Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第7部分

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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　survival。
“That’s　right；　cat；”　he　said　softly。　“No　guarantees。”
Jacame
50　Hours　Before　Trinity
Refugio　drove　without　lights　through　the　dry　desert　night　as　though　it　were　noon。　Drops　of
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sweat　gathered　in　his　enormous　black　eyebrows　like　rain　in　a　raven’s　wings。　That　was　the　only
outward　sign　of　the　strength　and　concentration　required　to　hold　the　rocketing　Cadillac　on　the
narrow　dirt　road。　Refugio　dominated　the　car　with　a　combination　of　drama　and　ruthlessness　that
exican。
Vanessa　Lyons　braced　herself　in　the　back　seat；　trying　not　to　be　shaken　loose　by　each　bump；　each
rut；　each　lunge　and　swoop　of　the　heavy　car。　She　assumed　that　Refugio　was　indulging　in　the
strutting　maleness　she　detested　in　all　Latin　cultures。　She　glanced　at　Masarek；　silent　in　the　front
seat。　He　balanced　against　the　careening　car　with　the　cold　self…control　that　was　his　trademark。
Vanessa　started　to　speak；　then　decided　not　to。　Her　orders　had　been　clear。　All　speed。　Although
her　orders　were　now　nothing　more　than　ashes　flushed　into　the　sewer；　their　urgency　remained。
They　had　flown　from　Juarez　to　Mexicali　and　now　were　rushing　toward　the　place　where　they
could　safely　cross　into　the　United　States。
Refugio　glanced　in　the　rearview　mirror；　attracted　by　the　movement　of　Vanessa’s　head。
Moonlight　made　her　gold　hair　shimmer　as　though　it　were　burning。　Her　eyes　were　the　dense　blue
of　expensive　English　china。
And　she　was　watching　him。
Refugio’s　black　eyes　shifted　to　the　passenger　in　the　front　seat；　the　man　called　Masarek。
Contained；　quiet；　Masarek　would　have　made　a　good　smuggler　or　soldier　or　assassin。　Refugio
suspected　that　Masarek　had　been　all　three。　Though　his　hairline　had　retreated　into　gray　and　his
face　showed　the　first　inroads　of　age；　Masarek　moved　with　the　ease　of　men　half　his　years。
The　car’s　metal　joints　rattled　and　groaned　over　a　straight　segment　of　road　that　had　attained　the
washboard　surface　common　to　unpaved　desert　tracks。　Gradually　the　car　slowed　until　its
roostertail　of　dust　no　longer　leaped　toward　the　white　moon。
“Is　something　wrong？”　asked　Vanessa；　using　the　breathy　voice　she　affected　when　she　wanted
men　to　underestimate　her。
“Do　not　worry；　chica；”　said　Refugio；　smiling　and　turning　toward　her　to　show　teeth　that　were
hard　and　white。　When　he　spoke　English；　his　light　accent　gave　his　words　a　deceptively　gentle
edge。　“I　drive　slow　now　for　the　same　reason　I　drove　without　lights。　We　are　close　to　Jacame。　The
American　border　patrol　knows　that　Jacame　is　a　poor　place。　Only　smugglers　have　money　for
cars。　Bueno。　We　do　not　show　our　lights。”
Vanessa　looked　out　the　window；　but　saw　nothing。　Then　she　noticed　the　tiny　brillance　of　lights
scattered　in　the　distance　like　fallen　stars。
“Is　that　it？”　she　asked。
Refugio　chuckled。　“No；　chica。　That　is　Jacumba；　on　the　gringo　side。　The　Mexicans　in　Jacame　have
no　electricity。　What　do　smugglers　need　with　light？”
“Are　you　sure　the　Americans　don’t　know　about　your　route？”　asked　Vanessa；　skepticism　clear　in
spite　of　her　husky　voice。
