Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第19部分

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private　half…rose；　half…saluted　and　called　over　his　shoulder。
“Lieutenant！　Company！”
A　crew…cut　head　appeared　over　a　partition。　The　lieutenant　was　scowling。　His　expression　changed
when　he　saw　Kestrel　standing　at　ease；　his　officer’s　insignia　shining　in　the　dim　light　of　the　hut。
There　was　the　sound　of　a　chair　scuffing　across　the　floor　and　hurried　footsteps。
The　officer　of　the　day　was　a　young；　very　short　first　lieutenant　whose　uniform　was　correct　in　every
detail。
“Lieutenant　Green；　sir；”　he　said；　stepping　forward。　“What　can　I　do　for　you？”
Kestrel　returned　the　salute　and　then　shook　hands；　remembering　to　add　enough　pressure　to
satisfy　American　standards　of　manhood。　“I　was　hoping　to　catch　a　ride　home　on　one　of　your
planes；”　he　said；　handing　over　the　forged　papers。
Lieutenant　Green　scanned　Kestrel’s　orders；　clicking　his　tongue　sympathetically　when　he　came　to
the　reasons　for　the　compassionate　leave。
“Captain；　it’s　never　been　my　pleasure　before　to　serve　an　Oriental　member　of　my　country’s
Army；　but　I　can　assure　you　it　will　be　my　pleasure　now。”　He　moved　to　one　side　so　that　he　could
see　the　Torch　of　Freedom　shoulder　patches　on　Kestrel’s　uniform：　“454th；　isn’t　it？”　he　asked。
Page　94
“Yes。”
“Then；　sir；　it　is　indeed　a　pleasure　to　serve　you。　Your　unit　is　one　of　the　most　famous　in　the　entire
Army；　white　or　Oriental。　Your　men　taught　the　world　what　courage　is。　You　proved　you　weren’t
yellow。”
Kestrel　was　amused　in　spite　of　himself　by　the　earnest　young　officer。　“But　we　are；　Lieutenant。”
The　lieutenant’s　eyes　widened。　“What　do　you　–　oh！　Uh；　that’s　not　what　I　meant　at　all；　sir！”
“I　know　exactly　what　you　meant；　Lieutenant。　All　men　are　the　same　color　in　a　foxhole。”
“Exactly；　sir。”
“About　that　plane　ride…？”
The　lieutenant　turned　to　the　private。　“Call　the　flight　line。　See　if　that　C…47　has　left　yet。　And　move
it；　Private！”
The　private　obeyed　with　a　lack　of　enthusiasm　that　was　just　short　of　insolence。　The　lieutenant
appeared　not　to　notice。
“Flight’s　taxiing　out　now；　sir；”　drawled　the　private　finally。
“Hold　the　plane！”　snapped　Lieutenant　Green。　“Tell　them　we　have　a　top…priority　officer　–　a
gallant　member　of　our　Nisei　Battalion。”
The　private　and　the　first　lieutenant　exchanged　a　long　look。　Then；　in　a　disgusted　voice；　the　private
spoke　into　the　phone。　“Hold　on；　Sarge。　We’ve　got　a　Jap　bumming　a　ride。”
Oakland
6　Hours　37　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　morgue　was　like　every　other　government　building　Finn　had　ever　been　in。　Ugly。
Battleship…gray　walls；　dull　linoleum　floors；　dirty　ceilings　hung　with　rows　of　cold　lights；　and　air
that　smelled　used　up。　He　hurried　down　a　long　stretch　of　corridor。　The　cold　room　at　the　end　of
the　hall　was　empty。　A　sign　on　the　desk　said；　OUT　TO　LUNCH。
“Now　what？”　said　Riley；　looking　with　distaste　at　rank　upon　rank　of　drawers　the　size　of　shallow
coffins。　“Just　grab　handles　and　start　pulling　out　stiffs？”
Finn　put　the　radiation　counter　on　the　desk　and　began　fiddling　with　the　adjustments。　Like　the　。45
in　the　small　of　his　back；　the　counter　had　become　a　part　of　him。
“Try　the　files；”　said　Finn。　“Look　under　Ching　Han　Lo。　That’s　the　name　on　the　dead　driver’s
