Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第18部分

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putting　razor　blades　in　trick…or…treat　apples。”
Detective　Jones　laughed；　not　at　all　offended。　“Kid；　the　first　thing　you　learn　as　a　homicide　dick　is
that　corpses　stink；　blood　washes　off　and　lunchtime　comes　at　noon。”
“　‘Dead　is　pretty　much　dead；’”　quoted　Finn。　“Right；　Riley？”
“Yeah。　Right。”
Finn　turned　away　and　walked　back　to　the　van；　with　both　men　following。
The　air　inside　still　smelled　of　cordite。　That　told　him　nothing　new；　the　cordite　was
American…made　and　blood　was　the　same　the　world　over。
Only　the　uranium　was　unique；　and　it　was　gone。
“The　way　I　figure　it；”　said　Jones；　leaning　into　the　front　seat　of　the　van　next　to　Finn；　“is　that　the
guy　with　the　wire　and　his　pal　stood　behind　the　front　seat；　dropped　the　wire　around　the
passenger；　and　–　“Jones　made　a　juicy；　descriptive　sound。
“The　passenger　stays　kicking　long　enough　to　do　for　the　pal　–　bang　bang　–　but　can’t　get　to　the
guy　pulling　on　the　wire。”
Finn’s　glance　raked　over　the　truck；　re…creating　the　scene　in　his　mind。　“The　driver　was　shot　by　the
passenger　before　the　wire　dropped；”　said　Finn。　He　pointed　to　a　veneer　of　blood　on　the　driver’s
side　that　clearly　showed　the　imprint　of　a　seated　man。　There　was　a　bright　streak　where　a　bullet
had　stripped　paint　off　the　driver’s　door。　“Went　through　the　thigh；　probably。”
“Nope。　None　of　the　DBs　had　leg　wounds。　Every　other　damn　thing　but　that。　I　checked。”
“Then　the　driver　limped　away；”　said　Finn　reasonably。
“Doubt　it。　None　of　the　guards　saw　him。　And　guys　were　looking；　believe　me。”　Jones　jerked　his
thumb　over　his　shoulder　at　the　two　gray…haired　factory　guards　who　were　still　talking　to　the
uniformed　officers。　“This　was　the　most　exciting　thing　they’d　ever　seen。”
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Finn　stared　at　Jones　in　disbelief。　“Between　them；　those　two　guys　are　about　one　hundred　and
thirty。　On　a　foggy　night；　I　could　steal　their　goddamn　factory　piece　by　piece　and　they　wouldn’t
see　a　thing。　Put　out　an　APB　for　a　male　with　a　leg　wound。”
As　Jones　walked　off；　Finn　opened　a　large　bag　and　began　sorting　through　the　weapons。　There
were　knives；　handguns　and　beneath　them　a　sawed…off　shotgun　with　silver　inlays　in　the　stock。　Finn
pulled　it　out　of　the　bag。
“Salvador；”　murdered　Finn。　“　Refugio。”
“Gesundheit；”　said　Riley。
Finn　looked　up；　almost　smiled。　“Salvador　Leon　is　a　Mexicali　thug　with　a　reputation　for　murder。
He　carries　an　escopeta　like　this　and　works　for　a　crook　called　Refugio。”
“Can’t　be　too　many　like　it。”　said　Riley；　looking　at　the　gaudy　gun。　“Looks　like　whore’s
Christmas。”
This　time　Finn　smiled。　“It　kills　just　as　dead　as　the　plain　models。”　Finn　sniffed　the　barrel。　“Hasn’t
been　fired　today。”
Riley　peered　into　the　bag　and　removed　a　pistol　with　a　silencer　attached。　“That　explains　it。”
Finn　looked　up。　“Explains　what？”
“The　guards　only　heard　a　few　shots；　but　from　what　the　cops　said；　a　lot　of　lead　must　have　been
flying。”
“Of　course；”　said　Finn　matter…of…factly。　“That’s　why　no　one　at　Hunters　Point　heard　the　sentry
die。”
Riley　put　down　the　gun　and　went　toward　the　back　doors　of　the　van。　As　he　reached　for　the
handles；　Finn　spoke。
“Don’t。”
