel’s　long　drive　across　the　desert　had　filtered　into　the　car’s　trunk；　but　the　clothes
inside　the　metal…bound　suitcase　were　still　clean　and　neatly　creased。　Beginning　with　cotton　GI
underwear；　Kestrel　quickly　pulled　on　the　uniform　of　an　American　captain。　He　tied　the　narrow
black　tie　in　a　knot　that　matched　the　one　in　his　ID　picture；　tucked　his　shirttail　in　his　tan　pants；
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adjusted　his　belt；　and　unwrapped　the　shiny　black　shoes。　They　were　too　wide。　He　tied　their　laces
so　tightly　the　leather　overlapped。　He　shined　the　toes　on　his　sleeve　in　an　American　gesture　he　had
acquired　from　his　college　roommate。
Smiling；　Kestrel　buffed　the　toes　one　last　time；　reassured　by　the　ease　with　which　American
mannerisms　returned　to　him。　He　knew　that　passing　for　an　American　was　a　matter　of　body
language　as　much　as　English　language。　He　had　lived　eight　years　in　America。　Its　patterns　were
embedded　in　him；　ready　to　be　used。
Today　his　life　would　depend　upon　using　them。
Kestrel　unzipped　the　worn　leather　shaving　kit　and　pulled　out　the　papers　which　established　that
he　was　Captain　Yokohama；　decorated　member　of　America’s　Nisei　Battalion；　on　emergency
leave　to　be　at　his　father’s　deathbed。　Kestrel　studied　the　print　on　his　papers　beneath　the　merciless
desert　light。　Considering　the　haste　involved；　the　papers　were　quite　good。
He　folded　the　papers　carefully　into　a　worn　GI　wallet；　hoping　they　would　fool　the　Army　Air
Corps　at　El　Paso。　He　got　back　into　the　car；　feeling　its　heat　engulf　him。　He　wondered　if　Refugio
had　killed　Masarek　yet；　and　if　Vanessa　were　tied　and　frightened　on　the　hard　floor　of　a　flower
truck；　and　how　Ana　was　accommodating　herself　to　sudden　violence。　He　wondered　what　had
been　stolen；　and　if　it　would　turn　out　to　be　worth　even　an　assassin’s　life。
With　a　roar　that　scattered　the　cattle；　Kestrel’s　car　raced　out　of　the　arroyo。
Hunters　Point
3　Hours　35　Minutes　After　Trinity
Finn　left　the　guards　at　the　front　gate　and　drove　back　toward　the　mess　hall　where　last　night’s
guards　were　eating。　The　guards　at　the　gate　had　been　less　concerned　with　checking　his　credentials
than　with　proving　that　they　were　not　responsible　for　the　breach　in　security。　Beneath　their
government…issue　starch　was　relief。　A　sentry　was　dead；　but　they　were　alive。　Some　new　weapon
may　be　missing；　but　so　what？　The　war　was　as　good　as　over。　It　was　only　a　matter　of　time。
Time；　2　million　casualties　and　a　new　Russian　world。
Finn　felt　his　anger　outstrip　his　control。　He　reminded　himself　that　the　guards　did　not　know　what
had　been　lost；　but　that　did　not　calm　him。　A　clock　in　the　back　of　his　head　hammered　relentlessly；
counting　the　minutes　until　0530；　July　18th。　He　parked　the　car　and　stalked　into　the　linoleum　and
formica　ugliness　of　a　military　mess　hall。　The　four　guards　he　wanted　were　not　hard　to　spot。　They
were　the　only　men　in　the　room　except　for　a　sailor　trailing　a　worn　broom　between　rows　of　tables。
The　men　did　not　immediately　notice　Finn。　They　were　in　a　corner　of　the　long　room；　heads　tilted
over　cups　of　coffee；　cigarets　pressed　between　their　knuckles。
Finn　waited；　sizing　up　the　men　as　he　had　once　sized　up　jungle　trails。　By　now　the　guards　had　told
and　retold　their　stories；　assuring　themselves　they　were　not　at　fault　for　the　dead　sailor　and　stolen
equipment。　He　would　have　to　shock　them　out　of　that　assurance。
Three　of　the　men　were　young；　barely　out　of　training。　The　fourth　was　several　years　older；　a　chief
petty　officer　with　the　look　of　a　man　who　knew　where　the　action　was。　Every　base　had　a　few　men
like　CPO　Diver。　Their　major　battles　were　fought　against　fellow