Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第32部分

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“I　was；　until　the　Red　Cross　told　me　my　father　was　dying。　I’ve　been　on　the　road　ever　since。　It’s　all
here　in　the　compassionate　leave　papers。”
Kestrel　removed　a　sheaf　of　travel　orders　from　his　uniform　coat。　The　MP　waved　away　the
papers。
“That’s　not　necessary；”　said　the　MP。　“Remember；　you’re　in　Texas　now。　You　guys　from　the
454th　are　real　heroes　here　since　you　pulled　the　36th　out　of　that　hole　in　Italy。　Most　of　the　guys　in
the　36th　were　Texans。”　He　waved　his　hand　toward　a　quonset　hut　a　hundred　feet　inside　the　gate。
“Show　your　papers　to　the　officer　of　the　day。　His　office　is　right　over　there。　Good　luck；　sir。　I　hope
you’re　in　time　to　see　your　father。”
Kestrel　saluted。　“Thank　you；　Corporal。　I　hope　so　too。”
Inside　the　quonset　hut；　a　large　fan　circulated　hot　air　with　enough　force　to　slam　shut　the　plywood
door　behind　Kestrel。　A　bareheaded　private　in　a　rumpled　uniform　glanced　up　from　a　newspaper。
He　looked　at　the　captain’s　bars　on　Kestrel’s　uniform；　then　at　his　face；　then　at　his　bars　again。　The
private　half…rose；　half…saluted　and　called　over　his　shoulder。
“Lieutenant！　Company！”
A　crew…cut　head　appeared　over　a　partition。　The　lieutenant　was　scowling。　His　expression　changed
when　he　saw　Kestrel　standing　at　ease；　his　officer’s　insignia　shining　in　the　dim　light　of　the　hut。
There　was　the　sound　of　a　chair　scuffing　across　the　floor　and　hurried　footsteps。
The　officer　of　the　day　was　a　young；　very　short　first　lieutenant　whose　uniform　was　correct　in　every
detail。
“Lieutenant　Green；　sir；”　he　said；　stepping　forward。　“What　can　I　do　for　you？”
Kestrel　returned　the　salute　and　then　shook　hands；　remembering　to　add　enough　pressure　to
satisfy　American　standards　of　manhood。　“I　was　hoping　to　catch　a　ride　home　on　one　of　your
planes；”　he　said；　handing　over　the　forged　papers。
Lieutenant　Green　scanned　Kestrel’s　orders；　clicking　his　tongue　sympathetically　when　he　came　to
the　reasons　for　the　compassionate　leave。
“Captain；　it’s　never　been　my　pleasure　before　to　serve　an　Oriental　member　of　my　country’s
Army；　but　I　can　assure　you　it　will　be　my　pleasure　now。”　He　moved　to　one　side　so　that　he　could
see　the　Torch　of　Freedom　shoulder　patches　on　Kestrel’s　uniform：　“454th；　isn’t　it？”　he　asked。
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“Yes。”
“Then；　sir；　it　is　indeed　a　pleasure　to　serve　you。　Your　unit　is　one　of　the　most　famous　in　the　entire
Army；　white　or　Oriental。　Your　men　taught　the　world　what　courage　is。　You　proved　you　weren’t
yellow。”
Kestrel　was　amused　in　spite　of　himself　by　the　earnest　young　officer。　“But　we　are；　Lieutenant。”
The　lieutenant’s　eyes　widened。　“What　do　you　–　oh！　Uh；　that’s　not　what　I　meant　at　all；　sir！”
“I　know　exactly　what　you　meant；　Lieutenant。　All　men　are　the　same　color　in　a　foxhole。”
“Exactly；　sir。”
“About　that　plane　ride…？”
The　lieutenant　turned　to　the　private。　“Call　the　flight　line。　See　if　that　C…47　has　left　yet。　And　move
it；　Private！”
The　private　obeyed　with　a　lack　of　enthusiasm　that　was　just　short　of　insolence。　The　lieutenant
appeared　not　to　notice。
“Flight’s　taxiing　out　now；　sir；”　drawled　the　private　finally。
“Hold　the　plane！”　snapped　Lieutenant　Green。　“Tell　them　we　have　a　top…priority　officer　–　a
gallant　member　of　our　Nisei　Battalion。”
The　private　and　the　first　lieutenant　exchanged　a　long　look。　Then；　in　a　disgusted　voice；　the　private
spoke　into　the　phone。　“Hold　on；　Sarge。　We’ve　got　a　Jap　bumming　a　ride。”
Oakland
6　Hours　37　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　morgue　was　like　every　other　government　building　Finn　had　ever　been　in。　Ugly。
Battleship…gray　walls；　dull　linoleum　floors；　dirty　ceilings　hung　with　rows　of　cold　lights；　and　air
