Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第6部分

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motion　that　spoke　of　controlled　power。　He　waited；　motionless。　The　light　from　a　corner　lamp
poured　over　him；　making　the　silver　strands　of　hair　at　his　temples　gleam。　Outside　the　room；　a
silhouette　flowed　over　the　shoji　screen　like　a　black　ghost。　The　paper　screen　whispered　aside；
revealing　Ana　Oshiga；　Takagura’s　secretary。　She　bowed　and　greeted　him　in　precise　Japanese。
“I　hope　you　are　comfortable；　Kestrel…san。”
Kestrel　looked　at　Ana’s　pale；　heart…shaped　face。　Like　electricity　in　Takagura’s　traditional
Japanese　home；　Ana　did　not　wholly　fit　her　surroundings。
“Yes；　Ana…san；”　he　answered　politely；　although　he　had　not　slept　at　all　and　had　yet　to　wash　the
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whorehouse　grime　off　his　body。
Ana　naturally　walked　with　the　long…legged　stride　of　an　American　woman；　but　she　was　hobbled
now　by　a　narrow　kimono。　Her　voice；　too；　was　American；　pitched　for　life　lived　behind　plaster
rather　than　paper　walls。　As　with　most　Nisei　and　Isei；　she　was　taller　than　the　Japanese　norm。
“The　honored　wife　of　Omi…san　said　that　you　requested　my　presence；”　Ana　said。
“English；　please；”　said　Kestrel。　Although　he　trusted　his　host’s　loyalty；　Kestrel　himself　had
bribed　too　many　servants　to　trust　Takagura’s。　“Did　you　finish　interviewing　Refugio’s　whores
after　I　left　with　Rubia？”
Kestrel’s　face　did　not　show　his　distaste　for　prostitutes　and　hours　spent　watching　their　work。
Ana’s　face　did；　although　she　had　done　no　more　than　question　the　women。　He　had　seen　Mexican
sluts　condescend　to　Ana；　a　woman　they　considered　their　sexual　and　racial　inferior。　He
understood　Ana’s　hatred　of　them。　He　even　sympathized。　He　did　not　let　sympathy　get　in　the　way
of　necessity；　however。　He　needed　a　fluent；　trustworthy　translator。　Ana。
“They　added　nothing　new；”　answered　Ana；　trying　to　be　as　expressionless　as　Kestrel；　and　failing。
“The　number　of　Americans　from　Socorro　and　Los　Alamos　has　doubled　or　tripled　in　recent
weeks。　They　drink　heavily；　screw　badly；　pay　too　much；　and　sometimes　go　crazy。”　Ana　frowned。
“Several　of　the　sluts　mentioned　the　same　man。　He　ran　up　and　down　the　halls；　drunk；　naked；
yelling；　‘We’ve　done　it！　I’ll　never　have　to　see　that　fat　asshole　Groves　again！”
“Was　the　man　a　soldier？”
“I　asked。　The　whores　described　him　as　bearded。　He　didn’t　wear　dog　tags　or　military　signet　rings。
His　clothes　were　civilian；　including　the　underwear。”
Kestrel　looked　beyond　Ana；　thinking　about　the　crumbs　of　information　he　had　gathered　from
Refugio；　Rubia；　and　now　Ana。　Rubia’s　red…headed　soldier　had　mentioned　a　test　“soon；”　and　that
whatever　it　was　had　originally　come　from　Los　Alamos。　Ana　spoke　of　a　bearded　civilian　running
through　a　Mexican　whorehouse　yelling　that　something　was　done。　Was　it　too　much　to　assume　that
whatever　weapon　was　being　built　in　Los　Alamos　was　going　to　be　tested　and　then　shipped　to
California；　and　from　there　overseas　for　use　against　Japan？
“You’re　sure　that　he　said；　‘We’ve　done　it！’？”　asked　Kestrel。　“Was　he　speaking　Spanish　or　did　one
of　the　sluts　know　English？”
“Yolanda　–　the　young　one　with　the　broken　nose　–　speaks　some　English。　She　said　he　yelled　the
