Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第26部分

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canvas。　The　cloth　blushed　with　a　vague　blue　light。　The　heavier　sack　slipped　out　of　his　grasp。　The
blue　light　faded。
“Refugio？”　asked　Ana　again。
“　Yes；”　he　said　wearily。　“　Come　to　the　back　of　the　van。”
Refugio　opened　the　back　door　just　enough　to　hand　out　the　sack　containing　the　smaller　piece　of
uranium。
“Put　it　in　your　truck。”
Ana　reached　for　the　bag　before　she　realized　that　the　hand　holding　it　was　smeared　with　blood。
“You’re　hurt。”
“The　bag！”　said　Refugio　savagely。　“Take　it！”
Ana　snatched　the　bag；　flung　it　into　the　flower　truck　and　ran　back　just　as　Refugio　was　trying　to
climb　out　the　rear　of　the　laundry　truck。　Her　horrified　glance　went　from　his　leg　to　the　corpses　in
the　van。　She　closed　her　eyes　and　did　not　open　them　until　she　turned　her　back　on　the　bloody　van。
“Can　you　walk？”　she　asked。
“Take　the　bag。”
The　second　laundry　sack　was　heavier　than　the　first　had　been；　and　liberally　smeared　with　blood。
Ana　flung　the　bag　into　the　flower　truck；　slammed　the　door　shut　and　rushed　back　to　help
Refugio。
The　second　bag　thumped　to　a　rest　against　a　wicker　flower　stand　in　the　rear　of　the　truck。　The　first
bag　lay　partway　under　the　passenger　seat。　Only　gray　light　relieved　the　gloomy　interior　of　the　van。
In　the　distance　sirens　keened。　Ana　remembered　the　night　watchman。　She　had　no　doubt　that　the
sirens　were　coming　to　the　waterfront；　they　were　drawn　by　death　as　unerringly　as　vultures
spiraling　down　hot　desert　air。
With　a　strength　that　surprised　Refugio；　she　boosted　him　into　the　passenger　seat　of　the　flower
truck；　slammed　shut　the　engine　compartment　and　leaped　into　the　driver’s　seat。
The　van　turned　around　and　raced　along　the　waterfront。　Ana　did　not　notice　the　car　parked　along
the　street　leading　to　the　bridge；　nor　the　driver　blotting　up　blood　that　dripped　into　her　eyes；
making　driving　more　dangerous　than　hiding。
When　the　cream…colored　van　loomed　out　of　the　fog；　Vanessa　thought　that　Refugio　had　followed
her　to　finish　her　off。　She　grabbed　her　reloaded　pistol　and　aimed　toward　the　driver’s　side　of　the
oncoming　van。　Refugio　would　have　to　slow　down　to　get　off　a　telling　shot。　When　he　slowed；　she
would　fire。
The　van　swept　by　without　pausing；　but　not　before　Vanessa　recognized　the　man　slumped　against
the　window　–　Refugio。　Automatically　she　memorized　the　truck’s　license　plate。　When　the　van
turned　the　corner；　she　followed；　trying　to　keep　the　van　in　sight　without　revealing　her　own
presence。　Mist　and　morning　traffic　defeated　her。　Before　she　reached　the　Bay　Bridge；　the　van　had
disappeared　into　fog　that　would　not　burn　off　until　noon。
Vanessa　turned　the　car　toward　the　waterfront；　wondering　where　Masarek　was　and　whether　he
was　still　alive。　How　had　Refugio　escaped　him？　Where　had　the　second　truck　come　from；　and　who
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had　driven　Refugio　away？　But　most　of　all　–　where　was　the　uranium？
Sirens　ululated　through　the　mist；　converging　on　the　waterfront。　A　police　car　ran　a　stop　sign　at
right　angles　to　Vanessa’s　car　and　roared　down　the　street　leading　to　the　Good　Luck　laundry　van。
A　second　squad　car　quickly　followed。　She　eased　out　into　the　intersection　until　she　could　see　the
van。　Both　squad　cars　jerked　to　a　stop　near　it。　Policemen　leaped　out；　guns　drawn。　They　yanked
open　the　van’s　doors。　No　shots　were　fired。　No　one　came　out　of　it。
Vanessa　drove　by　the　entrance　to　the　waterfront。　If　Masarek　were　in　the　van　there　was　nothing
she　could　do　for　him。　If　the　uranium　were　there　–　Resolutely；　she　examined　the　possibilities　of
the　situation。　Either　Masarek　was　alive　and　had　escaped　with　the　uranium；　in　which　case　he
would　call　the　prearranged　number　to　re…establish　contact　with　her；　or　he　was　dead　and　the