Refugio　shrugged。　“If　they　knew　my　route；　they　would　put　me　in　one　of　their　grand　calabozos
with　hot　and　cold　water　and　never　let　me　out。　They　want　me　very　much。”
“Then　why　don’t　they　shoot　you？”　asked　Masarek　in　a　colorless　voice。
Refugio　glanced　at　the　other　man。　“That’s　what　you　would　do；　no？”　He　laughed。　“That’s　what　I
would　do；　too。　But　the　gringos　won’t　shoot　me　because　that　would　be　against　their　rules。”　He
looked　at　Vanessa　in　the　rearview　mirror。　“It　is　a　foolish　idea　they　took　from　your　country；　no？”
Vanessa　agreed；　but　did　not　answer；　irritated　to　find　that　she　agreed　with　Refugio　about
anything　that　smacked　of　politics。　One　of　the　things　that　had　driven　her　first　to　Fabian　socialism；
then　to　Marxism　and　finally　to　radical　communism；　was　the　British　male’s　insistence　on　living　–
and　often　losing　–　by　arcane　rules　of　chivalry。
Refugio　laughed　again；　the　full…bellied　laugh　of　real　amusement。　“So　the　Americans　have　nice
rules　and　I　have　nice　pleasure　breaking　them。　They　will　never　catch　me　because　I　am　a　man；　not　a
gentleman。”
Vanessa　stared　out　the　window；　ignoring　Refugio。　“How　far　are　we　from　the　border？”
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“That　way；”　said　Refugio；　gesturing　widely　to　her　right；　“Perhaps　a　kilometer。　But　from　my
house；　much　less。”
The　car　bounced　off　the　dirt　road　onto　something　that　was　little　better　than　a　goat　path。　Ahead
of　the　straining　car；　an　amorphous　black　blot　resolved　into　a　cluster　of　small；　worn　houses。
Whether　through　neglect　or　design；　the　windows　of　the　houses　were　so　dirty　as　to　almost
obscure　the　lantern　light　burning　within。
A　pack　of　rough…coated　dogs　burst　from　the　direction　of　the　houses。　Lean；　half…starved；　the
dogs　raced　toward　the　Cadillac　as　though　it　were　their　natural　prey。
Refugio　neither　slowed　nor　turned　aside。　He　aimed　the　car　into　the　center　of　the　pack。　At　the
last　second　the　dogs　scattered　to　either　side；　snapping　at　tires　before　giving　up　and　trotting　back
toward　the　houses。
The　buildings　were　scattered　in　a　random　arrangement　dictated　by　the　rumpled　nature　of　the
land。　What　once　might　have　been　a　town　square　was　now　the　final　refuge　for　a　canted；
three…wheeled　wagon　and　the　rusty　remains　of　cars　that　had　no　wheels　at　all。　Dirt　and　sand　crept
up　the　sides　of　the　vehicles；　engulfing　them　silently；　blurring　the　boundary　between　artifact　and
desert；　past　and　present。　Just　beyond；　almost　hidden　by　the　wreckage；　was　the　communal　well。　It
was　circled　by　a　low　stone　wall　and　roofed　by　a　ragged　wooden　structure。　When　the　car　bounced
by；　doves　fled　into　the　night；　cooing　their　distress　in　liquid　tones。
The　car　skidded　to　a　stop　in　a　turbulent　cloud　of　grit　that　was　swirled　away　by　the　pre…dawn
wind。　Refugio　got　out；　stretched；　and　walked　to　meet　the　two　men　who　were　approaching　from
separate　directions。　Like　those　men；　Refugio　was　just　over　medium　height；　black…haired；　with
brown　skin　and　ebony　eyes。　Unlike　him；　the　men　were　bent　by　poverty。
“Buenas　noches；　don　Refugio；”　said　the　first　man。　Then　like　an　echo；　the　second　man　said
exactly　the　same　words。　“Buenas　noches；　don　Refugio。”
Both　men　moved　toward　Refugio　with　the　subtle　stiffness　that　came　from　a　combination　of
grinding　labor；　indifferent　health　and　growing　age。　They　wore　the　loose　white　cotton　pants　and
