Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第23部分

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The　Bay　Bridge　loomed　out　of　the　fog　ahead。　Cars　flowed　on　and　off　freely；　for　traffic　was　not
yet　at　its　morning　peak。　No　troops　guarded　the　approach　or　the　spans　rising　out　of　the　mercury
Bay。
Masarek　measured　the　Bay　Bridge　with　the　eye　of　an　engineer；　looking　for　vulnerable　spots　and
calculating　the　amount　of　explosives　needed　to　bring　it　down。　“They　make　it　easy　for　their
enemies；”　he　murmured。
“Maybe　they’re　just　playing　with　us；”　said　Refugio。　“Maybe　all　this　is　like　the　fat　worm　hiding　the
steel　hook。”
Masarek　smiled。　“Their　grandchildren　will　speak　Russian。”
Refugio　yawned　again；　then　removed　one　hand　from　the　wheel　to　rub　his　eyes。　Masarek　watched
the　hand；　but　his　gun　no　longer　moved　to　follow　Refugio’s　every　twitch。　Once　Masarek　had　put
their　weapons　under　his　feet；　he　had　relaxed　slightly。
Both　Salvador　and　Lopez　knew　that　any　move　toward　Masarek　would　result　in　Refugio’s　death。
As　Refugio　was　their　patron；　their　cousin；　their　half…sister’s　brother…in…law；　and　their　brains；　they
waited　for　his　signal。　When　it　came；　they　would　do　their　best　to　kill　Masarek　before　he　could　kill
Refugio。
Until　then；　they　sat　in　the　back　of　the　van　on　a　cold　floor　with　a　dead　man　and　two　odd　chunks
of　metal；　each　wrapped　in　separate　laundry　bags。　The　dead　man　stank　of　feces；　and　the　metal
slithered　about　with　every　movement　of　the　swaying　van。
“I’ll　have　to　change　lanes　soon；”　said　Refugio；　“unless　you　want　me　to　drive　past　the　waterfront
and　then　come　back。”
Masarek　leaned　over　to　check　Refugio’s　side　mirror。　At　first　Refugio　had　thought　that　such　a
move　would　give　him　a　chance　to　kill　Masarek；　but　every　time　Masarek　leaned；　the　pistol’s
bulbous　silencer　dug　intimately　into　Refugio’s　groin。　He　was　not　going　to　risk　his　manhood　for　a
chop　at　Masarek’s　neck。
Three　against　one　with　a　gun。　A　Mexican　stand…off　of　sorts。　Refugio　smiled　wryly。　In　all　such
contests；　the　victory　went　to　the　wary。
Masarek　leaned　back。　The　motion　removed　the　gun；　but　did　not　change　its　target。　“Get　off　the
bridge。　Go　directly　to　the　waterfront。　I’ll　tell　you　where　to　stop。　Remember。　No　sudden　stops
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or　turns。”
“I’ll　remember；”　said　Refugio；　feeling　the　sweat　that　came　to　his　face　each　time　the　gun　poked　at
his　crotch。　“But　what　if　one　of　these　tired　little　shopgirls　crashes　into　a　third　little　clerk　and　I
have　to　stand　hard　on　the　brakes？”
“Then　you’re　dead。”
“You’re　an　unreasonable　man；”　said　Refugio；　but　he　said　it　in　Spanish。　Kestrel　had　warned　him
not　to　underestimate　Masarek　merely　because　the　Russian　took　orders　from　a　woman。　Refugio
wished　he　had　given　more　thought　to　Kestrel’s　words。
Refugio　waited　for　an　opening　before　changing　lanes　slowly；　cautiously。　It　galled　him　to　drive
like　a　timid　girl；　treating　red　lights　and　speed　zones　as　though　they　were　serious　matters　instead
of　markers　in　a　game　of　skill　and　nerve。　Nonetheless；　he　drove　like　an　American；　for　Masarek’s
gun　was　never　far　away。
The　fog　was　lighter　in　color　new；　more　dove　than　steel；　but　still　a　dense　exhalation　concealing
the　morning。　Cars　parked　a　half…block　away　were　invisible。　Nearby　cars　were　studded　with
moisture　that　gathered　and　ran　in　eccentric　streaks。
“Left；”　said　Masarek。　Then；　as　the　van　completed　the　turn；　“Right　at　the　next　corner。”
Refugio　drove　the　van　through　two　turns；　both　times　a　bit　fast；　testing　Masarek。　The　Russian
said　nothing。　He　was　intent　on　the　side　mirrors　and　the　cars　parked　along　the　street。
“Right　again。”
The　van　bumped　over　rough；　foggy　streets　which　paralleled　the　factories；　warehouses　and
storage　yards　of　the　waterfront。
“Almost　there？”　asked　Refugio；　stressing　the　word　“almost。”　He　wanted　to　look　over　his