uranium　was　in　the　van。　If　the　latter　were　true；　the　uranium　was　lost　to　her　and　to　Russia；　and　she
would　soon　be　as　dead　as　Masarek。　Beria　did　not　tolerate　failures。
There　was；　however；　a　third　possibility。　Refugio　might　have　managed　to　escape　with　the
uranium。　He　had　proved　to　be　a　more　formidable　man　that　either　she　or　Masarek　expected。　But
now　she　was　warned；　she　would　find　Refugio；　kill　him　and　take　back　the　uranium。
Vanessa　nodded；　choosing　to　act　on　the　third　possibility。　She　must　find　Refugio　quickly；　before
he　realized　that　what　he　had　stolen　could　be　sold　back　to　the　Americans　for　more　money　than
his　greedy　peasant　mind　could　imagine。　The　truck　was　her　only　lead。　Somehow　she　must　trace
the　truck。
Jornada　del　Muerto；　New　Mexico
5　Hours　14　Minutes　After　Trinity
Kestrel　drove　the　narrow　desert　with　fierce　concentration。　Heat　made　his　Indio　makeup　blur
and　run；　but　there　was　no　one　close　enough　to　notice。　Even　so；　he　would　have　to　pull　off　and
change　his　clothes。　A　flimsy　disguise　was　dangerous；　and　the　need　for　this　one　was　gone。
He　sped　toward　El　Paso　and　a　public　telephone　that　he　could　use　to　call　Takagura　again。　The
telephone　call　would　be　risky　but　necessary。　He　must　have　a　reply　to　the　message　he　had　sent。　If
new　orders　had　been　issued　he　must　have　those；　too。
Perhaps　Ana　had　called　Takagura；　reporting　the　success　or　failure　of　Refugio。
Kestrel　noticed　his　speed　and　slowed　down；　watching　for　side　roads。　In　his　haste　he　had　already
become　lost　once　in　the　maze　of　dirt　tracks　threading　through　the　Jornada　del　Muerto。　He　had
bumped　around　for　a　long　time　before　he　had　found　a　road　leading　back　to　the　main　highway。
Now　he　needed　somewhere　to　hide　long　enough　to　shed　the　Indio　disguise。
He　spotted　a　windmill　and　a　dirt　road；　and　swerved　off　the　highway。　The　dirt　track　dipped　into
an　arroyo　deep　enough　to　conceal　his　car。　On　the　lip　of　the　arroyo；　the　windmill　turned　lazily；
filling　a　stock　tank　with　water　one　deliberate　revolution　at　a　time。　Scattered　cows　chewed　on
mesquite　bushes；　undisturbed　by　the　dusty　car　that　had　coasted　to　a　stop　near　the　water　tank。
Kestrel　slid　out　of　the　car　and　watched　the　dirt　track　behind　him。　Nothing　moved　but　thin
spirals　of　dust　rising　into　the　sun。　He　stripped　and　scrubbed　himself　in　the　tank　until　no　trace
remained　of　his　Indio　disguise。　The　water　was　clear　and　surprisingly　cold。　The　listless　wind　dried
him　as　he　walked　back　to　？he　car。　Kestrel　watched　the　dust　puff　beneath　his　feet　and　the　horizon
endlessly　falling　away　beneath　a　hard　blue　sky。　He　marveled　at　the　land’s　immensity　and
austerity；　its　only　inhabitants　silver　mirages　twisting　above　the　sand。
Kestrel　stood　unmoving　in　the　pouring　light；　letting　heat　draw　tension　out　of　his　body。　After　a
few　moments；　he　rolled　the　clothes　he　had　worn　and　buried　them　in　the　arroyo。　The　cattle　stared
at　him　with　languid　eyes；　then　turned　away；　more　interested　in　mesquite　beans　than　in　the
enigmatic　motions　of　man。
Dust　from　Kestrel’s　long　drive　across　the　desert　had　filtered　into　the　car’s　trunk；　but　the　clothes
inside　the　metal…bound　suitcase　were　still　clean　and　neatly　creased。　Beginning　with　cotton　GI
underwear；　Kestrel　quickly　pulled　on　the　uniform　of　an　American　captain。　He　tied　the　narrow
black　tie　in　a　knot　that　matched　the　one　in　his　ID　picture；　tucked　his　shirttail　in　his　tan　pants；
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adjusted　his　belt；　and　unwrapped　the　shiny　black　shoes。　They　were　too　wide。　He　tied　their　laces
so　tightly　the　leather　overlapped。　He　shined　the　toes　on　his　sleeve　in　an　American　gesture　he　had
acquired　from　his　college　roommate。
Smiling；　Kestrel　buffed　the　toes　one　last　time；　reassured　by　the　ease　with　which　American
mannerisms　returned　to　him。　He　knew　that　passing　for　an　American　was　a　matter　of　body