that　smelled　used　up。　He　hurried　down　a　long　stretch　of　corridor。　The　cold　room　at　the　end　of
the　hall　was　empty。　A　sign　on　the　desk　said；　OUT　TO　LUNCH。
“Now　what？”　said　Riley；　looking　with　distaste　at　rank　upon　rank　of　drawers　the　size　of　shallow
coffins。　“Just　grab　handles　and　start　pulling　out　stiffs？”
Finn　put　the　radiation　counter　on　the　desk　and　began　fiddling　with　the　adjustments。　Like　the　。45
in　the　small　of　his　back；　the　counter　had　become　a　part　of　him。
“Try　the　files；”　said　Finn。　“Look　under　Ching　Han　Lo。　That’s　the　name　on　the　dead　driver’s
license。　The　others　are　John　Does　and　could　be　filed　anywhere。”
Finn　turned　on　the　radiation　counter。　He　moved　the　probe　in　long　seeping　lines；　up　one　bank　of
drawers　and　down　another。　He　had　covered　one　wall　when　Riley　looked　up。
“It’s　not　under　Ching。”
Finn　moved　over　to　the　long　wall　and　continued　his　search　pattern。　Even　with　the　counter　on　its
most　sensitive　setting；　he　could　not　be　sure　that　the　bodies　would　register。　They　might　not　have
absorbed　enough　radiation　to　be　picked　up　through　the　steel　drawers。
“Not　under　Han。”
Finn　grunted　and　continued　his　search。　As　the　number　of　drawers　diminished；　Finn　began　to
steel　himself　for　an　extended　rummage　through　drawers　full　of　death。
“Not　under　Lo。”
Riley　slammed　the　file　drawer　in　digust。
A　sudden　soft　clicking　came　from　the　radiation　counter。　Then　the　clicks　became　harder；　faster；
like　a　toy　train　careening　around　a　track。　Riley　went　over　to　Finn。
The　probe　moved　over　four　drawers；　hesitating　at　each　one；　then　returning。
“Twenty…four　through　27；”　said　Finn。
Riley　reached　for　the　handle　of　drawer　24。　The　drawer　slid　out　with　a　squeal　of　steel　discs　on
steel　tracks。　The　counter’s　clicks　ran　together　in　a　rush　of　sound。　Finn　took　one　look　at　the
corpse’s　glazed；　slanting　eyes　and　shut　the　drawer。　For　Finn’s　purposes；　the　driver　was　the　least
interesting　of　the　four　bodies；　victim　rather　than　criminal。
“Was　that　the　driver？”　asked　Riley。
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“Yeah。　That　was　the　easy　one。”
Number　25　was　a　one…eyed　Mexican。　Finn　swept　the　probe　over　his　body。　The　counter　clicks　ran
together　into　an　angry　buzz。
“This　one　was　lucky；”　said　Finn；　looking　at　the　corpse；　then　at　the　reading　on　the　counter。
“Lucky？”　said　Riley　tightly；　trying　not　to　see　too　much　of　what　had　once　been　a　man’s　left　eye。
“Just　how　do　you　figure　that？”
“Bullets　are　quick。”　Finn　squinted　at　the　face。　Something　about　the　man　was　familiar。　“Cover　his
eye　with　the　sheet。”
“It　doesn’t　bother　me。”
“Not　for　you；　Red。　For　me。”
Riley　jerked　up　the　sheet。　Finn　rearranged　it　until　the　right　half　of　the　head　was　revealed。
Without　the　gaping　wound；　the　face　looked　normal　except　for　the　random　smears　of　dried
blood。
“Know　him？”　said　Riley；　understanding　finally　why　Finn　had　wanted　the　eye　socket　covered。
“Maybe。　There　are　a　lot　like　him　along　the　border。”
Finn　rolled　shut　the　drawer　and　opened　number　26。　Beneath　the　sheet　was　a　blunt…faced；
broad…shouldered　man　with　powerful　arms。　His　eyes　and　hair　were　not　much　darker　than　Finn’s；
and　his　hands　made　the　radiation　counter　sing。
Finn　pulled　up　the　sheet；　covering　the　bullet　wounds　on　the　torso　and　the　vaguely　surprised
expression　on　the　face。　“Adiós；　Salvador；”　he　said。
“Salvador？”
“Salvador　Leon　–　smuggler；　bodyguard；　murderer　and　all…around　sweetheart。　He　works　for　a
Mexican　crook　called　Refugio　Reyes　y　Rincón。”　The　pattern　was　becoming　more　clear　now。　The
bodies　were　like　tracks　–　physical　facts　devoid　of　emotion　and　politics　and　the　exigence　of　war。
They　were　something　he　could　depend　on。
“What　the　hell　are　these　Mexicans　doing　all　the　way　up　here？”
“The　usual。　Theft；　murder；　smuggling。”
“What　about　that　other　guy　–　Masarek　–　whose　ID　was　in　the　sentry’s　hand？”
“He　hired　Refugio；　most　likely。”