camisa　of　the　Mexican　peon；　and　greeted　Refugio　with　the　deference　of　vassal　to　lord。
“Buenas　noches；　Jorge。　Cómo　estas？”　said　Refugio。　“Juanito；”　he　said；　recognizing　the　other
man。　“Cómo　estas？”
In　low；　rapid　Spanish；　Refugio　gave　orders。　Then　he　turned　his　shoulders　against　a　gust　of　dry；
dirty　wind　and　walked　back　to　the　car。　He　noticed　Vanessa’s　window　had　been　rolled　down　and
knew　she　had　been　listening。　He　wondered　how　much　she　had　heard；　and　how　much　she　had
understood。　Earlier　that　night　he　had　spoken　Spanish　within　her　hearing；　describing　in　moist
detail　his　seduction　of　a　young　girl。　Not　once　had　Vanessa’s　expression　revealed　that　she
understood　the　language。
“Come；　Se？or　Masarek；”　Refugio　said。　“You　will　see　that　my　house　is　as　I　told　you。”
Even　before　Masarek　was　out　of　the　car；　Vanessa　was　standing　in　the　cool；　dry　wind。
Refugio　saw　Vanessa　walking　toward　him；　her　slim　silk…sheathed　legs　silver　beneath　a　loose　blue
skin　that　rose　with　every　breath　of　wind。　Refugio　started　to　object；　then　shrugged。　Apparently
Masarek　did　not　mind　parading　his　fine…boned　bitch　in　front　of　hungry　dogs。
Refugio　led　the　way　to　Jorge’s　house。　Without　knocking；　he　pushed　open　the　door　and　walked
in。　Vanessa　and　Masarek　entered；　followed　closely　by　Jorge　and　Juan。　The　Mexicans　could　hardly
take　their　eyes　from　the　delicate　curve　of　Vanessa’s　legs。　In　such　a　setting；　she　was　like　a　stroke　of
lightning　–　unexpected；　brilliant；　dangerous。
The　house　smelled　of　kerosene　and　chile　peppers。　A　small　lamp　with　a　cracked　chimney　sat　on　a
heavy　wood　table　in　the　middle　of　the　room。　The　lamp’s　wick　was　so　short　that　the　flame　barely
illuminated　the　dark　center　of　the　room；　leaving　deep　shadows　all　around。　Masarek　scanned　the
circling　darkness。　Eyes　stared　back；　watching　him　unblinkingly。
Refugio　lifted　the　kerosene　lamp　off　the　table。　Shadows　drained　like　dark　water　from　the
impassive　face　of　a　fat　woman　and　the　bunched；　curious　faces　of　her　children。　Their　eyes
glittered；　following　the　lamp　in　Refugio’s　hand。　Jorge　and　Juan　moved　to　opposite　sides　of　the
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thick　oak　table；　then　lifted　it　aside　with　a　precision　that　suggested　long　practice。
“You　will　see；”　said　Refugio。　“Below　this　floor　is　a　shaft；　then　a　tunnel　that　goes　to　the　American
side。　The　tunnel　is　not　large。　It　is　good　only　for　moving　people　and　small　things　such　as　opium。
But　you　have　told　me　that　what　you　want　moved　is　smaller　than　a　man；　no？”
Without　waiting　for　an　answer；　Refugio　made　a　curt　motion。　Jorge　bent　and　pulled　aside　the　rug。
Beneath　the　rug　the　faint　outline　of　a　trapdoor　was　revealed　by　the　dim　kerosene　light。　Moving
quickly；　Juan　opened　the　trapdoor　and　Jorge　lowered　himself　into　the　darkness。　A　second　lamp
flared　below；　dispelling　the　absolute　black　of　the　shaft。　A　ladder　suddenly　poked　up　into　the
room。
“The　se？orita　will　wait　here；”　said　Refugio。
As　though　she　had　not　heard；　Vanessa　walked　toward　the　ladder；　grasped　its　splintery　sides　and
started　down。　Refugio　gave　Masarek　a　quick；　probing　look；　but　the　East　European　seemed
indifferent　to　Vanessa’s　show　of　independence。
Vanessa　vanished；　descending　with　quick；　precise　steps　until　she　came　face　to　face　with　a　leering