language　as　much　as　English　language。　He　had　lived　eight　years　in　America。　Its　patterns　were
embedded　in　him；　ready　to　be　used。
Today　his　life　would　depend　upon　using　them。
Kestrel　unzipped　the　worn　leather　shaving　kit　and　pulled　out　the　papers　which　established　that
he　was　Captain　Yokohama；　decorated　member　of　America’s　Nisei　Battalion；　on　emergency
leave　to　be　at　his　father’s　deathbed。　Kestrel　studied　the　print　on　his　papers　beneath　the　merciless
desert　light。　Considering　the　haste　involved；　the　papers　were　quite　good。
He　folded　the　papers　carefully　into　a　worn　GI　wallet；　hoping　they　would　fool　the　Army　Air
Corps　at　El　Paso。　He　got　back　into　the　car；　feeling　its　heat　engulf　him。　He　wondered　if　Refugio
had　killed　Masarek　yet；　and　if　Vanessa　were　tied　and　frightened　on　the　hard　floor　of　a　flower
truck；　and　how　Ana　was　accommodating　herself　to　sudden　violence。　He　wondered　what　had
been　stolen；　and　if　it　would　turn　out　to　be　worth　even　an　assassin’s　life。
With　a　roar　that　scattered　the　cattle；　Kestrel’s　car　raced　out　of　the　arroyo。
Hunters　Point
3　Hours　35　Minutes　After　Trinity
Finn　left　the　guards　at　the　front　gate　and　drove　back　toward　the　mess　hall　where　last　night’s
guards　were　eating。　The　guards　at　the　gate　had　been　less　concerned　with　checking　his　credentials
than　with　proving　that　they　were　not　responsible　for　the　breach　in　security。　Beneath　their
government…issue　starch　was　relief。　A　sentry　was　dead；　but　they　were　alive。　Some　new　weapon
may　be　missing；　but　so　what？　The　war　was　as　good　as　over。　It　was　only　a　matter　of　time。
Time；　2　million　casualties　and　a　new　Russian　world。
Finn　felt　his　anger　outstrip　his　control。　He　reminded　himself　that　the　guards　did　not　know　what
had　been　lost；　but　that　did　not　calm　him。　A　clock　in　the　back　of　his　head　hammered　relentlessly；
counting　the　minutes　until　0530；　July　18th。　He　parked　the　car　and　stalked　into　the　linoleum　and
formica　ugliness　of　a　military　mess　hall。　The　four　guards　he　wanted　were　not　hard　to　spot。　They
were　the　only　men　in　the　room　except　for　a　sailor　trailing　a　worn　broom　between　rows　of　tables。
The　men　did　not　immediately　notice　Finn。　They　were　in　a　corner　of　the　long　room；　heads　tilted
over　cups　of　coffee；　cigarets　pressed　between　their　knuckles。
Finn　waited；　sizing　up　the　men　as　he　had　once　sized　up　jungle　trails。　By　now　the　guards　had　told
and　retold　their　stories；　assuring　themselves　they　were　not　at　fault　for　the　dead　sailor　and　stolen
equipment。　He　would　have　to　shock　them　out　of　that　assurance。
Three　of　the　men　were　young；　barely　out　of　training。　The　fourth　was　several　years　older；　a　chief
petty　officer　with　the　look　of　a　man　who　knew　where　the　action　was。　Every　base　had　a　few　men
like　CPO　Diver。　Their　major　battles　were　fought　against　fellow　soldiers。
Finn’s　eyes　lingered　on　Diver。　He　looked　smart；　he　would　never　take　a　bet　he　could　not　lay　off；
just　as　he　never　would　trade　punches　with　the　local　leg　breaker。　All　that　remained　for　Finn　was
to　convince　Diver　that　all　bets　were　off；　and　Finn　was　the　local　leg　breaker。　He　walked　up　to　the
table；　put　on　a　genial　smile；　stopped　behind　the　CPO’s　chair。
“Morning。　I　was　told　you　were　on　duty　at　the　gate　last　night。　The　front　gate。”
“So　what？”　said　Diver；　without　looking　up。
“So　I　want　some　information；”　said　Finn；　still　smiling　despite　the　anger　building　in　him。　“What
moved　on　and　then　off　base　between　midnight　and　0600　that　you　didn’t　inspect？”
“Nothing；”　said　Diver；　before　any　of　the　other　men　could　speak。　He　crushed　out　his　cigaret　and
lit　another　before　he　half…turned　to　Finn。　“Not　a　damn　thing。”
Finn’s　smile　widened。　“Bitch　of　a　night；　wasn’t　it？　Rainr　and　wind　and　all。　Nights　like　that；　a
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guardhouse　gets　to　looking　homey。　Hate　to　leave　it　just　to　look　at　a　few　–　“
“We　inspected　all　thirty…seven　vehicles；”　Di