shoulder　at　Salvador　but　did　not　dare。
Salvador　picked　up　the　verbal　cue。　He　grumbled　about　the　rough　ride　and　shifted　to　a　kneeling
position　as　though　to　ease　his　cramped　legs。　Masarek　glanced　back　at　him；　but　said　nothing。　The
movement　seemed　natural　enough。
Suddenly　the　van　swayed　as　Refugio　swerved　around　a　pothole　and　then　braked　sharply。
Salvador　sprawled　forward；　swearing　bitterly　in　Spanish。　The　canvas　bags　containing　the
uranium　skidded　toward　the　front　of　the　van；　touching　and　rebounding　off　one　another　in　an
invisible　flowering　of　energy。　Masarek’s　gun　wavered；　then　returned　to　Refugio’s　groin　with
enough　force　to　make　the　Mexican　wince。
“Be　careful！”
Salvador　pulled　himself　upright。　The　long…armed　Mexican　was　closer　to　the　front　of　the　truck
now；　kneeling　rather　than　sitting；　a　killer　in　blue　jeans　whose　fingers　ached　to　feel　the　slim　cold
bars　of　the　garrot　as　it　sliced　through　flesh。
Slowly；　casually；　his　thumb　hooked　into　his　belt　buckle；　ready　to　grab　and　twist；　freeing　the　razor
wire　in　a　single　ripping　motion。
Wanting　to　look　back；　knowing　he　must　not；　Refugio　drove　along　the　uneven　street。　The
moment　to　consummate　Kestrel’s　plan　was　drawing　closer　with　each　turn　of　the　tires；　but　he　did
not　know　which　car　concealed　Vanessa’s　polished　blond　hair。　Was　it　the　black　one　with　the
broken　window　or　the　faded　red　one　with　a　crumpled　fender？　Or　was　she　even　here？
Refugio　had　to　force　his　hands　to　relax　on　the　wheel。　Like　a　wild　animal；　Masarek　had　a　sixth
sense　for　danger；　sniffing　and　listening；　head　turning；　eyes　probing；　but　most　of　all　listening；
always　listening。
“Can　I　tell　my　men　what　we’re　looking　for？”　asked　Refugio；　willing　his　voice　to　be　casual。　“Even
from　back　there；　they　could　help　you。”
“One　word　of　Spanish　and　I’ll　blow　your　balls　off。”
Refugio　shrugged；　concealing　a　surge　of　rage。　He　had　planned　for　something　like　this　while
Vanessa　talked　on　the　phone　to　her　San　Francisco　spy　and　Masarek　watched　and　listened。
Always　listening；　that　one。　A　wild　animal。　Killing　him　would　not　be　a　sin；　not　like　killing　a　real
person。
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On　the　left　was　a　white　van　with　its　engine　compartment　open　and　a　single　red　rose　painted　on
its　side。　Refugio’s　hands　gripped　the　wheel；　his　knuckles　showing　pale　yellow。　Masarek　noticed
neither　the　sudden　tension　nor　the　parked　flower　truck；　for　he　had　just　spotted　Vanessa’s　car。
“There！”　he　exclaimed。
“Como？”　said　Refugio　with　a　guilty　start。
“The　dark　green　car。”
There　were　three　dark　cars　within　view；　all　parked　on　his　side　of　the　street。
“Which　one？”
“Slow　down！　There！　Third　car　on　the　right。　See　the　red　blanket？”
Refugio　slowed　to　a　crawl；　peering　out　the　windshield。　He　spotted　the　car　with　a　blanket　shoved
carelessly　onto　the　rear…window　ledge；　blocking　most　of　the　window。
“Where　is　the　woman？”　asked　Refugio。　Kestrel　would　be　very　angry　if　Vanessa　were　not
captured　for　questioning。　He　could　not　even　set　Salvador　onto　Masarek　until　Vanessa　was　within
easy　reach。
“Stop　next　to　the　car；　wait　for　a　moment　and　then　park　ahead　of　her。　She’ll　wait　in　the　car　for
us。”
Refugio　followed　the　instructions；　turning　as　though　to　peer　into　the　car。　Out　of　the　corner　of
his　eye　he　saw　Salvador；　who　was　not　quite　close　enough　to　the　Russian　to　be　certain　–　and
Refugio　wanted　Masarek’s　death　to　be　very　certain　indeed。
Refugio　pulled　even　with　the　green　car。　Vanessa’s　face　appeared　briefly　in　the　side　window。
“Good；”　grunted　Masarek。　“Now　park　up　ahead。”
Refugio　pulled　forward；　jerking　the　van　when　he　let　out　the　clutch。　His　clumsiness　covered
Salvador’s　forward　creep。　Only　a　few　inches；　but　it　was　all　Salvador　could　safely　manage。
As　Refugio　angled　the　van　toward　the　curb；　he　knew　the　time　to　attack　had　come。　He　wished　to
