Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第23部分

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right　size　ammunition。　The　gun　itself　was　used；　dirty；　and　still　had　a　pawnshop　number　dangling
from　its　trigger　guard。　She　checked　the　weapon　skillfully；　then　shrugged。　It　might　fire　a　few　more
rounds　before　it　fell　apart。
Vanessa　loaded　the　gun；　put　the　hammer　in　the　safe　position　and　returned　the　weapon　to　Hecht。
He　handled　it　awkwardly。
“Get　used　to　it；”　she　said。
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Hecht　looked　up；　startled。　“I　thought　it　was　for　you！”
“I　have　one。”
She　returned　to　the　window；　hoping　to　see　Slaven　with　an　unwilling　Mexican　in　tow。　There　was
one　thing　she　had　to　know；　a　question　only　a　Rincón　would　answer：　which　vehicle　contained
Refugio　and　two　lumps　of　U…235？　She　would　pay　well　for　that　information。
Abruptly；　she　turned　back　to　Hecht。　“Go　see　if　the　stores　are　locked。　Try　the　front　first；　then　the
back。　If　the　funeral　home　is　open；　come　back　here　immediately。”
“What　about　this？”　asked　Hecht；　holding　up　the　pawnshop　pistol。
“Shoot　yourself；”　suggested　Vanessa　in　Russian。
Sonoma　County
28　Hours　2　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　black　Ford　flashed　between　rows　of　grapevines　falling　away　from　both　sides　of　the　country
road。　Riley　dozed　in　the　front　seat。
“Heads　up；”　warned　Finn。　He　turned　off　onto　a　dirt　farm…road。
The　Salerno　Brothers　winery　was　a　mile　off　the　highway。　There　were　scattered　outbuildings　and
two　large　old　barns　with　steep　roofs　supported　by　thick　fieldstone　walls。
Seven　Mexican　field　hands；　braceros；　stood　in　the　front　yard；　shaded　by　a　large　sycamore。　Finn
glanced　their　way　as　he　got　out　of　the　car。　A　restlessness　in　their　manner　caught　his　eye。　One　of
the　men　said　something　in　Spanish。　The　others　laughed。
Deputy　Branscomb　met　Finn　and　Riley　in　the　doorway　of　the　winery。　A　large　pocket　watch
gleamed　in　his　rough…knuckled　hand。
“Fifty…nine　minutes　and　a　few　odd　seconds。　Not　bad　at　all；　for　amateurs。”　Branscomb　slipped
the　watch　back　into　the　slash　pocket　of　his　worn　green　uniform　pants。　“Back　here；”　he　said；
leading　them　into　the　cool　interior　of　the　winery。
The　sweet…sharp　smell　of　green　wine　filled　the　building。　Twenty…foot…high　redwood　holding
tanks　lined　the　aisle；　their　round　sides　girdled　by　steel　hoops　and　wooden　pipes　black　with　age
and　moisture。
Three　men　waited　at　the　rear　of　the　building。　Two　were　obviously　brothers；　perhaps　twins。　Their
khaki　work　clothes；　graying　hair；　tanned　faces　and　hipshot　stance　were　alike。　The　third　man　was
the　sheriff；　tall　and　just　beginning　to　go　to　fat。　He　looked　like　a　shrewd；　hard；　country　politician。
“They’re　yours；　Riley；”　said　Finn；　his　voice　too　low　for　anyone　else　to　hear。　“Give　them　your
best　Boy　Scout　two…step　while　I　look　around。”
“Nuts　to　you；”　whispered　Riley。　He　smiled　and　held　out　his　credentials　for　the　waiting　men。
Finn　slid　off　without　a　word。
“Can’t　quite　understand　what　interests　the　FBI　about　a　two…cent　breaking…and…entering　clear　out
here　in　the　boondocks；”　drawled　Branscomb。　“All　that’s　missing　is　a　case　of　wine　and　some　lead
foil；　bright　red。　The　wine　was　raw　and　the　lead　wasn’t　worth　much。”