Jorge。　He　had　stood　below；　watching　her　descent　with　singular　attention。
“You　are　a　swine；”　said　Vanessa　in　Russian。　“An　eater　of　shit。”
Jorge　smiled　and　nodded；　responding　to　the　intimate　tone　rather　than　the　incomprehensible
language。
“Your　betters　are　dying　in　Russia　right　now；”　continued　Vanessa；　“dying　so　that　your　miserably
begotten　children　won’t　be　slaves　of　class　oppression。　But　you　don’t　care　about　that；　do　you？
Like　all　peasants；　you　only　care　about　your　gut　and　your　balls。　You　belong　to　the　decadent　past。
You　are　as　stupid　as　you　are　ugly。　You　disgust　me。　Swine。”
Vanessa　smiled　while　she　whispered　the　final　word。　Then　she　stepped　aside；　making　room　for
Masarek；　who　was　quickly　followed　by　Refugio。　The　Mexican　moved　easily；　almost　carelessly；
holding　the　lamp。　The　ladder　and　tunnel　were　as　familiar　to　him　as　the　gold　rings　he　wore　on
both　hands。
Masarek　moved　differently　in　the　depths　of　the　tunnel；　as　though　his　body　were　tightly　coiled
against　a　lurking　danger。　The　lantern　light　revealed　faint　lines　on　his　face；　traces　of　an　emotion
Vanessa　recognized　but　never　before　had　associated　with　the　assassin　–　fear。　It　was　the　first　flaw
she　had　found　in　Masarek’s　seamless　competence。
Holding　the　kerosene　lamp　high；　Refugio　slowly　moved　his　arm　until　every　curve　of　the　circular
chamber　was　revealed。　The　walls　of　the　tiny　room　were　rough；　composed　of　an　aggregate　that
looked　as　unstable　as　the　gravel　it　once　had　been；　when　the　desert　was　the　bottom　of　an　ancient
sea。　Compressed　by　the　passage　of　eons；　stones　and　dirt　had　combined。
The　walls　of　the　chamber　were　not　shored；　except　in　one　spot　where　a　softness　in　the　aggregate
had　spilled　several　cubic　yards　of　material　onto　the　floor。　Walls；　ceiling　and　floor　were　a　uniform
sand　color　that　turned　to　gold　in　the　lantern　light。
“It　is　just　as　I　told　you；　no？”　said　Refugio　when　he　had　finished　lighting　every　corner　of　the　small
anteroom　at　the　head　of　the　tunnel。　“See？”
“I　see　a　little　dirt　room　and　what　could　be　the　opening　of　a　tunnel　over　there；”　said　Masarek；
gesturing　contemptuously　toward　the　opposite　side　of　the　chamber。　“I　have　only　your　word　that
the　tunnel　–　if　that　is　a　tunnel　–　goes　anywhere。”
“Come　then；　I　will　show　you。”　Refugio　smiled　cruelly；　for　he　had　seen　Masarek’s　instant　of　fear。
“The　tunnel　was　dug　by　Chinese　to　smuggle　other　Chinese。　They　are　not　a　big　people；　se？or；　as
you　will　find　out　when　you　use　their　tunnel。　The　walls　come　in　very　close。”
Refugio　laughed　silently；　and　the　sweat　in　his　massive　eyebrows　winked　as　though　sharing　the
joke。　As　Masarek　turned　toward　the　tunnel；　he　decided　that　when　the　smuggler’s　usefulness　was
done；　he　would　teach　Refugio　the　meaning　of　terror。　And　then　Refugio　would　die。
Imperial　General　HQ
Tokyo
50　Hours　Before　Trinity
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（Excerpts　from　radio　log　of　American　Intelligence　Section　of　Imperial　Army　Intelligence。
Decoded。）
AMERICANS　SOON　WILL　TEST　NEW　WEAPON　IN　DESERT　NORTH　OF
ALAMOGORDO；　NEW　MEXICO。　NATURE　OF　WEAPON　STILL　UNKNOWN。　IT　IS
SMALL　ENOUGH　TO　BE　CARRIED　BY　ONE　MAN；　YET　POWERFUL　（OR
UNPREDICTABLE）　ENOUGH　TO　REQUIRE　A　DISTANCE　OF　SEVERAL　MILES
BETWEEN　OBSERVERS　AND　TEST。
