Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第34部分

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Slowly；　Vanessa　drove　by　the　flower　shop。　The　door　was　closed。　No　one　moved　behind　the
windows。　The　shop　looked　as　deserted　as　the　Reyes　Funeral　Home　that　was　next　door。　She
drove　down　the　block；　watching　the　shop　in　the　rearview　mirror。　No　one　appeared　in　the
window。
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She　wished　that　Masarek　were　alive。　Together　they　could　have　turned　the　shop　and　its　occupants
inside　out。　To…　gethcr　they　could　have　–　but　Masarek　was　dead　and　she　dared　not　contact　any
other　Russian　agents　in　the　Bay　Area　for　fear　that　they　were　under　surveillance。　She　must　protect
herself。　She　was　Russia’s　only　lead　to　the　uranium。　She　must　be　bold；　yes；　but　also　careful。
A　sign；　ROOM　FOR　RENT；　FURNISHED；　caught　her　eye。　The　room　was　on　the　second　floor
of　a　Victorian　building　across　and　down　the　street　from　the　Fragrant　Petal。　The　window　looked
like　it　would　give　a　clear　view　of　the　shop。
The　landlord　was　an　old　Mexican　with　a　heavy　accent；　a　light　handshake　and　a　pimp’s　smile。　The
room　was　dirty；　furnished　with　once…elegant　Oriental　pieces；　and　looked　as　though　it　had　been
decorated　by　a　blind　man。　But　the　room’s　view　of　the　street　was　even　better　than　Vanessa
expected。
“I’ll　take　it；”　Vanessa　said。
“When　do　you　want　to　move　in？”
“I’ll　pay　beginning　today；”　she　said；　“although　I’ll　only　need　the　room　occasionally。”
“Five　dollars　more　for　every　man　you　bring　to　your　room。”
Vanessa　nearly　laughed。　“That’s　far　too　much。　One　dollar。”
“Four。”
“Two。”
“Three…fifty；”　said　the　old　man；　settling　in　for　an　enjoyable　bargaining　session。
“One…fifty。”
Startled　by　the　unexpected　turn　of　bargaining；　the　Mexican　said　in　disbelief；　“But　that’s　less　than
your　second　offer！”
“Yes；”　agreed　Vanessa。　She　fanned　two　months’　rent　in　her　hand。　“And　if　you　don’t　take
one…fifty；　my　next　offer　will　be　even　less。”
The　landlord　reached　for　the　bills；　but　Vanessa　hung　on　to　them。　“One…fifty？”　she　said；　her　blue
eyes　wide　and　innocent。
“Yes；”　grumbled　the　man；　counting　the　money。　He　pulled　two　keys　from　his　pocket　and
slammed　them　on　a　table。　“The　telephone　is　downstairs。”
He　shut　the　door　behind　him　with　the　vigor　of　a　man　half　his　age。　Vanessa　slipped　the　deadbolt
and　went　to　the　bay　window。　It　was　covered　by　curtains　that　allowed　her　to　look　down　at　the
street　without　being　seen。　She　dragged　a　chair　over　and　began　watching　the　front　door　of　the
Fragrant　Petal。
San　Francisco
11　Hours　2　Minutes　After　Trinity
A　green　Plymouth　cab　pulled　up　a　block　away　from　the　Fragrant　Petal。
“You　sure　you　got　it　right　this　time；　buddy？”　asked　the　cabbie。
“Yes。”
Kestrel　had　made　the　cabbie　drive　around　the　block　several　times；　pretending　not　to　be　sure　of
the　location。　When　he　was　convinced　that　the　Fragrant　Petal　was　not　a　trap；　he　told　the　cabbie　to
pull　over。
“It　was　hard；”　said　Kestrel。　“So　many　changes　since　I　went　to　war。”
“Yeah。　Sure　thing。”
Kestrel　pulled　out　his　suitcase；　waited　for　the　cab　to　disappear　around　the　corner；　then　crossed
the　street　and　walked　briskly　toward　the　peeling　storefront　called　the　Fragrant　Petal。　Like　Ana；
he　deplored　the　shallow　translation。　Unlike　her；　he　did　not　denigrate　the　English　language。　It　was
a　fine　language　for　scientific　inquiry。
Inside　the　shop；　Ana　was　standing　at　her　father’s　former　worktable；　fashioning　sprays　and