Sheriff　Brown　chuckled。　“Must　have　been　Mexicans。　They’re　the　only　ones　dumb　enough　to　steal
green　wine。”
Riley　grinned　companionably。　“Well；　Sheriff　Brown；　I’d　like　to　tell　you　all　I　know；　I　really　would；
but；”　he　paused　and　lowered　his　voice；　“it’s　related　to　national　security。”
“That　a　fact？”　said　Sheriff　Brown；　lighting　a　cigaret。
Finn　walked　aimlessly　until　no　one　was　looking　in　his　direction；　then　headed　for　a　small　room　lit
by　two　naked　bulbs　hanging　from　frayed　black　wires。　A　short　conveyor　belt　dominated　the
room。　At　one　end　of　the　line　were　empty；　long…necked　bottles。　Pipes　ran　from　a　vat　to　the
bottling　machinery。　Corks　waited　in　metal　claws。
The　smell　of　raw　wine　was　overpowering。　At　the　other　end　of　the　conveyor　belt　several　bottles
had　been　smashed　on　the　floor。　Glass　glittered　up　from　pools　of　wine　darker　than　blood。
Broken　glass　crackled　beneath　Finn’s　boots。
In　the　deep　shadows　behind　the　conveyor　belt；　Finn　sat　on　his　heels；　examining　the　bottling
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machine　and　the　floor。　He　could　just　make　out　the　shape　of　a　footprint　where　someone　had
stepped　in　a　puddle　of　wine　and　then　onto　the　dry　concrete　floor。　He　struck　a　match　and
examined　the　stain。　The　print　was　striated；　as　though　cut　from　the　tread　of　a　worn　tire。　Probably
a　left　shoe；　for　the　outside　of　the　heel　was　worn　down　the　left　side。
It　was　a　familiar　print　in　Calexico’s　dusty　streets；　huaraches；　poor　man’s　sandals　with　soles　cut
from　old　tires；　cheap　and　nearly　indestructible。
Finn　dropped　the　match。　It　fell　into　the　puddle　of　wine；　hissed　briefly　and　died。　Shadows
returned　to　hide　the　thief　s　footprint。　Finn　went　back　to　the　main　room。　He　saw　that　Riley　had
his　notebook　out　and　was　writing　quickly。
“Mr。　Salerno；”　said　Finn。
Both　brothers　looked　up。
“Do　you　use　braceros？”
“Yes；”　said　one　brother。
“All　our　men　are　Mexican　nationals；”　said　the　other。　“Except　for　Franco　Rincón；　the　foreman。
He　was　born　in　California。”
Finn　recognized　the　name　Rincón；　and　felt　the　first　surge　of　victory　heat　his　blood。　“Get　your
braceros　in　here。　Start　with　that　bunch　under　the　tree　out　front。”
“You’ll　want　the　foreman；　too；”　said　one　brother　as　the　other　left　to　round　up　the　braceros。　“He
translates　for　us。　None　of　the　field　workers　speaks　English。”
“You　？”　Riley　asked　Finn。
“You　get　the　first　round。　Play　it　nice　and　easy　and　dumb。　If　they　step　in　it；　I’ll　take　over。”
Salerno　returned　with　eight　Mexicans　in　tow。　Their　easy　flippancy　was　gone。　The　winery　was　dim
after　the　bright　morning　outside。　Squinting；　the　men　tried　to　see　why　they　had　been　dragged
back　to　the　scene　of　the　previous　night’s　crime。
Riley　flipped　through　his　notebook　as　though　looking　for　the　right　questions　to　ask。　“Do　any　of
you　speak　English？”
A　man　shrugged。　“I　do。”
Finn　looked　at　the　man　narrowly。　He　was　compact；　muscular；　and　had　a　lazy　yet　aggressive　air
about　him。　He　was　wearing　boots。
“Your　name？”　said　Riley。
“Rincón。　Franco　Rincón。”
“Translate　for　me；　please。”　Despite　Riley’s　smile；　it　was　more　of　a　demand　than　a　request。
Franco　shrugged　again。　“Si。　I　will　talk　for　you。”
“Ask　them　if　they　saw　or　heard　anything　last　night。　Tell　them　that　it　is　a　matter　of　great
importance。”