same　thing　again　and　again；　until　someone　threw　him　into　the　alley。　She’s　sure　she　remembered　it
right。　She’s　also　the　one　who　thought　to　check　his　clothes　and　jewelry。”
“Good。　Pay　her　extra。”
“I　did。”
“You’ve　done　very　well　for　me；　Ana。”
Ana　smiled；　pleased　that　she　had　pleased　him。　“Thank　you；”　she　said；　bowing　formally。　“It　is　my
duty　and　pleasure　to　serve　the　honorable　representative　of　the　Son　of　Heaven。”
The　words；　gracious　in　Japanese；　sounded　awkward　in　English。　Ana　flushed　slightly。　Kestrel
bowed　like　a　Japanese；　then　smiled　at　her　like　an　American　and　took　her　hand。　Ana’s　flesh
deepened；　but　she　did　not　pull　away。　Kestrel　was　the　first　samurai　she　had　ever　known；　he
fascinated　her。　He　knew　it；　and　used　it。　He　let　go　of　her　hand　and　indicated　the　lacquered　tray
holding　teapot　and　cups　with　no　handles。　“Would　you　pour　tea　for　us？”
Kestrel　watched　her　fill　the　cups　neatly　and　gracefully；　a　skill　learned　under　Takagura’s
demanding　eye。　“You　do　many　things　well；”　he　said；　taking　the　cup　she　offered　him。　“Did
Refugio　have　any　questions　when　you　delivered　the　money　to　him？”
“No。　He　must　like　you。　He　only　counted　it　once。”
Kestrel　laughed。　“He　will　count　it　twice　more　when　he　is　alone。”
“That　may　be　a　while；”　said　Ana；　sipping　her　green　tea。　“He’s　flying　with　that　man　Masarek　to
Mexicali。　The　Englishwoman　is　going　along。　His　mistress；　I　suppose。”
“When　are　they　leaving？”
Ana　looked　up；　startled　by　the　change　in　Kestrel’s　tone。　“He’s　probably　gone　by　now。　I’m　sorry。
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Should　I　have　stopped　him？”
Kestrel　did　not　answer　for　a　moment。　He　felt　cold；　felt　time　draining　away　from　him。　First　the
hints　that　the　weapon　was　done；　that　it　would　be　tested　soon；　and　suddenly　the　Russian　was　gone
as　though　there　were　nothing　further　of　value　left　at　Los　Alamos。　He　was　too　far　behind　the
Russian。　Japan　was　too　far　behind　the　Americans；　one　man　and　a　country　stumbling　along
picking　up　crumbs　from　an　international　spy　feast　that　had　just　begun　in　Lisbon　and　could　too
easily　end　here；　before　he　and　Japan　had　more　than　a　taste　of　the　meal。
“I’m　sorry；”　said　Ana。
Kestrel　realized　that　she　had　said　it　several　times。　He　curbed　his　thoughts　and　fears　with　the
discipline　that　was　as　much　a　part　of　him　as　his　slanting　eyes。　“It’s　not　your　fault　that　I　came　here
too　late；　knowing　too　little。”
Ana　spoke　hesitantly；　as　if　she　were　afraid　to　disturb　him。　“Takagura　has　many　contacts　in
Siexicali。　And　I　–　my　family　lived　in　San　Francisco　before　they　were　driven　into　concentration
camps。”
Kestrel　listened　to　the　bitterness　in　Ana’s　voice。　Hatred　was　the　reason　she　had　abandoned　the
country　of　her　birth。　Hatred；　a　gift　for　languages　and　administrative　skills　worthy　of　a　person
twice　her　age　had　made　her　invaluable　to　Takagura　Omi’s　espionage　and　import　business。　But
hatred　was　a　dangerous　thing　in　a　spy。　He　was　grateful　that　he　did　not　have　to　use　Ana　beyond
her　capacity　as　translator　and　go…between。　He　had　the　active　spy’s　distrust　of　untrained　agents。
“Takagura　trusts　Refugio’s　greed；”　said　Kestrel。　“I’m　forced　to　do　the　same。”
“He　said　he’ll　call　from　Mexicali　when　he　knows　more　of　what　Masarek　wants。　Perhaps　I　should
stay　with　you　until　then。”
“Why？”