ANOTHER　WEAPON　SOON　TO　BE　SHIPPED　FROM　LOS　ALAMOS　TO　SAN
FRANCISCO。　FROM　THERE；　IT　MUST　BE　ASSUMED　THE　WEAPON　WILL　BE　PUT
INTO　USE　AGAINST　JAPAN。
RUSSIAN　SPY　PLANS　TO　STEAL　WEAPON　IN　SAN　FRANCISCO。　I　WILL　GO　THERE
AND　STEAL　WEAPON　FROM　HIM。　KESTREL
（Reply。　Decoded。）
ANY　WEAPON　SMALL　ENOUGH　FOR　ONE　MAN　TO　CARRY　CAN’T　AFFECT
JAPAN’S　IMMEDIATE　FUTURE　AND　THEREFORE　IS　NOT　TO　BE　FEARED。　THERE
MUST　BE　TWO　DIFFERENT　WEAPONS。
REMAIN　IN　JUAREZ　AND　DETERMINE　THE　NATURE　OF　WEAPON　TO　BE
TESTED　IN　THE　DESERT。　MAJ。　GEN。　ARISUE
（Reply。　Decoded。）
ANY　WEAPON　THAT　SETS　ALLIES　AGAINST　EACH　OTHER　MUST　BE
ENORMOUSLY　VALUABLE　TO　AN　ENEMY。　URGENTLY　REQUEST　PERMISSION
TO　FOLLOW　RUSSIAN　TO　SAN　FRANCISCO。　KESTREL
（Reply。　Decoded。）
REQUEST　UNDER　CONSIDERATION。　MAJ。　GEN。　ARISUE
Beneath　Mexican…American　Border
49　Hours　Before　Trinity
Once；　half…revealed　by　a　swinging　yellow　light；　they　saw　Buddha　staring　from　a　wall　niche；　his
dust…covered　eyes　contemplating　far　more　distant　borders　than　the　one　the　tunnel　had　been　built
to　circumvent。
“The　Chinese；”　said　Refugio　as　he　passed　the　niche；　“built　this　tunnel　with　the　skills　they　learned
on　gringo　railroad　crews；　and　then　they　used　this　tunnel　to　smuggle　thousands　of　Chinese　into
the　United　States。”
“My　father’s　uncle；”　Refugio　said；　“married　the　only　child　of　the　man　who　owned　the　houses　on
both　sides　of　the　border；　and　the　tunnel　between。　She　was　Chinese；　but　our　family　wanted　the
tunnel　very　badly。　She　died　soon　and　he　married　a　good　Mexican　girl。　The　tunnel　is　ours　now；　as
is　only　just。　The　Chinese　are　very　good　smugglers；　but　they　are　not　very　good　Mexicans。”
The　atmosphere　was　neither　fresh　nor　stale。　It　had　a　peculiar；　dense　taste　to　it；　as　though　the
same　air　had　been　there　since　the　tunnel　was　built。
“How　deep　are　we？”　asked　Vanessa。
“Deep　enough　to　die　if　the　tunnel　gives　way；”　said　Refugio。
The　tunnel　walls　seemed　to　lean　in；　absorbing　light　and　sound。　Refugio’s　voice　was　clear；　but　it
did　not　carry　as　well　as　it　should　have。　The　air　was　thick；　flat；　deadening；　yet　the　lamps　still
burned　with　a　muddy　yellow　flame。　Suddenly　the　walls　changed　from　aggregate　to　wood；　a　dark
hallway　more　than　150　feet　long。　Sand　that　had　seeped　and　trickled　between　the　timbers　lay　in
small　drifts　across　the　floor　and　grated　beneath　their　feet。
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“This　is　the　bottom　of　an　old　river。　The　ground　is　very　soft。　More　than　thirty　Chinese　were
buried　alive　here　before　they　finally　brought　in　timber　from　the　north　of　California。　They　had
many　Chinese；　you　see；　but　very　little　wood。”
In　the　silence　it　seemed　that　they　could　hear　individual　grains　of　sand　sifting　between　cracked
timbers；　and　the　wood　itself　sighing　under　the　interminable　burden　of　heavy　earth。
Beyond　the　shored…up　section；　the　floor　ascended　steadily。　Walking　became　more　difficult。
Pebbles　rolled　beneath　their　feet　as　they　climbed　back　toward　the　surface。　At　the　foot　of　a　short
stairway；　Refugio　pulled　hard　several　times　on　a　dirty　cord　that　was　strung　along　the　wall。
When　he　turned　away　from　the　wall；　the　light　from　the　lamp　he　was　carrying　washed　over
Vanessa。　The　thick　yellow　glow　and　velvet　shadows　mellowed　her　brittle　beauty。　Refugio