As　Franco　spoke；　Finn　watched　carefully；　studying　the　Mexicans。　Franco　was　at　ease　in　his
position　of　command。　He　was　accustomed　to　leading　men　rather　than　working　in　fields。　The
men　were　lined　up　in　a　loose；　informal　row；　like　guerrilla　soldiers。　Four　of　them　wore　huaraches。
None　of　them　seemed　particularly　interested　in　what　Franco　was　saying。　He　turned　back　to
Riley。　“They　know　nothing。”
“Tell　them　there’s　a　reward；”　said　Riley。　“A　hundred　–　no；　a　thousand　dollars。”
Franco　translated。
The　men　made　sounds　of　both　greed　and　awe。　One　man　in　particular　was　impressed。
“That’s　five　times　what　we　were　paid！”　he　said　in　Spanish。
“Shut　your　hole；　Griego！”　warned　Franco　in　the　same　language。
Finn　stepped　up　to　Franco　and　began　speaking　in　rapid；　hard　Spanish。
“Why　should　he　keep　a　closed　mouth？”　Finn　demanded。　“What　was　he　paid　so　little　for？　He
looks　tired。　Maybe　he　was　up　all　night；　no？　Maybe　he　is　hung　over　from　drinking　the　green　wine
he　stole　here。”
Franco　looked　at　Finn’s　eyes；　then　looked　away。　Finn　moved　quickly　to　intersect　Franco’s　gaze；
but　he　did　not　touch　the　Mexican。　Not　yet。
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“You；　Franco。　I’m　speaking　to　you；”　said　Finn。　“Tell　me　what　that　little　man　is　keeping　inside　his
closed　hole。”
“Nothing；”　said　Franco；　trying　not　to　give　way　before　the　man　with　the　soft　Spanish　words　and
hard　gringo　eyes。
‘‘Are　you　a　little　boy　that　you　can’t　speak　for　yourself？　Finn　demanded　of　Griego。
Griego　looked　into　Finn’s　unforgiving　eyes；　then　glanced　nervously　at　Franco。
“Don’t　look　to　him；”　said　Finn。　“Franco　says　close　your　hole；　but　it　is　not　Franco　who　will　feel
my　fists　and　boots　break　his　balls。　It　is　you　who　will　feel　that；　unless　you　talk　to　me。”
“Shut　up；　Griego！”　Franco　shouted。　“His　threats　are　only　air。　This　isn’t　Mexico。　He’s　not
permitted　to　hurt　you。”
Smiling；　Finn　said　in　English；　“I　was　hoping　you’d　bring　that　up；　pendejo。”
As　Finn　turned；　his　hand　swept　down　to　his　boot　and　came　back　up　holding　a　knife。
“There’s　this　little　clock　in　my　head；”　he　said　casually。　“Tick　tick　tick　tick。”　The　knife　moved
back　and　forth　like　the　arm　of　a　metronome。　“Seconds　going　by。　Tick。　Tick。　Nothing’s　quite　as
dead　as　yesterday；　amigo。　Would　you　like　to　talk　about　last　night　or　be　sent　back　to　yesterday？”
“Now　just　a　minute；　mister；”　said　one　of　the　Salerno　brothers。　“Franco’s　a　good　foreman。　You
can’t　threaten　him　like　this。”
“Freddy；”　said　Sheriff　Brown；　taking　the　brother　by　the　arm；　“you　and　Bob　have　been
promising　me　a　taste　of　the　thirty…nine　crop。　Now　is　as　good　a　time　as　any；　and　better　than
most。”
Sheriff　Brown　took　the　Salerno　brothers　and　led　them　out　of　the　barn。
Branscomb　looked　at　Finn；　who　ignored　him。　The　deputy　turned　to　Riley；　who　hitched　his
shoulders　in　a　don’t…look…at…me　shrug。　Finn　watched　Franco。　Franco　watched　the　knife　blade
flicking　from　side　to　side；　marking　off　seconds。　Riley　realized　that　he　himself　was　silently
counting；　had　been　counting　since　Finn’s　knife　had　appeared。
Twenty…five。　Twenty…six。　Twenty…seven。
“Time’s　up；　pendejo。”
Even　with　that　warning；　the　foreman　was　not　prepared　for　the　speed　of　Finn’s　attack。　Before
Franco　could　blink；　Finn　had　seized　Franco’s　middle　finger　and　bent　it　flat　along　his　palm　in　an
agonizing　grip。