license。　The　others　are　John　Does　and　could　be　filed　anywhere。”
Finn　turned　on　the　radiation　counter。　He　moved　the　probe　in　long　seeping　lines；　up　one　bank　of
drawers　and　down　another。　He　had　covered　one　wall　when　Riley　looked　up。
“It’s　not　under　Ching。”
Finn　moved　over　to　the　long　wall　and　continued　his　search　pattern。　Even　with　the　counter　on　its
most　sensitive　setting；　he　could　not　be　sure　that　the　bodies　would　register。　They　might　not　have
absorbed　enough　radiation　to　be　picked　up　through　the　steel　drawers。
“Not　under　Han。”
Finn　grunted　and　continued　his　search。　As　the　number　of　drawers　diminished；　Finn　began　to
steel　himself　for　an　extended　rummage　through　drawers　full　of　death。
“Not　under　Lo。”
Riley　slammed　the　file　drawer　in　digust。
A　sudden　soft　clicking　came　from　the　radiation　counter。　Then　the　clicks　became　harder；　faster；
like　a　toy　train　careening　around　a　track。　Riley　went　over　to　Finn。
The　probe　moved　over　four　drawers；　hesitating　at　each　one；　then　returning。
“Twenty…four　through　27；”　said　Finn。
Riley　reached　for　the　handle　of　drawer　24。　The　drawer　slid　out　with　a　squeal　of　steel　discs　on
steel　tracks。　The　counter’s　clicks　ran　together　in　a　rush　of　sound。　Finn　took　one　look　at　the
corpse’s　glazed；　slanting　eyes　and　shut　the　drawer。　For　Finn’s　purposes；　the　driver　was　the　least
interesting　of　the　four　bodies；　victim　rather　than　criminal。
“Was　that　the　driver？”　asked　Riley。
Page　95
“Yeah。　That　was　the　easy　one。”
Number　25　was　a　one…eyed　Mexican。　Finn　swept　the　probe　over　his　body。　The　counter　clicks　ran
together　into　an　angry　buzz。
“This　one　was　lucky；”　said　Finn；　looking　at　the　corpse；　then　at　the　reading　on　the　counter。
“Lucky？”　said　Riley　tightly；　trying　not　to　see　too　much　of　what　had　once　been　a　man’s　left　eye。
“Just　how　do　you　figure　that？”
“Bullets　are　quick。”　Finn　squinted　at　the　face。　Something　about　the　man　was　familiar。　“Cover　his
eye　with　the　sheet。”
“It　doesn’t　bother　me。”
“Not　for　you；　Red。　For　me。”
Riley　jerked　up　the　sheet。　Finn　rearranged　it　until　the　right　half　of　the　head　was　revealed。
Without　the　gaping　wound；　the　face　looked　normal　except　for　the　random　smears　of　dried
blood。
“Know　him？”　said　Riley；　understanding　finally　why　Finn　had　wanted　the　eye　socket　covered。
“Maybe。　There　are　a　lot　like　him　along　the　border。”
Finn　rolled　shut　the　drawer　and　opened　number　26。　Beneath　the　sheet　was　a　blunt…faced；
broad…shouldered　man　with　powerful　arms。　His　eyes　and　hair　were　not　much　darker　than　Finn’s；
and　his　hands　made　the　radiation　counter　sing。
Finn　pulled　up　the　sheet；　covering　the　bullet　wounds　on　the　torso　and　the　vaguely　surprised
expression　on　the　face。　“Adiós；　Salvador；”　he　said。
“Salvador？”
“Salvador　Leon　–　smuggler；　bodyguard；　murderer　and　all…around　sweetheart。　He　works　for　a
Mexican　crook　called　Refugio　Reyes　y　Rincón。”　The　pattern　was　becoming　more　clear　now。　The
bodies　were　like　tracks　–　physical　facts　devoid　of　emotion　and　politics　and　the　exigence　of　war。
They　were　something　he　could　depend　on。
“What　the　hell　are　these　Mexicans　doing　all　the　way　up　here？”
“The　usual。　Theft；　murder；　smuggling。”
“What　about　that　other　guy　–　Masarek　–　whose　ID　was　in　the　sentry’s　hand？”