“But　why？　The　job　was　in　San　Francisco；　not　Mexico。”
Finn　looked　at　Riley’s　pale；　earnest　face。　“You’re　from　the　Midwest；　right？”
“Chicago。”
Finn　nodded。　“Ever　been　to　the　border？”
“No。”
“Well；　it’s　not　some　God…given　black　line　stretching　across　the　continent。　Mexicans　have　been
ignoring　that　border　for　centuries；　and　up　until　a　few　years　ago；　so　did　we。　Take　Refugio。　His
family　has　been　working　from　San　Francisco　to　Culiacán　for　at　least　a　hundred　years。　I　know；
because　my　father’s　family　has　been　chasing　them　for　at　least　that　long。”
Finn　smiled。　“They’ve　caught　a　few；　too。　But　the　point　is　that　Refugio；　like　most　Mexicans；　has
cousins　and　inlaws　and　uncles　who　are　American　citizens　living　everywhere　from　El　Paso　to　San
Francisco。　He　even　has　some　Chinese　and　Japanese　thrown　in　along　the　line。　He’s　one　of　the　few
Mexicans　who　can　get　in　and　out　of　Barrio　Chino　without　an　uproar。”
“Now；”　continued　Finn；　“if　you　wanted　to　come　into　America　without　a　passport；　steal
something　and　then　smuggle　it　back　to　Mexico；　and　from　there　across　the　Gulf　to　the　Atlantic；
and　from　there　to　Russia　–　“
“I’d　hire　a　man　who　knows　his　way　around；”　finished　Riley。
“Refugio；　or　someone　like　him；”　agreed　Finn。　“Nobody　knows　his　way　around　like　Refugio。”
“Is　that　how　he　ended　up　here？”　said　Riley；　tapping　drawer　number　27。
“I’m　not　sure　he　did。”
The　drawer　came　out　smoothly。　There　was　some　radiation；　but　not　nearly　as　much　as　Salvador
and　the　other　man　had　shown。
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Finn　shut　off　the　counter；　set　it　down　and　pulled　aside　the　sheet。　The　corpse’s　eyes　and　tongue
protruded　grotesquely。　The　razor　wire　was　still　embedded　in　the　purple　flesh　of　the　neck；
swinging　with　the　forward　motion　of　the　drawer。　Just　below　the　right　ear　was　an　old　scar　left　by
crude　surgery　to　relieve　mastoiditis。
Finn　had　seen　all　he　needed。　otion　of　his　wrist；　he　covered　the　obscene　remains　of
the　Russian　spy。
Riley　had　his　back　turned　and　was　breathing　through　clenched　teeth。　When　he　heard　the　drawer
close；　he　turned　around　again。　His　skin　was　very　white；　almost　transparent；　and　covered　with　a
cold　mist　of　sweat。
“Masarek；”　said　Finn；　indicating　the　closed　drawer。
“Christ；”　said　Riley　between　his　teeth。　“How　could　you　tell？”
“Scar；”　said　Finn；　pointing　to　his　own　neck。　“He　must　have　had　a　lot　of　earaches　as　a　kid。　Too
bad　the　doctor’s　knife　didn’t　slip。”
Riley　said　nothing。　He　swallowed　hard。　Without　a　word；　Finn　grabbed　Riley　and　hustled　him
down　the　hall。
“Get　it　over　with；”　commanded　Finn；　kicking　open　the　restroom　door　and　shoving　Riley
through。
Finn　went　back　to　the　cold　room；　retrieved　the　radiation　counter　and　walked　down　the　hall
again。　Riley　came　out　of　the　restroom；　wiping　his　face　with　a　wet　paper　towel。
“Sorry。”
“You’ve　still　got　your　socks　on；”　said　Finn。　“That’s　better　than　I　did　the　first　time　around。”
Finn　turned　and　began　retracing　his　steps　to　the　lobby。　Riley　followed　him　down　the　hall　and　up
a　flight　of　stairs　in　companionable　silence。
“What　next？”　said　Riley；　looking　around　the　lobby。
“An　APB　on　Refugio　Reyes　y　Rincón。”
“What　if　he’s　in　Mexico？”
“I’d　be　damn　grateful；”　Finn　said。　“Mexicans　aren’t　as　genteel　about　questioning　people　as　we
are。　Saves　all　kinds　of　time。”
“I’ll　bet；”　said　Riley。　“And　after　the　APB？”
“I　don’t　know。”
Finn　walked　the　rest　of　the　hall　in　silence；　arranging　the　few　immutable　facts　he　possessed　in　their
most　likely　configuration。　Masarek；　Refugio　and　his　Mexican　hirelings　had　penetrated　Hunters
Point　and　stolen　the　two　deadly　chunks　of　metal。　Then　there　had　been　a　falling　out。　Masarek　had
been　killed；　but　not　before　he　killed　two　of　Refugio’s　men。　Someone　had　been　waiting　for　the
truck　on　the　waterfront　–　the　blond　woman；　probably。