Finn’s　voice　was　flat；　yet　somehow　urgent。　Responding　to　the　tone　as　much　as　to　the　command
itself；　Riley　let　go　of　the　handles　and　stepped　back　quickly。
“What’s　wrong？”　complained　Riley。　“You　said　there’s　nothing　in　there　but　blood。”
“Stay　away　from　the　back　end　of　the　truck；”　Finn　said。　“Do　your　sightseeing　from　the　front；　and
don’t　be　too　long　about　it。”
With　a　motion　that　was　becoming　second　nature；　Finn　turned　on　the　radiation　counter　and
walked　around　to　the　back　of　the　truck。　The　clicks　increased　in　volume　and　frequency　as　he
approached　the　point　where　Riley　stood。　Hastily；　Riley　stepped　aside。　The　clicks　did　not
diminish　with　his　absence。　By　the　time　Finn　was　at　the　back　doors；　he　had　had　to　recalibrate
twice。　The　radiation　was　still　within　safety　limits；　but　Finn　knew　when　he　opened　the　door　the
counter　would　scream。
He　moved　the　counter　slowly　across　the　back　of　the　van。　The　radiation　was　highest　at　the　center
of　the　bumper；　where　blood　had　dripped　from　the　van　floor　onto　the　chrome；　as　though　the
surviving　thief　had　set　down　the　two　pieces　of　metal；　slid　out　of　the　truck；　and　then　pulled　the
uranium　after　him。
Finn　was　accustomed　to　the　counter　now。　He　found　it　helpful；　so　long　as　he　remembered　to　rely
on　it　and　not　the　eyes　to　trace　the　invisible　patterns　of　radiation　that　he　knew　were　present。　He
concentrated；　building　a　mental　picture　of　what　had　happened　on　the　foggy　street　where　men
had　fought　and　died　over　a　stolen　sun。
Sitting　on　his　heels；　Finn　swept　the　probe　just　above　the　surface　of　the　street。　He　was　rewarded
by　a　crackle　of　sound；　as　though　the　uranium　had　been　set　on　the　ground　for　an　instant。　The
radiation　was　not　as　potent　as　that　in　the　truck。
The　probe　quartered　the　street　alongside　the　van；　but　no　matter　how　sensitive　the　setting；　there
was　no　response　until　Finn　came　to　the　place　where　Salvador’s　body　had　rested。　That　response
was　relatively　weak。
Finn　walked　slowly；　avoiding　the　shards　of　glass　from　windows　shot　out　of　parked　cars。　The
counter　barely　clicked；　registering　less　than　normal　radiation。　The　sandy　sediment　that　lined　the
gutters　and　filled　the　potholes　did　not　set　off　the　counter。
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Suddenly；　Finn　bent　over　and　fished　in　the　gutter　between　a　parked　car　and　the　curb。
“Find　something？”　said　Riley。
Finn　tossed　a　shell　casing　to　Riley；　ent　of　his　hand。
“Check　the　gun　with　the　silencer。”
In　a　moment；　Riley　called　out。　“Nope。　It’s　a　9　millimeter。　Must　be　a　。38　somewhere。”
“Yeah。　Pretty　big　gun　for　a　woman；　though。”
“What　woman？”　demanded　Riley。
“None　of　the　dead　men　was　small　enough　to　make　that　print；”　said　Finn　pointing　at　the　muddy
street；　“except　the　Chinese　driver；　and　he　was　already　dead。　Masarek　was　traveling　with　a
woman。　An　Englishwoman　called　Vanessa　Lyons。”
Riley　looked；　and　then　bent　down　and　looked　again。　There　in　the　gritty　mud　was　a　small
footprint。
“Are　you　really　an　Indian　scout？”　said　Riley；　halfway　between　sarcasm　and　awe。
“She　probably　crouched　half　in　and　half　out　of　the　gutter；”　said　Finn；　“laid　the　。38　across　the
hood；　and　fired。”　He　stood　in　the　empty　parking　space　and　squinted　along　an　imaginary　line
leading　to　the　van。　“Not　a　bad　shot。　She　nailed　the　van’s　side　mirror。　Probably　covered　her