“Refugio　will　have　to　speak　Spanish　so　that　Masarek　won’t　understand　what’s　being　said。　But
you　don’t　understand　Spanish。”
Kestrel　smiled　wryly。　“Again；　I　find　you　invaluable。”　He　touched　her　hand。
Ana’s　pleasure　at　the　compliment　and　touch　was　as　transparent　as　her　eagerness　to　stay　with　him。
“You’ll　have　time　to　tell　me　about　Japan。　I’ve　never　been　to　my　country。”
“First；　I　need　to　know　more　about　America。”
Ana　frowned　and　looked　away。　“What　do　you　need　to　know？”
“Does　Takagura　have　men　in　San　Francisco？”
“It’s　been　very　hard　since　Pearl　Harbor。　They　locked　up　the　Japanese；　you　know；”　Ana　said
stiffly。
“Yes；　I　know。”　He　also　knew　that　Japan　had　overnight　lost　most　of　its　information　network　on
the　West　Coast。
“All　of　Takagura’s　contacts　who　are　still　free　are　Mexicans。　Refugio’s　cousins。　In　fact；　Takagura
arranged　to　sell　my　father’s　flower　shop　to　the　Reyes　brothers　after　my　father　was　sent　to
Manzanar。　Refugio’s　cousins　paid　almost　nothing；　but；”　she　shrugged；　“even　that　was　more　than
most　Japanese　got　for　their　property。”
“Does　the　name　‘Magord’　or　‘Amgordo’　mean　anything　to　you？”
Ana　frowned　and　repeated　the　words　to　herself　several　times。　After　a　few　moments　she　shook
her　head。　“Are　they　Spanish　words？”
“They　are　the　same　word；　and　probably　Spanish。　I　believe　it’s　the　name　of　a　place　in　New
Mexico；　a　desert　area；　probably　on　or　near　a　military　installation。　It’s　probably；　but　not
necessarily；　convenient　to　Los　Alamos。”
“Where　is　the　map　I　brought　you　yesterday？”
While　Ana　cleared　cups　and　teapot　off　a　low　table；　Kestrel　got　the　map。　He　spread　it　out；
concealing　the　table’s　intricate　mother…of…pearl　inlays。　Ana　knelt　and　looked　at　the　map。　Her
eyes　were…very　dark　against　the　pale　background　of　her　rice…powdered　face。　The　hair　framing　her
cheeks　was　black；　gleaming；　untouched　by　silver。　She　bent　closer　to　the　map　until　her　breath
almost　touched　his　hand　as　he　traced　a　road　that　followed　the　Rio　Grande　toward　Los　Alamos。
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“Amgord…　Magordo；”　muttered　Kestrel。　His　finger　moved　over　such　place　names　as　La　Mesa
a？d　Las　Cruces；　Truth　or　Consequences　and　Socorro；　Albuquerque　and　–　“Algodones？　No；　it
was　gordo　or　gord；　not　godo。”
He　traced　the　road　through　Santa　Fe　to　Los　Alamos　and　then　on　north；　but　found　nothing。　He
traced　down　along　the　west　side　of　the　Rio　Grande；　ranging　out　200　miles　or　more　and　then　on
down　to　the　border。　The　only　place　name　he　paused　over　was　Mogollón。
“That’s　high　country；”　said　Ana。　“Forest；　not　desert。”
Kestrel　read　the　map’s　legend　and　reached　the　same　conclusion。　He　began　searching　the　area
east　of　the　Rio　Grande　and　north　to　the　New　Mexican　border。
“Alamogordo。”　Kestrel　stopped；　measuring　the　sound　of　the　word　against　what　the　soldier　had
said。　The　“gordo”　sounded　right。　Magordo　could　correspond　to　“　–　mogordo。”　It　was　as　close
to　a　match　as　he　had　come；　but　he　was　not　entirely　satisfied。　His　glance　moved　on；　looking　for　a
closer　correspondence。
There　was　no　other　place　name　that　had　the　sound　of　“gord”　or　“gordo”　in　it。
Kestrel’s　glance　came　back　to　Alamogordo；　testing　the　place　against　what　the　soldier　had　said。　It
was　in　the　desert。　It　bordered　on　two　large　military　reservations；　one　of　which　was　almost