“He　hired　Refugio；　most　likely。”
“But　why？　The　job　was　in　San　Francisco；　not　Mexico。”
Finn　looked　at　Riley’s　pale；　earnest　face。　“You’re　from　the　Midwest；　right？”
“Chicago。”
Finn　nodded。　“Ever　been　to　the　border？”
“No。”
“Well；　it’s　not　some　God…given　black　line　stretching　across　the　continent。　Mexicans　have　been
ignoring　that　border　for　centuries；　and　up　until　a　few　years　ago；　so　did　we。　Take　Refugio。　His
family　has　been　working　from　San　Francisco　to　Culiacán　for　at　least　a　hundred　years。　I　know；
because　my　father’s　family　has　been　chasing　them　for　at　least　that　long。”
Finn　smiled。　“They’ve　caught　a　few；　too。　But　the　point　is　that　Refugio；　like　most　Mexicans；　has
cousins　and　inlaws　and　uncles　who　are　American　citizens　living　everywhere　from　El　Paso　to　San
Francisco。　He　even　has　some　Chinese　and　Japanese　thrown　in　along　the　line。　He’s　one　of　the　few
Mexicans　who　can　get　in　and　out　of　Barrio　Chino　without　an　uproar。”
“Now；”　continued　Finn；　“if　you　wanted　to　come　into　America　without　a　passport；　steal
something　and　then　smuggle　it　back　to　Mexico；　and　from　there　across　the　Gulf　to　the　Atlantic；
and　from　there　to　Russia　–　“
“I’d　hire　a　man　who　knows　his　way　around；”　finished　Riley。
“Refugio；　or　someone　like　him；”　agreed　Finn。　“Nobody　knows　his　way　around　like　Refugio。”
“Is　that　how　he　ended　up　here？”　said　Riley；　tapping　drawer　number　27。
“I’m　not　sure　he　did。”
The　drawer　came　out　smoothly。　There　was　some　radiation；　but　not　nearly　as　much　as　Salvador
and　the　other　man　had　shown。
Page　96
Finn　shut　off　the　counter；　set　it　down　and　pulled　aside　the　sheet。　The　corpse’s　eyes　and　tongue
protruded　grotesquely。　The　razor　wire　was　still　embedded　in　the　purple　flesh　of　the　neck；
swinging　with　the　forward　motion　of　the　drawer。　Just　below　the　right　ear　was　an　old　scar　left　by
crude　surgery　to　relieve　mastoiditis。
Finn　had　seen　all　he　needed。　otion　of　his　wrist；　he　covered　the　obscene　remains　of
the　Russian　spy。
Riley　had　his　back　turned　and　was　breathing　through　clenched　teeth。　When　he　heard　the　drawer
close；　he　turned　around　again。　His　skin　was　very　white；　almost　transparent；　and　covered　with　a
cold　mist　of　sweat。
“Masarek；”　said　Finn；　indicating　the　closed　drawer。
“Christ；”　said　Riley　between　his　teeth。　“How　could　you　tell？”
“Scar；”　said　Finn；　pointing　to　his　own　neck。　“He　must　have　had　a　lot　of　earaches　as　a　kid。　Too
bad　the　doctor’s　knife　didn’t　slip。”
Riley　said　nothing。　He　swallowed　hard。　Without　a　word；　Finn　grabbed　Riley　and　hustled　him
down　the　hall。
“Get　it　over　with；”　commanded　Finn；　kicking　open　the　restroom　door　and　shoving　Riley
through。
Finn　went　back　to　the　cold　room；　retrieved　the　radiation　counter　and　walked　down　the　hall
again。　Riley　came　out　of　the　restroom；　wiping　his　face　with　a　wet　paper　towel。
“Sorry。”
“You’ve　still　got　your　socks　on；”　said　Finn。　“That’s　better　than　I　did　the　first　time　around。”
Finn　turned　and　began　retracing　his　steps　to　the　lobby。　Riley　followed　him　down　the　hall　and　up
a　flight　of　stairs　in　companionable　silence。
“What　next？”　said　Riley；　looking　around　the　lobby。
“An　APB　on　Refugio　Reyes　y　Rincón。”
“What　if　he’s　in　Mexico？”
“I’d　be　damn　grateful；”　Finn　said。　“Mexicans　aren’t　as　genteel　about　questioning　people　as　we