escape。”
Riley　looked　at　the　empty　parking　place　and　shrugged。　“Whatever　you　say。”
“Only　one　problem　with　my　theory；”　Finn　continued；　walking　up　the　street。　“The　tread　patterns
don’t　match。”
Riley　looked　first　at　the　tread　impressions　in　the　gutter；　then　at　the　potholes　in　the　street　next　to
the　van。　The　damp　soil　in　the　potholes　had　taken　clear　impressions　of　the　tires　that　last　rolled
over　the　holes。　The　tread　pattern　next　to　the　curb　did　not　match　that　in　the　potholes。
“Footprints　don’t　match；　either；”　said　Finn。
Superimposed　on　a　pothole　treadmark　were　two　footprints；　side　by　side。　The　footprint　on　the
left　was　half　the　size　of　the　footprint　on　the　right。　The　pattern　on　the　soles　was　also　different。
“Either　a　woman　or　a　small　man　on　the　left；”　said　Finn；　“and　a　man　on　the　right。”　He　measured
the　distance　from　the　van。　“I’ll　bet　the　man　was　injured。　The　woman　parked　next　to　the　van；
helped　him　into　her　truck　and　drove　off。”
“Truck？　I　thought　she　was　driving　a　car；”　said　Riley；　waving　his　hand　toward　the　empty　curb。
“And　why　was　she　shooting　at　him　earlier？”
“There　were　two　women。　The　one　doing　the　shooting　drove　a　car。　That；”　said　Finn；　pointing　to
the　clear　tread　in　the　pothole；　“was　left　by　a　truck　–　wide　tire；　diamond　tread　–　driven　by　the
second　woman。　See　how　deep　her　shoe　went？　As　deep　as　his；　so　he　was　leaning　on　her　pretty
hard。　She　loaded　him　into　her　truck　and　got　the　hell　out　of　here　before　those　blind　guards　saw
anything　but　their　cataracts。”
Riley　shrugged　again。　“Yeah。　Right。”
“You　don’t　follow　it；”　said　Finn。　“Fine。　Take　my　word　for　it。”　He　stared　at　the　footprints；
wondering　aloud　if　it　had　been　Refugio　who　was　shot。
Riley　held　up　both　hands；　surrendering。　“o’s　grandson？”　he　said。
“How’d　you　know　about　my　granddaddy？”　Riley　stood；　watching　Finn　and　wondering　if　he　was
joking。
Finn　moved　off；　checking　distances；　treads；　footprints　and　angles；　trying　to　decipher　the　pattern
that　was　there。　Three　people。　One　man；　probably　hurt；　and　two　different　women　–　one　shooting
and　one　helping　the　man。　Was　it　a　case　of　thieves　stealing　from　each　other？　If　so；　who　were　the
betrayers　and　who　were　the　betrayed？
Refugio　could　have　double…crossed　Masarek　or　vice　versa。　Masarek’s　blonde　was　probably　one
of　the　women；　but　where　did　the　other　woman　come　from？　The　only　woman　who　worked　for
Refugio　were　whores；　and　it　was　doubtful　that　Refugio　would　use　a　whore　for　anything　more
demanding　than　sex。
And　Kestrel　–　was　he　involved；　despite　being　a　thousand　miles　away；　watching　the　sun　rise　twice
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over　a　place　called　Trinity？
Questions　and　facts　circled　in　Finn’s　mind。　Four　dead　men　–　two　Mexicans；　one　Chinese　and
one　Caucasian　had　died　on　the　waterfront　this　morning。　Until　he　identified　the　bodies；　he　would
not　know　which　players　were　alive　and　which　were　out　of　the　deadly　game　of　hide…and…seek　that
had　begun　at　Hunters　Point。　Until　he　used　the　radiation　counter　on　the　bodies；　he　would　not
know　who　had　warmed　himself　in　the　forbidden　fires　of　an　earthbound　sun。
“Riley。”
Riley；　crouched　over　the　footprints　and　treadmarks；　looked　up　almost　guiltily。　“Yes？”
“Let’s　go。　I　have　an　idea。”
El　Paso；　Texas