exclusively　used　as　a　firing　range。　From　the　map；　it　looked　to　be　a　desolate　stretch　of　land；
suitable　for　testing　dangerous　new　weapons。
“Is　that　it？”　said　Ana；　looking　at　the　area　under　Kestrel’s　hand。　“Jornada　del　Muerto；”　she
murmured。　“It　must　be　a　terrible　place　to　be　called　that。”
Kestrel　looked　at　the　map。　The　northwestern　area　of　the　reservation　was　labled　Jomado　del
Muerto。　“What　does　it　mean？”
“Journey　of　Death。”
Oddly；　Kestrel　smiled。　It　was　a　site　and　a　name　a　samurai　would　have　chosen　for　using　deadly
weapons。　But　the　military　reservation　covered　almost　3；000　square　miles。　Where　in　all　that
emptiness　would　the　test　be　held？　And　how　elaborate　would　the　preparations　be？　lne　soldier　had
mentioned　bunkers　and　wires　and　a　tower。　The　wires　could　be　used　to　hook　into　a　power
supply；　if　the　weapon　was　a　lethal　beam　of　light。　The　tower　could　be　used　either　for　observation
or　as　a　target。　Yet；　the　use　of　bunkers　suggested　a　concentrated　blast；　an　explosion　from　a　bomb
rather　than　a　death　ray。
Whatever　the　weapon；　construction　had　taken　place　recently；　and　that　meant　trucks　to　haul
materials　and　people；　and　roads　for　the　trucks　to　move　on。
“Those　young　soldiers；”　Kestrel　said；　looking　up　from　the　map；　“the　ones　who　said　they　had
been　building　a　road　through　hell　and　were　thirsty　enough　to　drink　the　Rio　Grande　dry…　were
they　working　out　of　Fort　Bliss？”
“No。　Socorro。”
“Odd。　They　were　soldiers；　not　scientists　or　technicians？”
“Yes；　but　they　probably　were　building　roads　for　the　Los　Alamos　people。　Everyone　is　told　to　say
Socorro；　never　Los　Alamos。”
Kestrel　looked　at　the　map　again。　Socorro　was　north…northwest　of　Alamogordo。　Between　the
two　towns　was　a　dirt　road　skirting　the　desolate　military　reservation。　If　the　soldiers　were　actually
working　from　Socorro；　building　roads　to　transport　people　and　equipment　for　the　Los　Alamos
test；　and　if　Rubia’s　soldier　had　told　the　truth　about　the　test　location　being　north　of　Alamogordo；
then　the　test　itself　would　probably　be　held　in　the　upper　third　of　the　military　reservation。
That　still　left　1；000　square　miles。
“Flat；”　murmured　Kestrel。　“He　said　it　was　the　‘flattest；　hottest　desert　this　side　of　hell。’”
The　contours　on　the　map　were　skimpy；　but　mountain　peaks　were　marked　on　the　range　that　ran
diagonally　through　the　reservation。　Either　Salinas　Peak　or　Oscura　Peak　would　give　a　good　view
of　the　remaining　flatlands。　Salinas　Peak　was　more　west　of　Alamogordo；　Oscura　Peak　was　more
north。　It　might　be　the　place　to　watch　the　test　from。
But　the　question　remained：　How　soon　was　“soon”？
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Juarez
60　Hours　Before　Trinity
Finn　drove　through　Juarez　automatically；　his　mind　still　absorbing　the　ramifications　of　what　he
had　learned　in　Los　Alamos。　Weapons　were　as　old　as　man。　People　had　been　shifting　and
reshifting　the　balance　of　power　ever　since　the　first　time　a　hairless　ape　grabbed　a　stone　and
crushed　his　enemy’s　skull。　All　the　weapons　that　had　come　since　that　moment　were　simply
refinements　of　the　original　idea　of　lenghtening　the　reach　and　efficiency　of　the　human　arm。　Yet　–
One　bomb。　One　plane。　One　hell　of　a　bang。
Finn’s　hands　tightened　on　the　wheel　as　he　guided　the　speeding　car。　He　recognized　that　bombing