wreaths。　Arranging　flowers　was　the　one　part　of　her　childhood　that　she　remembered　with
pleasure；　the　brilliant　colors　and　petal　textures　shifting　beneath　her　hands。　The　pungence　of
stems　and　greenery　had　not　changed；　nor　had　the　sweet　essence　of　petals。　Her　fingers；　however；
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had。　They　were　slow　where　they　once　had　been　quick；　awkward　where　they　once　had　been
skilled。
“Damn！”　she　muttered；　stabbing　an　errant　spray　of　scarlet　gladiolus　into　the　pottery　frog　at　the
bottom　of　the　vase。
The　thick　stem　bent；　the　flower　canted　out　at　an　awkward　angle。
“Damned　useless　thing！”　said　Ana　beneath　her　breath；　pulling　out　stems　until　the　frog　was　bare
once　more。　“The　flower　stems　are　limp　and　there　aren’t　even　any　lead　frogs。　How　can　anyone
make　anything？”
“It　would　require　patience；”　suggested　Kestrel　softly。
“Oh！”　The　pottery　frog　crashed　to　the　floor。　“Kestrel！”　she　cried。　“I　didn’t　hear　–　how　did　you
–　are　you　all　right？”
Kestrel　smiled　swiftly　and　touched　Ana’s　cheek　with　his　fingertips。　She　was　so　American；
impatient　and　transparent。　“My　name　is　Captain　Ikedo。　I’m　your　cousin　and　I’m　fine；”　said
Kestrel；　speaking　rapid　Japanese。　“But　you　call　me　Kestrel　because　as　a　boy　I　was　obsessed　with
sparrow　hawks。”
His　dark　glance　flicked　around　the　back　room　of　the　shop。　There　was　no　one　else　nearby。
Kestrel　removed　his　overseas　cap　and　loosened　the　knot　of　his　black　uniform　tie　as　if　these　were
things　he　did　every　day。　He　walked　over　and　stood　beside　Ana；　selected　a　new　pottery　frog　and
began　to　rebuild　the　flower　arrangement。
“Tell　me　what　happened；”　he　said；　his　voice　both　calm　and　commanding。
Ana　watched　his　fingers　–　deft；　gentle；　skilled　–　and　remembered　when　he　had　touched　her　as　he
now　touched　flowers。　His　hands　paused。　He　was　watching　her。
“I　don’t　know　all　of　it；”　she　said　quickly。　“I　waited　behind　the　curtain　as　you　told　me　to　do。　I
couldn’t　see　the　street。　For　a　long　time　nothing　happened。　Then；　after　dawn；　there　were　shots。　I
looked　out　just　as　a　car　turned　around　and　raced　by　me　on　the　street。　There　was　another　shot；
maybe　more；　from　the　van。”
Ana　took　a　long　breath　to　ease　the　fear　that　rose　in　her　when　she　remembered　the　silence　and
fog；　shots　and　fear　and　a　van　full　of　blood。
“I　–　I　waited；　but　no　one　got　out　of　the　van。”　She　touched　Kestrel’s　arm　in　a　silent　bid　for
understanding。　“I　know　you　told　me　to　wait　for　Refugia；　but　I　was　afraid　he　was　–　dead。”
“You　did　well；”　murmured　Kestrel。
Some　of　Ana’s　rigidity　left　her。　She　drew　a　ragged　breath　and　began　to　speak　more　slowly。　“The
van　–　inside　the　van　there　was　so　much　blood。”　She　swallowed。　“Dead　men　and　blood
everywhere。”
Ana　stared　at　the　glowing　red　of　the　petals　she　had　unconsciously　crushed　in　her　fist。
“Is　Refugio　dead？”　asked　Kestrel。
“No。”　Ana　turned　her　hand　upside　down；　letting　crushed　petals　fall　to　the　floor。　“His　leg；　here；”
she　said；　touching　the　top　of　Kestrel’s　thigh。　“Like　a　furrow　plowed　in　raw　meat。”
“Can　he　walk？”
“With　help；　yes。　He　says　it’s　nothing。”　Ana　smiled。　“A　long　scab　and　a　limp。　Except　it　hasn’t
stopped　bleeding　yet　and　he’s　been　very　sick；　throwing　up　and　–　“　She　handed　Kestrel　a　frond
of　pale　green　fern。　“He’s　been　better　in　the　last　few　hours；　I　think。”
Kestrel　frowned。　It　did　not　sound　like　a　superficial　leg　wound。　“Is　the　bullet　still　in　his　leg？”