5　Hours　35　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　subtle　echo　of　distance　told　Kestrel　that　his　telephone　call　had　gone　through。　He　wiped
away　the　sweat　that　gathered　at　his　hairline　and　looked　around　the　greasy　little　café　again。　Only
an　old　wino　was　close　enough　to　hear　what　he　was　saying。　There　was　a　click；　a　subdued　crackle
of　static；　then　Takagura　Omi’s　precise　Japanese　inflections　came　over　the　line。　Though　both
Kestrel　and　Takagura　spoke　Japanese；　they　still　spoke　circumspectly。
“I　have　two　letters　from　home　for　you；”　began　Takagura　the　moment　he　recognized　Kestrel’s
voice。　“Your　honored　father　regretfully　informs　you　that　he　cannot　accept　your　suggestion。
What　you　described　is　impossible　at　the　time　and　place　you　described　it。　Even　the　most　hopeful
estimates　agree　that　the　event　you　described　could　not　take　place　for　at　least　three　years。　Your
father　suggests　that　as　it　is　1945　rather　than　1948；　you　may　have　been　only　a　mile　away　from　what
you　saw；　rather　than　ten。”
Takagura　paused；　giving　Kestrel　time　to　digest　the　unpalatable　message。　The　Emperor　–　or　his
militarist　advisors　–　did　not　believe　that　America　had　made　an　atomic　bomb　in　less　than　three
years。　Because　the　bomb　was　an　impossibility；　therefore；　Japan　had　no　need　to　surrender
unconditionally。
It　was　insane。
“Were　you　quite　sure　of　the　reception　and　translation　of　the　message？”
“Yes；”　said　Takagura。　“I　am　most　scrupulous　in　these　matters。”
Kestrel　held　the　receiver　and　wondered　desperately　how　he　could　convince　the　militant　leaders
of　his　country　that　Japan　had　lost　the　war　just　before　dawn　on　a　desolate　stretch　of　New　Mexican
desert。　A　feeling　of　despair　unfolded　inside　him　like　a　black　flower。　He　knew　that　if　he　had　not
seen　the　explosion　himself；　he　would　not　believe　it　had　ever　occurred。　He　had　read　the　same
scientific　estimates　that　they　had；　the　confident　statements　that　the　uranium　isotope　was　so
difficult　to　collect　that　it　would　be　1948　before　the　Americans　gathered　enough　for　even　a　small
bomb。
Obviously　his　superiors　had　rejected　the　reality　of　America’s　atomic　capability。　Unfortunately；
what　Japan　believed　or　did　not　believe　did　not　lessen　the　force　of　the　atomic　bomb　by　a　single
erg。
Suddenly　he　felt　deeply　tired。　“The　second　letter？”　he　asked　indifferently。　“What　did　it　say？”
“I’ll　read　it；　although　I　want　you　to　know　I　don’t　approve　of　its　source；”　Takagura　said。
Kestrel　knew　then　that　the　second　message　came　from　Minowara；　his　patron　in　the　Japanese　war
cabinet　and　the　leader　of　the　moderate　faction　that　was　despised　by　militants　like　Takagura。
“Your　honored　brother　agrees　with　your　description　of　the　events；”　said　Takagura。　“Our
comrades　from　the　enormous　mainland　confirmed　your　description　in　every　detail。”　Takagura’s
voice　was　dry；　precise。　“Even　so；　your　brother　does　not　agree　with　your　conclusion　that　your…
family…　must　lose　all　face　in　an　unnecessary　abasement　that　will　last　as　long　as　there　are　Japanese
to　feel　shame。”
Kestrel　pressed　the　phone　against　his　ear　as　though　by　hearing　better　he　could　change　the
meaning　of　what　he　heard。　His　“brother”　Minowara　believed　that　Kestrel　had　indeed　seen　the
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atomic　bomb　exploded；　because　the　Russians　had　confirmed　it。　Despite　that；　Minowara　still