cities　was　a　rational　military　tactic；　no　more　or　less　cruel　than　a　scorched　earth　strategy　which　left
the　enemy　starving；　civilian　and　soldier　alike。　As　a　means　of　avoiding　a　grueling；　gruesome；
inch…by…bloody…inch　invasion　of　Japan；　the　atomic　bomb　was　without　parallel。
But　so　many　dead；　so　quickly；　lifetimes　measured　in　milliseconds。
And　would　there　be　others；　like　the　experimenter；　who　would　not　be　lucky　enough　to　die　in　the
first　raw　white　instant　of　power？
Finn　slowed　and　turned　on　to　a　street　leading　to　the　oldest　part　of　Juarez。　The　city　was　quiet；　its
life　hidden　from　the　afternoon　sun。　The　second　stories　of　most　buildings　overhung　the　sidewalk；
creating　tunnels　of　shade　for　the　few　pedestrians。　The　square　was　overhung　with　large；　soft…green
pepper　trees　that　cast　feathery　shadows　on　the　baked　clay　ground。　Water　tumbled　down　a　stone
and　tile　fountain。
The　car’s　tires　made　no　sound　as　Finn　turned　onto　the　sandy　unpaved　street　that　led　to　his
house。　He　stopped　the　Ford　in　front　of　an　old　adobe　with　a　faded　canvas　awning　protecting　its
one　large　window。　Finn　got　out　and　closed　the　door　quietly。
He　crossed　the　small　patch　of　sand　serving　as　a　front　lawn。　The　house　belonged　to　his　father’s
friend；　an　official　in　the　Mexican　government。　Finn　had　furnished　the　adobe　with　a　solid　oak
kitchen　table；　chairs；　and　a　leather…sprung　bed　with　a　mattress　filled　with　corn　shucks　and　a　few
sprigs　of　sage。　It　was　the　kind　of　bed　he　had　been　raised　on；　the　bed　that　he　had　dreamed　about
in　the　nightmare　hammocks　of　Burma。　The　bed　was　crisp；　dry；　and　smelled　of　the　desert。
The　only　other　furnishings　were　lamps；　a　telephone　and　a　stove。　On　a　rack　in　a　corner　of　the
single　room；　which　contained　the　bed　and　the　kitchen；　were　a　12…gauge　pump　shotgun；　an　M…l
carbine　with　a　canvas　shoulder　strap；　and　a　long…barreled　Remington。　Opposite　the　rack；　three
swords　hung　on　the　bare　adobe　wall。　Two　of　the　swords　were　Japanese；　the　short　and　the　long
sword　of　a　samurai。　The　third　sword　was　Mexican；　a　ceremonial　saber　inlaid　with　silver　and
gold。
Even　in　the　diffuse　light　that　entered　through　the　small　panel　windows　set　in　the　thick　adobe
walls；　the　swords　shone　with　bright；　hard　light。　The　Japanese　swords　combined　elegance　and
balance　with　efficiency；　the　Mexican　sword　combined　pride　and　wealth　with　a　killing　edge。　It　had
been　carried　into　battle　against　gringo　invaders　by　a　Mexican　Creole　general　who　had　died　at　the
hands　of　Finn’s　great…grandfather。　The　sword’s　handle　was　bound　in　gilt…braided　cord　after　the
manner　of　its　time。
Pride　and　violence；　the　twin　obsessions　of　the　cultures　that　had　forged　the　swords。　And　now　a
new　culture；　a　new　weapon；　a　weapon　that　was　made　not　of　steel　but　of　an　unbelievably　rare
element；　a　metal　that　could　end　a　war　and　begin　a　world。
Finn　stood　just　inside　the　door；　letting　the　coolness　of　the　house　wash　over　him。　Before　he　could
close　the　door；　the　telephone　rang　imperiously　and　Ghost；　his　cat；　streaked　into　the　room。　He
shut　the　door　and　answered　the　phone　with　a　quickness　that　echoed　the　cat’s。
“Bueno；”　he　said。
Finn　recognized　the　voice　at　the　other　end　of　the　line；　a　woman’s　voice；　cool　and　precise；
professionally　remote。　Sarah　Campos　was　the　chief　operator　at　the　phone　exchange　in　El　Paso。