are。　Saves　all　kinds　of　time。”
“I’ll　bet；”　said　Riley。　“And　after　the　APB？”
“I　don’t　know。”
Finn　walked　the　rest　of　the　hall　in　silence；　arranging　the　few　immutable　facts　he　possessed　in　their
most　likely　configuration。　Masarek；　Refugio　and　his　Mexican　hirelings　had　penetrated　Hunters
Point　and　stolen　the　two　deadly　chunks　of　metal。　Then　there　had　been　a　falling　out。　Masarek　had
been　killed；　but　not　before　he　killed　two　of　Refugio’s　men。　Someone　had　been　waiting　for　the
truck　on　the　waterfront　–　the　blond　woman；　probably。　Someone　else　had　also　been　waiting；
another　woman；　the　one　who　had　helped　Refugio　escape：　he　would　assume　that　it　was　Refugio
who　was　injured。　As　for　the　uranium…　it　was　either　in　the　second　truck　with　Refugio　or　in　the
car　with　the　blond。
Finn　ran　through　the　facts　again　in　his　mind。　The　pattern　fit；　but　he　was　not　satisfied。　Something
was　missing　from　it。　Refugio　was　a　smuggler　and　a　pimp；　not　a　thief。　The　plan　for　the　theft　must
have　been　Russian；　which　meant　that　Refugio　probably　had　little　or　no　idea　of　what　he　was
stealing。　Yet　he　had　risked　his　life　to　steal　the　uranium　from　a　man　like　Masarek。　If　the　uranium
had　been　gold；　it　would　make　sense；　Refugio　knew　the　worth　of　gold　to　the　last　peso。　Even　if　it
was　assumed　that　Refugio　knew　what　uranium　was；　what　could　he　do　with　it　once　he　had　stolen
it　from　Masarek　–　sell　it　back　to　the　U。S。？　Possibly；　but　it　was　not　quite　Refugio’s　style。　His
political　sympathies　in　the　war　lay　with　his　pocket…book　–　and　Takagura　Omi。　Japan；　“Kestrel；”
Finn　said　aloud。　“Kestrel。”
“What？”　said　Riley。
Finn　did　not　hear。　He　was　remembering　the　moment　he　had　seen　Kestrel　in　the　Green　Parrot。
Kestrel；　alert　and　deadly；　watching　him　across　the　body　of　a　dead　fighting　cock。　Kestrel’s　eyes
had　been　as　predatory　as　the　hawk　whose　name　he　had　taken。
Page　97
Yes。　Kestrel。
Los　Alamos
7　Hours　7　Minutes　After　Trinity
“Your　call　is　on　the　line；　General。”
Groves　rubbed　chocolate　from　his　fingers　with　a　handkerchief　and　took　the　phone。　“How　close
are　you　to　a　solution？”
“I　don’t　know。”
“Old　Give…’Em…Hell…Harry　was　on　the　horn　living　up　to　his　name。　I　don’t　need　to　tell　you　what
he　said。”
“Forty　hours　and　fifty…one　minutes；”　Finn　said　succinctly。
“What？”
“The　time　left　until　0530；　July　18th；　Mountain　War　Time；　when　either　we　give　Truman　the
uranium　or　he　gives　us　an　invasion。”
“Yes；　that’s　roughly　what　the　President　told　me。　Well？”
“All　Hunters　Point　personnel　vehicles　are　checked　out　and　cleared。　No　radioactivity；　except　for
the　storeroom　where　the　canister　was　opened。　After　questioning　the　gate　guards；　I　found　out
that　the　vehicle　the　thieves　used　to　enter　and　leave　the　Point　was　a　truck　from　Ho’s　Good　Luck
Laundry。”
“ONI　pressed　by　your　method　of　questioning　the　guards；”　said　Groves。
“It　got　answers。”
“I’m　not　criticizing；　Captain。　If　I’d　wanted　a　bridge　party；　I’d　have　sent　the　officers’　wives。”
“The　Jaundry　truck　was　found　by　the　Oakland　police。　They　waited　an　hour　to　call　us。”
Groves　heard　the　residual　fury　in　Finn’s　voice。
“When　I　finally　got　to　the　waterfront；”　continued　Finn；　“the　bodies　were　gone。　The　truck　was