every　saint　he　had　ever　known　that　a　gun　were　not　pointed　between　his　legs。　But　it　must　be　now；
while　Masarek’s　mind　was　divided　between　Vanessa　and　the　men　in　the　van。
“Masarek。”
It　was　the　first　time　Refugio　had　spoken　Masarek’s　name　since　they　had　left　Hunters　Point。　It　was
meant　to　be　the　last。
Salvador’s　garrot　sang　free　of’his　belt　as　he　lunged　for　Masarek。　The　Russian　turned　at　the
unexpected　sound　even　as　his　hand　started　to　squeeze　the　trigger。　Refugio’s　fist　lashed　out；
trying　to　knock　away　the　gun；　but　it　was　like　trying　to　bend　stone。
Only　the　garrot　saved　Refugio；　the　razor　wire　tightening　with　a　jerk　that　yanked　Masarek
off…balance　a　fraction。　Not　much；　hardly　a　finger’s　width；　merely　the　difference　between　a　bullet
through　his　thigh　and　a　bullet　through　his　balls。
Refugio　bellowed　like　a　gored　bull；　but　he　held　on　to　Masarek’s　hand　and　gun。　He　bellowed
again；　straining　against　the　Russian’s　strength。　They　were　locked　together；　clawing　for　control　of
the　silenced　gun。
The　first　snap　of　Salvador’s　wrists　failed　to　kill　Masarek。　In　the　split　instant　before　the　garrot
closed；　Masarek　had　jammed　his　left　hand　between　the　razor　wire　and　the　vulnerable　flesh　of　his
neck。
The　garrot　bit　deeply　into　Masarek’s　hand；　drawing　blood　from　a　cut　so　fine　that　for　an　instant
the　Russian　did　not　even　feel　it。　When　wire　met　bone；　Salvador’s　momentum　was　broken。
Masarek　tried　to　turn　the　gun　back　on　Salvador；　but　Refugio　held　on　despite　his　wound；
preventing　Masarek　from　shooting　the　man　whose　cruel　hands　were　sawing　on　the　wire。
Lopez　leaped　into　the　fight；　grabbing　for　the　bulbous　silencer。　The　gun　was　forced　upward　just
as　it　coughed　once；　then　again；　clearing　its　throat　of　two　deadly　bits　of　metal。　One　penetrated　the
sheet　metal　ceiling；　the　other　struck　a　strut　and　rebounded；　tearing　through　Lopez’s　face。　He
screamed　and　staggered；　one　eye　gone。　He　dropped　to　his　knees；　clawing　at　his　face。　He　was
dead　before　his　forehead　bounced　off　the　van’s　floor。
The　gun　hawked　twice　more；　sending　bullets　screaming　off　metal　surfaces。　Salvador　yanked　on
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the　thin　wire；　struggling　to　pull　the　garrot　through　the　bone　in　Masarek’s　thumb　and　then
through　the　flesh　on　his　neck。
The　muzzle　of　the　pistol　wove　erratically；　a　blind　black　eye。　Sweat　ran　down　Salvador’s　face　and
his　heavy　arms　bulged　as　he　pulled　against　the　stubborn　bone。　The　razor　wire　jerked；　found　new
purchase　on　the　thumb　joint；　and　sliced　through　to　Masarek’s　neck。　Gagging　helplessly；　he
jerked　the　trigger　again　and　again。　Bullets　grazed　Salvador’s　hand；　but　the　pressure　on　Masarek’s
neck　did　not　lessen。
Refugio　felt　his　own　strength　give　way　to　pain；　but　he　clung　to　the　Russian’s　arm；　spoiling　the
assassin’s　aim。　Desperately；　Masarek　tried　to　throw　himself　up　and　over　the　back　of　the　seat；
bringing　himself　closer　to　Salvador　and　thereby　easing　the　bite　of　the　wire。　But　his　movement
gave　Refugio　the　leverage　he　needed。　He　forced　the　pistol　back　on　its　owner。　Masarek’s　twisting
struggle　could　not　evade　the　bullet　that　tore　through　his　throat；　killing　him。
Breathing　rapidly；　Salvador　wiped　sweat　and　blood　from　his　face。　His　arms　hung　like　bags　of
sand　and　his　fingers　were　numb。　Never　had　it　taken　so　long　to　kill　a　man。　Never　had　one　of　his
victims　died　so　hard。
“Are　you　all　right；　Refugio？”　asked　Salvador；　looking　away　from　Masarek；　remembering　where
the　first　bullet　had　been　aimed。　“Refugio？”
“The　woman！”　gasped　Refugio。　“We　must　get　the　woman！”
Hunters　Point
3　Hours　10　Minutes　After　Trinity
Coughlan’s　footsteps　had　stopped　short　of　the　corpse。　He　flipped　Finn’s　credentials　at　him
without　meeting　Finn’s　eyes。　The　FBI　agent’s　lips　were　puckered　as　though　he　were　chewing　on
quinine。　He　fa