Franco　paled。　Other　than　that；　he　gave　no　sign　that　he　felt　pain。
“That’s　what　I　thought；”　sighed　Finn。　“One　of　the　tough　ones。”
Finn　started　to　lead　Franco　away。
Deputy　Branscomb　stepped　halfway　in　front　of　Finn。　“Now　I’m　the　last　one　to　question　God’s
will；”　said　Branscomb　easily；　“but　I’d　sure　like　to　know　why　you’re　going　to　do　whatever　you’re
going　to　do　with　Salerno’s　Mexican。”
Finn　decided　it　would　be　quicker　to　explain　than　to　push　back。
“You　know　what　machismo　means？”　asked　Finn。
“Balls。　Manhood。　Something　like　that；”　said　Brans…comb。
“Close　enough。　Franco　here　is　muy　macho；　so　whatever　I　get　from　him　will　be　the　hard　way。”
Finn　shrugged。　“His　choice。　But　I　don’t　have　time　to　beat　the　truth　out　of　him；　so　I’ll　have　to　use
this。”
The　knife　glittered　as　Finn　moved　it　abruptly。　He　spoke　in　Spanish。　The　field　workers　gasped
and　stepped　back。　A　few　crossed　themselves。　Franco　did　not　move　because　he　could　not；　but
sweat　slid　from　his　forehead　to　his　dark　cheeks。
“What　did　you　say　to　them？”　asked　Branscomb。
“I　told　them　that　Franco　will　either　talk　to　me　or　he　won’t　have　any　manhood　to　protect。”
Finn　brushed　past　the　deputy。　Franco　moved　in　unwilling　lockstep；　prisoner　to　Finn’s
excruciating　grip。　In　the　silence；　the　remaining　men　could　clearly　hear　boots　crunching　over
broken　glass。　The　two　men　disappeared　behind　a　vat　of　raw　wine。
Finn’s　voice　cut　through　the　silence。　“Talk　to　me；　pendejo。”
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The　waiting　men　heard　no　answer。　Then　came　the　sound　of　a　man　spitting。　Something　heavy
slammed　against　the　vat。　There　was　a　grunt；　then　the　snarl　of　ripping　cloth。　Franco　shrieked；
high　and　terrible；　a　sound　of　primal　terror。　The　sound　climbed　unendurably；　then　stopped　as
abruptly　as　it　had　begun。
Finn　appeared　suddenly　out　of　the　vat’s　odorous　shadows。
“Tú！”　said　Finn；　pointing　to　Griego。　“Ven　acá！　Pronto！”
Riley　stared。　For　the　first　time　he　confronted　the　fact　that　this　might　be　more　than　a　brutal　bluff。
Finn’s　voice　was　as　frightening　as　the　bloody　knife　in　his　hand。
Griego　looked　around　hurriedly；　but　there　was　no　escape。　He　began　speaking　so　quickly　that　his
words　sounded　alike。　Finn　listened。　Gradually　his　face　lost　its　savagery。　He　asked　a　few　clipped
questions。　Griego　answered　eagerly。　Finn　spoke　again；　gesturing　to　the　vat　behind　which　Franco
lay。　Griego　nodded。
Finn　put　his　knife　back　in　his　boot。
Riley　started　breathing　again　until　Finn　grabbed　Griego’s　left　foot；　looked　at　the　sole　of　the
huarache；　then　released　the　foot　so　quickly　that　Griego　staggered。
“Bueno；”　said　Finn。　“ándale！”　He　turned　toward　Riley。　“Go　up　to　the　house　and　call　Coughlan。
Tell　him　to　surround　the　Fragrant　Petal　flower　shop　in　Little　Tokyo。　Surround　it；　seal　it　off；　but
don’t　go　in。　Understand？　I　don’t　want　anyone　leaving　that　place；　and　I　don’t　want　anyone　going
inside　until　I　get　there。”
“Right；”　said　Riley。　He　hesitated。　“Look；　you　didn’t　really　hurt　that　guy；　did　you？”
“Make　the　call；”　said　Finn；　turning　back　to　the　braceros。　“I’ll　clean　up　here。”
San　Francisco
28　Hours　39　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　curtain　fell　into　place。　Vanessa　turned　and　moved　across　the　room；　passing　Hecht　without
looking　at　him。