maintained　that　unconditional　surrender　was　“unnecessary。”　That　was　even　more　irrational　a
position　than　the　militants’　refusal　to　believe　an　atomic　bomb　existed。
“Does　he　say　why　abasement　is　unnecessary？”　asked　Kestrel；　his　voice　raw　with　the　effort　of
concealing　his　anger　and　exhaustion。
“The　event　you　described　can’t　be　repeated　for　several　months。”
“Why？”
“Our…　comrades…　have　removed　the　motive　power。”
“What？”
“If　you　remember；　a　necessary　component　of　the…　event…　is　exceedingly　rare。　Gathering　it
takes　much　time。”
Kestrel　rubbed　sweat　out　of　his　eyes　as　he　tried　to　make　sense　of　Takagura’s　elliptical
communication。　Somehow　the　Russians　had　defused　the　American　bombs。　But　how？
“I　don’t　understand；”　he　said。
“There　were　only　two　events　extant；”　said　Takagura　slowly。　“One　you　saw。　The　other　was
awaiting　shipment　to　Japan　when　our　comrades　removed　the　elemental　motive　power。”
Kestrel　heard　the　emphasis　on　the　world　“elemental”　and　realized　that　Takagura　was　referring　to
an　element　called　uranium。　Apparently　the　Americans　had　had　only　enough　uranium　for　two
atomic　bombs。　They　had　tested　one　this　morning　–　and　the　Russians　had　stolen　the　other！
An　incredible　suspicion　grew　in　Kestrel’s　mind。　Tiredness　fell　away　from　him　as　he　examined　the
idea。　Japan’s　“comrades”　–　Russian　–　had　stolen　the　uranium　heart　of　the　atomic　bomb。　It　was
almost　certain　that　the　Hunters　Point　theft　and　the　uranium　theft　were　one　and　the　same。　If　that
was　true；　then　it　was　also　true　that　at　this　moment　Japan；　not　Russia；　controlled　the　core　of　the
world’s　only　atomic　bomb　–　unless　Refugio　had　failed　or　betrayed　Takagura。
“Is　there　any　message　from　my　‘sister’？”　asked　Kestrel。　“Is　she　well？”
“Yes；　but　her　husband　and　her　brothers　aren’t。　Apparently　overseeing　the　delivery　of　her　baby
was　too　much　for　them。　Her　husband’s　brothers　left　abruptly。　Her　husband　is　still　with　her；　but
he　is…　ill。”
Ana　was　well；　but　Refugio　and　his　men　were　not。　Something　had　gone　wrong。　“The　baby？”
demanded　Kestrel。　“Is　the　baby　well？”
“Quite　well。　The　mother　wishes　to　know　if　you　will　see　her　there　or　will　you　wait　until　she
returns？”
Relief　swept　through　Kestrel。　The　uranium　was　safe；　with　Ana。　“I’ll　go　to　her　immediately。”
“Good。”　Dry　curiosity　crept　into　Takagura’s　tone。　“The　birth　of　your　first　nephew　seems　to
have　pleased　you　enormously…？”
“This　isn’t　my　first　nephew；”　corrected　Kestrel；　“but　my　second。　The　first　one　was　born　this
morning　just　before　dawn。”
Kestrel　hung　up　before　Takagura　could　reply。
The　cafe’s　screen　door　banged　loosely　as　he　left。　Although　it　was　not　yet　noon；　the　sun　was　a
white…hot　hammer。　Yet　Kestrel　did　not　notice　the　heat　in　his　exhilaration　at　the　news　of　what
Refugio　had　stolen。
The　physicist　in　him　was　impatient　to　see　the　U…235。　He　wanted　to　inspect　it；　feel　it；　to　determine
whether　it　was　brittle　or　malleable；　bright　or　rough；　white　or　dark　–　and　whether　it　required
special　handling。
The　strategist　in　Kestrel　ignored　the　physicist’s　excited　speculation。　The　physical　properties　of
an　exotic　isotope　were　far　less　important　than　the　isotope’s　value　as　a　political　weapon。
With　the　U…235　America　could　force　Japan　to　accept　unconditional　surrender。　Without　the