hot；　and　I　don’t　mean　just　stolen。　The　men　who　grabbed　the　isotope　were　either　suicidal　or
flunkies　who　didn’t　know　what　they　had。　As　far　as　I　could　tell；　the　uranium　was　still　unshielded
when　it　was　transferred　to　another　truck。”
“And　the　men？”
“Dead。　Two　of　them　made　the　counter　sing；　but　they　didn’t　die　of　radiation。”
“What　next？”　said　the　General　bluntly。
“I　have　an　APB　out　for　the　Mexican　national　whose　men　were　in　the　morgue。　The　police　and
hospitals　are　on　the　alert　for　unusual　deaths　or　burn　cases。　The　FBI　is　checking　out　every　eyelash
and　piece　of　lint　from　those　bodies　and　the　truck；　and　questioning　everyone　on　the　Oakland
waterfront…。”
“Yes？”　prompted　General　Groves。
“It’s　something　for　them　to　do；”　said　Finn　sardonically。
“You　don’t　think　it　will　help？”
“If　it　can　be　done　by　the　book；　the　FBI　will　do　it。　But　the　book　was　revised　at　dawn　this
morning。”
There　was　a　silence　followed　by　a　muttered　oath。　“Captain；　I’ve　shut　down　the　ports　and
borders。　And　I　mean　shut　down。　No　ships　leaving。　No　planes　flying　over。　Nothing。　You
couldn’t　move　a　fart　without　my　men　smelling　it。　But　that　won’t　do　any　good　if　the　thieves　just
sit　on　that　uranium　for　the　next　forty…one　hours。”
“They’d　better　wrap　it　in　lead　before　they　roost；　or　they’ll　–　“　Finn　stopped　speaking　suddenly。
“Excuse　me；　General。　Are　there　any　other　questions？”
“You　just　thought　of　something。　What？”
“Lead；　sir。　Whoever　organized　this　theft　must　have　known　what　he　was　stealing。　His　flunkies
bounced　the　pieces　together　enough　that　the　uranium　must　be　fairly　hot　by　now。　Whoever　takes
delivery　is　going　to　need　some　lead　to　cool　off　the　pieces。　Since　lead　is　on　the　restricted　list　of
war　materials；　all　sales　are　recorded。”
Page　98
“Good　idea；　Finn。　Get　on　it　and　call　me　when　–　“　Groves　realized　he　was　talking　into　an　empty
line。
San　Francisco
8　Hours　42　Minutes　After　Trinity
Vanessa　made　a　right　turn　and　entered　Chinatown；　looking　for　addresses　or　signs　written　in　a
language　she　could　understand。　As　she　searched　she　tried　not　to　think　about　the　dangerous　lie
she　had　sent　to　Beria。　She　had　no　“promising”　salvage　prospects。　She　had　nothing　but　her　wits；
her　determination　and　a　license　plate　number。
The　streets　seemed　more　narrow　than　those　in　the　rest　of　the　city；　but　were　not。　They　simply
teemed。　People　spilled　out　in　to　the　streets。　Voices　raised　in　dispute　were　nearly　drowned　out　by
the　honks　of　drivers　who　had　crept　around　one　obstruction　only　to　be　balked　by　another。
In　the　end；　Vanessa　found　Ho’s　laundry　more　because　of　the　identically　modest；　unmarked　cars
in　front　of　it　than　because　of　its　small　English　sign。　The　cars；　as　much　as　the　curious　crowd；　told
Vanessa　that　Ho’s　Good　Luck　Laundry　had　become　a　focus　of　police　attention。
She　had　not　really　expected　the　FBI；　although　it　was　that　possibility　which　had　lured　her　into
Chinatown。　If　the　Americans　knew　about　the　laundry　truck；　did　that　mean　that　they　had
recovered　the　uranium？　She　had　to　know。　To　find　out；　she　needed　Hecht；　the　reporter。
Vanessa　parked　her　own　car　down　the　block；　well　away　from　casual　observation。　After　a
moment’s　hesitation；　she　removed　the　pistol　from　her　purse；　tucked　it　well　under　the　front　seat；
locked　the　car　and　hurried　to　the　laundry。