stopped；　caught　by　the　unexpected　softness　of　her　body　in　the　light。　He　stared　at　her　with　eyes
that　were　as　intrusive　as　hands。　Vanessa　ignored　him。
After　another　long　look；　Refugio　led　Vanessa　and　Masarek　up　the　stairs；　through　a　short
passageway　and　into　a　room　that　resembled　a　wine　cellar。　Instead　of　a　trapdoor　in　the　ceiling；
the　exit　was　a　full…sized　door　set　in　the　far　wall。　The　door　was　heavily　carved　and　lacked　anything
resembling　a　handle。　Refugio　waited　several　moments；　then　swore　beneath　his　breath。
Shielding　the　door　with　his　body；　Refugio　pushed　against　the　wood　in　several　places　at　once。
With　a　click；　the　door　swung　slightly　toward　him。　From　the　other　side　of　the　door；　a　shaft　of
blue…white　light　fell　over　them；　dimming　the　lanterns　into　insignificant　yellow　puddles。　Refugio
opened　the　door　all　the　way。
“Welcome　to　the　United　States；”　he　said；　smiling　and　gesturing　toward　the　hard　white　light
made　by　electricity　rather　than　kerosene。　“Jucumba；　California。”
Masarek　went　through　the　door　first；　relieved　to　be　out　of　the　tunnel。　Vanessa　followed；　looking
around　carefully；　suddenly　conscious　of　the　weight　of　the　pistol　lying　inside　her　purse。
The　house　they　entered　was　an　odd　mixture　of　Mexican；　Oriental　and　American　culture。　The
eaves　curved　upward；　echoing　the　pagodas　of　China　and　Japan；　an　echo　repeated　by　the
elegantly　painted　silk　screen　that　divided　the　room。　The　hard　lights；　the　indifferently　made
furniture　and　the　picture　windows　were　American；　as　was　the　telephone　and　the　varnished　wood
cabinet　containing　a　radio。　The　curtains　and　rugs　were　distinctively　Mexican；　aflame　with　colors。
The　shrine　holding　a　gilt…and…blue　plaster　Madonna　was　also　Mexican。
A　man　appeared；　moving　slowly；　with　the　awkwardness　of　age。　When　he　came　closer；　it　was
clear　that　he　was　not　so　much　aged　as　crippled。　He　walked　as　though　his　knees　were　as　rigid　as
his　shins。　Unlike　the　Mexicans；　his　skin　was　more　red　than　brown；　though　his　hair　was　as　black　as
theirs。
“Don　Refugio；”　said　the　man　in　quick　Spanish。　“I　was　just　coming　to　open　the　door　for　you。”
Refugio　grunted。　“Verdad？　But　I　could　not　wait　all　day；　so　I　opened　the　door　myself。　You　are
getting　too　slow　for　even　this　job。”
“No；　no；”　said　the　man。　“I　am　not　too　slow。”　To　prove　his　words；　he　ran　three　shuffling　steps
across　the　room。　“See；　don　Refugio？　I　am　very　fast。”
Refugio　shrugged　and　turned　away。　“Stay　fast；　viejo。　I　have　no　other　jobs　for　a　cripple。”　Refugio
switched　to　English　for　the　benefit　of　the　two　foreigners。　“That　man　is　Ridgewalker。　He　used　to
be　an　Apache　and　a　smuggler。　Now　he　is　an　old　woman　with　no　knees。”
Masarek　looked　at　Refugio；　then　at　the　Indian　whom　age　had　robbed　of　quickness　and　pride。
“Send　them　all　away；”　he　said。　“I　won’t　discuss　business　in　the　presence　of　servants。”
Masarek’s　voice　was　hard；　his　body　relaxed。　Being　above　ground　had　regenerated　his
confidence。　Refugio　sent　his　men　away　with　three　curt　words　in　Spanish。　After　the　men　were
gone；　he　leaned　against　the　carved　door　until　it　clicked　into　place。　When　closed；　the　door
blended　into　a　wall　of　carved　panels　that　depicted　mountains　and　waterfalls　and　elegant　trees
bending　beneath　an　invisible　wind。
Vanessa　walked　to　a　heavily　curtained　window。　She　pulled　the　cloth　aside　slight