All　calls　from　Juarez　to　the　United　States；　and　vice　versa；　went　through　her　switchboard。　She；
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like　Finn；　was　paid　by　the　American　government。
“You　will　want　to　know　about　new　voices？”　she　asked。
“Yes。”
Finn　waited；　so　focused　on　Sarah’s　call　that　he　barely　noticed　the　cat　stropping　itself　on　his
boots。
“There　were　two。　Yesterday。　Both　British。　One　was　the　man　I　told　you　about　before；　the　one
who　calls　from　that　little　town　close　to　the　cottonwoods。”
“Yes。”　Socorro　was　the　town　closest　to　Los　Alamos。　Finn　had　mentioned　the　anonymous　caller
to　Groves；　suspecting　that　the　man　might　be　one　of　the　British　scientists　working　in　Los　Alamos。
“Did　you　recognize　the　second　man？”
“It　was　a　woman。　She　was　calling　from　the　Mexican　side；　a　public　phone　booth。”
“What　did　they　say？”
“Not　much　that　I　could　understand。　They　spoke　English　at　first；　then　they　switched　to　another
language；　very　hard　and　deep　in　their　throats。　I　think　it　was　German。　It　sure　wasn’t　Chinese　or
Japanese。　The　woman　spoke　the　language　very　well。　The　man　had　problems。　He　used　English；
too。　It　sounded　like　they　were　planning　a　trip　to　New　York。”
“Oh？”
“They　kept　talking　about　Manhattan　and　the　Bronx；　and　something　about　not　being　able　to　ship
stuff　directly　to　the　Bronx。　He　finally　said　in　English；　‘Look；　it　can’t　be　done　from　here！’　He　was
angry。”
For　a　moment　Finn　forgot　to　breathe。　Then　he　drew　in　air　silently　and　said；　“Anything　else？”
“No。　They　didn’t　talk　very　long。”
“If　you　hear　any　more　from　them；　let　me　know　right　away。”
Finn　replaced　the　receiver　very　slowly；　but　his　mind　was　racing　and　his　skin　was　hot　with　more
than　desert　heat。　Russian　sounded　enough　like　German　to　confuse　an　untutored　ear。　Masarek
was　in　Juarez　with　a　woman　who　had　a　British　accent。　Two　priceless　pieces　of　silver…white　metal
were　on　their　way　to　San　Francisco。
General　Groves　had　been　very　wise　to　keep　the　route　of　the　Bronx　shipment　secret；　otherwise　it
seemed　that　the　Russians　were　set　to　intercept　the　shipment。　Without　the　uranium；　the　war
would　not　end　short　of　a　grueling　invasion　of　Japan；　an　invasion　that　would　culminate　in　2
million　casualties　and　a　Russian　world。
Ghost　yeowed　bleakly；　as　though　she　shared　Finn’s　thoughts。　Her　front　paw　touched　the　toe　of
his　boot　and　the　tip　of　her　tail　flicked　across　his　knee。
“Hello；　Ghost。”
The　cat　sat　on　her　haunches；　inspecting　the　room　as　though　seeking　mice　in　its　corners　or　lizards
on　its　clay　et　Finn’s　and　she　yeowed　again。　She　was　poised；
healthy　and　obviously　a　recent　mother。
“Hungry？”
Ghost　looked　away　disdainfully。　She　could　survive　without　Finn；　which　was　the　only　reason　he
had　allowed　her　into　his　life。　Since　Burma；　he　had　permitted　no　living　thing　to　depend　on　him。
Finn　straightened　swiftly；　found　a　small　can　of　evaporated　milk　in　the　kitchen　and　punched　two
holes　in　the　can　with　his　pocket　knife。　He　poured　the　viscous　fluid　into　a　saucer　and　stepped
aside。
Ghost’s　nose　moved　and　her　whiskers　twitched　as　the　thick　scent　of　milk　washed　over　her。　She
walked　slowly　to　the　dish；　her　every　movement　telling　Finn　that　she　could　live　very　well　without
him。　The　milk　was　like　Finn；　nice；　but　not　necessary　to　her　sur