Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第10部分

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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　o