Ho’s　laundry　was　closed。　There　were　several　men　outside；　trying　to　break　up　the　crowd。　Vanessa
stood　across　the　street；　growing　more　uneasy。　The　men　in　front　of　the　laundry　were　FBI　agents；
not　local　police。　Only　the　FBI　had　men　so　carefully　dressed。
Here　in　Chinatown；　these　well…trained　agents　stood　out　like　popcorn　in　a　bowl　of　peanuts。
And　so　did　she。
She　slipped　into　a　crowded　market　and　watched　the　laundry　through　a　window　that　was　all　but
covered　with　ideographs。　She　spotted　Hecht　easily；　his　limp　was　pronounced　as　he　brushed　past
the　cordon　in　front　of　the　laundry。　Immediately；　he　was　challenged　by　an　agent　at　the　front　door。
Hecht　gestured　angrily；　then　produced　identification　from　his　wallet。　The　papers　were　not
sufficient　to　gain　him　entry　into　the　laundry。　Arguing；　gesturing　and　waving　his　ID；　Hecht　was
escorted　back　behind　the　cordon。
He　turned　and　began　looking　around；　clearly　trying　to　spot　Vanessa　in　the　crowd。　She　had　no
desire　to　be　seen　while　the　FBI　was　around。
Hecht　looked　for　a　minute　longer；　then　limped　back　down　the　street　toward　his　car。　Vanessa
watched　him　approach；　waited；　then　left　the　store　to　intercept　him　a　block　from　the　laundry。
“Did　you　get　the　license　plate　traced？”　she　demanded。
Hecht　dug　in　his　pocket　and　produced　a　slip　of　paper　with　an　address　on　it。　He　handed　the
paper　to　her。
“Detective　Mullen　got　it　for　me；　no　problem；”　he　said。　“Told　me　it’s　out　in　what　used　to　be
Little　Tokyo。　The　license　was　issued　to　a　truck　owned　by　Julio　Rincón。　It’s　a　commercial　vehicle
used　for　something　called　the　Fragrant　Petal。　Sounds　like　some　kind　of　Oriental　flower　shop；　or
maybe　a　teahouse。”
“Did　the　police　want　to　know　why　you　needed　the　information？”
“No。　Mullen　was　doing　me　a　favor　just　like　I’d　do　for　him。”　He　smiled。　“He’d　have　been　hot　if
he　knew　the　license　was　somehow　connected　with　the　four　murders。　There’s　a　whole　lot　of　cops
mad　about　being　cut　out　of　the　action。”
“What　do　you　mean？”
“Take　a　look。”　Hecht　gestured　back　toward　the　laundry。　“Those　are　FBI　agents；　not　local　cops。
They　don’t　have　jurisdiction　in　local　crimes。　That　means　the　murders　aren’t　what　they　were　said
to　be　–　gang　war　over　a　few　betting　slips。”
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“Then　there　was　that　cold…eyed　son　of　a　bitch　out　at　the　crime　scene　this　morning；”　continued
Hecht。　“He　said　he’d　hamstring　my　other　leg　and　dump　me　on　a　Japanese　island　if　I　printed
anything　without　clearing　it　first　with　the　FBI。”
“Was　he　an　FBI　agent？”
“Huh…uh！　He　wore　jeans　and　boots。　Besides；　he　was　too　damned　mean　to　be　a　G…man。　Hoover
keeps　those　boys　on　their　party　manners　in　public。”
“Did　you　find　out　his　name？”
“Oakland　cops　said　it　was　Finn。”
“Finn　–　“　Vanessa　realized　she　had　almost　expected　to　hear　that　name。　Everytime　something
went　wrong　with　Russian　plans　to　penetrate　the　Manhattan　Project；　Finn’s　name　cropped　up。
She　had　been　briefed　about　him；　although　she　had　never　seen　him　in　Juarez。　He　was　reputed　to
be　smart；　ruthless　and　very　dangerous。　Even　Masarek　had　respected　him。
“Stay　away　from　the　laundry；”　she　said。　“Stay　away　from　your　newspaper。　Don’t　go　to　your
home。　If　Finn　is　organizing　the　searc