“The　mortuary　was　closed；”　he　began；　closing　the　door　behind　him。　“I　couldn’t　hear　anyone
moving　around　there　or　next　door。　The　garage　was　open。”　He　watched　Vanessa　warily。　“There
weren’t　any　vehicles　inside；　not　even　a　hearse。　I　tried　the　inside　door　and　–　are　you　listening？”
Vanessa　opened　her　purse；　screwed　the　silencer　onto　her　pistol　and　went　to　the　door。　“The
shops　were　locked；　one　garage　was　open；　there　was　nothing　inside；”　she　summarized。　“Anything
else？”
“The　door　inside　the　garage　was　locked；　too。”
“That’s　all？”
“Uh　–　yeah。”
“Then　shut　up。”
Vanessa　stood　with　one　hand　on　the　doorknob。　In　her　other　hand；　the　silencer　made　the　barrel
of　the　gun　look　unbalanced。　She　listened　intently。　Suddenly　she　opened　the　door；　keeping　it　as　a
shield　between　herself　and　the　hallway。
Slaven　hurried　into　the　room；　dragging　a　Mexican　teenager　with　him。　The　boy　stared　around　the
room；　his　eyes　large　and　dark。　“Where’s　Uncle　Refugio？”
Vanessa　looked　at　Slaven；　who　had　not　let　go　of　the　boy’s　arm。
“His　name　is　Jaime　Reyes。　He　stopped　for　gas；”　said　Slaven　tersely。　“He　works　in　his　father’s
mortuary。”
Jaime　looked　at　the　people　in　the　room；　confused。　Then　he　focused　on　Slaven；　the　man　who　had
known　so　much　about　his　uncle。　“You　said　Refugio　needed　me。”
“Yes；”　said　Vanessa　smoothly。　“He　wanted　you　to　tell　us　about　the　Japanese　man　in　the　Army
uniform。”
Jaime　looked　at　each　face；　white　skin　and　light　eyes　–　strangers。　He　looked　away。　“All　the
Japanese　left　a　long　time　ago。　They　went　to　prison　camps。”
“This　one　came　back。”
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Jaime　shrugged。　“Then　you　know　more　than　I　do；　se？orita。”
Slaven　raised　his　hand。　Jaime　did　not　see　the　motion；　but　Hecht　and　Vanessa　did。　She　shook　her
head　slightly。　Slaven’s　hand　returned　to　his　side。
“The　Japanese　man　met　Refugio　at　the　Fragrant　Petal　yesterday；”　Vanessa　said　coolly。　“Refugio
was　sick。　Now　the　Japanese　is　gone。　Where　did　he　go？　Did　he　take　Refugio　with　him？”
“Quien　sabe？”　said　Jaime　indifferently。
Vanessa’s　eyes　narrowed。　“I’ll　pay　you　one　hundred　dollars　if　you　answer　my　questions。”
Jaime　looked　at　her　with　contempt。　“Only　a　gringo　would　sell　his　family　for　one　hundred
dollars。”
“I　see；”　said　Vanessa。　“How　much　do　Mexicans　charge？　Two　hundred？　Three？”
Jaime　spat　on　the　floor　and　turned　to　leave。　Slaven’s　open…handed　blow　sent　the　slightly　built
boy　reeling　into　Hecht’s　lap。　Jaime’s　eyes　were　wide　and　dark　with　shock。　Blood　lined　his　lips
where　flesh　had　split　against　teeth。
Slaven　advanced　on　the　boy。
“He　can’t　be　more　than　fourteen！”　protested　Hecht；　struggling　up　to　block　Slaven’s　advance。
“Communists　don’t　make　war　on　children！”
Slaven　turned　to　Vanessa。　“Do　we　really　need　this　bourgeois　shit？”
Vanessa　looked　at　Hecht。　He　glared　back；　showing　more　resolution　in　defending　the　enemy　than
he　had　in　aiding　her。
If　Jaime　were　killed；　Hecht　would　rebel；　and　it　was　clear　that　Jaime　would　have　to　be　killed。　Her
silenced　gun　coughed　twice。　Hecht　crumpled；　his　eyes　wide　with　disbelief。　Vanessa　prodded　him
in　the　groin　with　her　foot。　When　he　did　not　move；　she　faced　Jaime　again。
“Tell　me　about　Refugio　and　this　Japanese。”
Jaime　stood　mute；　staring　at　Hecht　and　shaking　his　head　in　silent　negation。　Vanessa　hissed　a