uranium；　there　was　no　choice　for　America　but　the　invasion　of　Japan。
With　the　U…235　stolen　from　America；　the　Russians　could　watch　their　Hated　America^　allies　and
their　putative　Japanese　friends　engage　in　bloody　combat　while　Russia　Consolidated　hcr　power
over　newly　conquered　European　territories。
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And　the　Japanese…　what　could　Japan　do　with　a　critical　mass　of　U…235？　At　the　very　least；　Japan
could　ready　itself　for　the　protracted　invasion　that　American　generals　called　Operation　Downfall；
an　invasion　the　Japanese　generals　saw　as　a　way　to　force　America　into　negotiated　surrender。
Japan’s　possession　of　the　uranium　would　convince　Japanese　militarists　that　the　atomic　bomb　was
a　reality；　that　a　new　world　had　been　born；　and　that　new　solutions　were　therefore　possible。　The
Americans　could　be　approached　now；　not　for　surrender；　but　for　a　conference　of　equals。　Japan
could　offer　the　uranium　in　exchange　for　an　honorable　end　to　the　war。
With　a　U…235；　it　might　be　possible　for　Japan　to　dictate　the　terms　of　her　own　“surrender。”
Japan’s　self…respect　could　survive　defeat　intact；　ensuring　her　future　as　a　nation。
A　slow　cattle　truck　forced　Kestrel’s　attention　back　to　Texas。　He　passed　the　truck；　and　in　doing
so　nearly　missed　the　turnoff　to　the　Army　Air　Corps　base。　He　parked　the　car　in　a　dry；　almost
deserted　neighborhood；　grabbed　his　suitcase　and　ile　to　the　front　gate。
The　MP　on　duty　saluted　the　captain’s　bars　on　Kestrel’s　shoulders；　and　at　the　same　time
inspected　him　more　closely。　Orientals　were　not　unheard　of　on　the　base；　but　they　warranted　a
second　look。
“Can　I　help　you；　sir？”　asked　the　MP；　his　voice　clipped　and　correct。
Kestrel　returned　the　salute　crisply。　“I　left　a　troop　train　because　a　soldier　told　me　I　might　catch　a
faster　ride　here。　I’m　going　home。”
The　MP　inspected　Kestrel　again。　“Where’s　home？”　he　asked。
“California。　A　place　called　Manzanar。”　Dryly。　“Maybe　you’ve　heard　of　it。”
The　MP’s　face　shifted　slightly。　“A　Jap；　huh？”　he　said；　but　there　was　no　hostility　in　his　voice。
“Thought　all　of　you　were　still　in　Italy。”
“I　was；　until　the　Red　Cross　told　me　my　father　was　dying。　I’ve　been　on　the　road　ever　since。　It’s　all
here　in　the　compassionate　leave　papers。”
Kestrel　removed　a　sheaf　of　travel　orders　from　his　uniform　coat。　The　MP　waved　away　the
papers。
“That’s　not　necessary；”　said　the　MP。　“Remember；　you’re　in　Texas　now。　You　guys　from　the
454th　are　real　heroes　here　since　you　pulled　the　36th　out　of　that　hole　in　Italy。　Most　of　the　guys　in
the　36th　were　Texans。”　He　waved　his　hand　toward　a　quonset　hut　a　hundred　feet　inside　the　gate。
“Show　your　papers　to　the　officer　of　the　day。　His　office　is　right　over　there。　Good　luck；　sir。　I　hope
you’re　in　time　to　see　your　father。”
Kestrel　saluted。　“Thank　you；　Corporal。　I　hope　so　too。”
Inside　the　quonset　hut；　a　large　fan　circulated　hot　air　with　enough　force　to　slam　shut　the　plywood
door　behind　Kestrel。　A　bareheaded　private　in　a　rumpled　uniform　glanced　up　from　a　newspaper。
He　looked　at　the　captain’s　bars　on　Kestrel’s　uniform；　then　at　his　face；　then　at　his　bars　again。　The
private　half…rose；　half…saluted　and　called　over　his　shoulder。
“Lieutenant！　Company！”
A　crew…cut　head　appeared　over