Russian　epithet。　The　impact　of　Slaven’s　fist　sent　Jaime　spinning。　Feet　tangled　with　Hecht’s　legs。
He　fell；　unconscious；　before　Slaven　could　hit　him　again。
“Not　like　that；　you　ox！”　Vanessa　snarled。　“He’s　no　good　to　us　with　a　broken　neck！”
Vanessa　slapped　Jaime　aeasured　blows。　His　eyes　focused。　Fear　and　pride
fought　for　control　of　him。　Pride　won。　He　would　not　show　weakness　in　front　of　a　woman。　He
spat　in　her　face。
The　spittle　slid　down　Vanessa’s　cheek；　but　she　seemed　not　to　notice。　She　seized　Jaime’s　hand　and
bent　his　index　finger　backward　until　it　broke。　Jaime’s　scream　was　cut　off　by　Slaven’s　big　hand；
but　the　boy’s　writhings　continued　as　Vanessa　ground　bone　against　broken　bone。
Suddenly；　Jaime　was　talking；　words　tumbling　out；　saying　whatever　would　stop　the　pain。
“The　Japanese　man　–　told　us　to　go　for　three　days。　He　stayed　–　with　Refugio。”　Jaime’s　breath
shuddered；　but　his　voice　did　not　break。　“The　Japanese　man　stayed。　Refugio　is　–　very　sick。”
“Are　they　still　in　the　funeral　home？　Tell　me　quickly！”
Jaime　cringed。　“I　don’t　know！　I　was　one　of　the　first　to　leave！”
But　Jaime’s　eyes　had　shifted　away　from　hers；　undermining　the　plea　in　his　voice。　Vanessa’s　hand
closed　over　his。　Jaime　screamed　again。
“They　were　afraid　of　you！　Velasquez　told　my　uncle　about　you。　The　Japanese　decided　to　leave。
They　talked　about　prison　camps。　I　think　–　I　think　they　will　take　Refugio　there　until　he　is　better。”
“Where？”
“Where　all　the　Japanese　went。　Over　the　mountains。　Manzanar。”
Vanessa　crouched　over　Jaime；　her　eyes　hooded；　weighing　what　the　boy　had　said。　It　made　sense
except　for　the　part　about　Refugio　going　to　Manzanar。　From　Hecht’s　description；　he　was　too
weak　to　make　the　trip。　He　was　probably　dead；　laid　out　on　a　tabic　in　the　Rincón　mortuary。　If　not；
he　soon　would　be。　She　would　see　to　it。
“The　Japanese　man；”　said　Vanessa　suddenly。　“Who　is　he？”
“They　called　him　Kestrel；”　said　Jaime　weakly；　faint　with　pain。
Vanessa　tweaked　Jaime’s　broken　finger。
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“Please；”　he　said；　crying　hopelessly；　“That’s　all　I　know　about　him。　Japanese　–　Kestrel。　Refugio
knew　him　in　Mexico。　That’s　all；　I　swear　on　my　mother’s　honor。”
Before　Vanessa　could　touch　the　boy　again；　Slaven　called　her　name。　She　looked　up。　He　was　at　the
window；　watching　the　flower　shop。　His　body　was　tense；　poised；　a　fighter　waiting　for　the　bell　to
sound。
“What　is　it？”　said　Vanessa。
“Cars。　Four；　five；　six。　Four　men　to　a　car。　More　in　the　alley；　I’ll　bet。”
“Police？”
“No　uniforms；”　said　Slaven；　“but　they’re　police。　You　can　smell　it。”
“Are　they　coming　here？”
“No；　they’re　surrounding　the　Fragrant　Petal。　They’ve　got　guns　out。　They　kicked　in　the　door　of
the　shop。”
Vanessa　swore　savagely。　If　Refugio　were　still　alive；　he　was　now　out　of　her　reach。　So；　perhaps；
was　the　uranium。
“What　now？”　said　Slaven。
Vanessa　glanced　from　Hecht’s　body　to　Jaime；　pale；　sweating；　cradling　his　maimed　hand。　He
could　tell　her　nothing　more；　but　he　could　tell　the　Americans　everything。　She　knew　he　was　too
young　to　read　the　death　in　her　eyes。　He　would　suspect　nothing　until　the　instant　he　felt　the　cold
mouth　of　the　silencer　against　his　ear。
The　soft　sound　of　the　shot　drew　Slaven’s　attention　away　from　the　street　for　an　instant。　Va