“No。　It’s　a　furrow；”　repeated　Ana。　She　reached　for　the　modeling　clay　used　in　complex　flower
arrangements。　With　her　thumbnail　she　gouged　a　shallow　trough　across　the　clay。　“Like　this。”
“Where　is　he？”
“I　moved　him　next　door；　to　his　cousin’s　funeral　parlor。　There　wasn’t　enough　privacy　here。　Too
many　people　in　and　out。　And　you　told　us　to　keep　the　businesses　open；　to　act　normally。”
Kestrel’s　fingers　paused；　then　he　selected　a　flawless　white　rose　and　anchored　it　in　the　frog；
completing　his　work。　He　had　duplicated　her　flower　arrangement；　except　that　he　substituted　the
single　white　rose　for　her　stalk　of　blood…colored　gladiolus。　The　result；　like　Kestrel　himself；　was
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strong　and　poised。
Ana　led　Kestrel　to　the　interior　door　that　connected　the　flower　shop　with　the　Reyes　Funeral
Home。　As　he　put　his　hand　on　the　door；　he　turned　toward　her。
“Memories　can　be　as　cruel　as　knives；”　Kestrel　said。　“Do　not　cut　yourself　more　than　you　must；
Ana。　It　was　karma　that　brought　you　here。　When　it　is　time；　karma　will　take　you　away　again。”
He　was　gone　before　Ana　could　find　her　voice　to　answer。
Kestrel　was　in　a　room　without　windows；　without　air。　In　one　corner　was　a　shapeless；　eerie　blue
glow。　Kestrel　had　never　seen　a　blue　so　pure；　no　tint　of　purple；　no　tone　of　green；　nothing　but　a
flawless　blue　blush　emanating　from…　what？
His　hand　fumbled　for　the　wall　switch。　Blue　disappeared　in　a　soundless　explosion　of　white　light
splintering　off　a　porcelain　table。　In　the　center　of　the　table　were　two　white；　oddly　shaped　chunks
of　metal；　one　of　which　was　three　times　larger　than　xhe　other。　The　two　pieces　were　less　than　a
hand’s　width　apart。
Swiftly；　Kestrel’s　fingers　snapped　off　the　light。　Blue　suffused　the　area　where　the　white　metal
pieces　had　been。　Kestrel　felt　an　instant　of　incredible　elation。　He　stood　motionless；　his　hand　on
the　light　switch；　transfixed　by　the　eerie　blue　light。　The　binding　power　of　the　universe　lay　before
him；　radiating　energy　as　though　alive。　And　it　was　alive；　the　embryo　of　a　deadly　cloud　eight　miles
tall。　With　that　metal；　he　controlled　the　future　of　his　country　as　surely　as　he　controlled　the　light
switch　on　the　wall。
But　then　a　secondary　realization　drenched　him　like　icy　rain；　making　his　skin　contract　in　a　reaction
as　old　as　man。　He　was　looking　at　the　radioactive　heart　of　an　atomic　bomb；　and　that　heart　was
deadly　to　human　flesh。
“Pretty；　yes？”　said　a　low　voice。　“As　blue　as　the　eyes　of　God。”
Kestrel’s　hand　hit　the　switch　again。　Light　flooded　the　room；　revealing　what　he　had　overlooked
the　first　time　–　Refugio；　lying　motionless　on　a　gurney　a　few　feet　beyond　the　radioactive　glow。
It　took　every　bit　of　Kestrel’s　discipline　not　to　scream　at　Refugio’s　lethal　stupidity。　The　Japanese
was　a　physicist　before　he　was　a　spy；　he　knew　that　unshielded　radioactive　material　could　be　as
deadly　as　curare。
“Yes；”　he　said；　his　voice　ragged　in　spite　of　his　control。　“They’re　very　pretty。　Where　is　their
box？”
“Box？”
“What　they　were　packed　in。”
“Oh；”　Refugio’s　voice　was　casual。　“That　was　too　heavy。　Masarek　told　us　to　leave　it。”
“Too　heavy；”　repeated　Kestrel。　“Was　it　big？”
Refugio　was　lying　on　his　back；　his　hands　on　his　abdomen　as　though　to　hold　back　cramps。　The
bandage　on　his　thigh　was　crimson。　His　face　was　the　color　of　old　ivory。
“Not　very。”　Refugio　pulled　himself　upright　with　a　motion　that　sent　the　gurney　wheeling　closer　to
the　embalming　table。　“About　like　this；”　he　said；　sketching　the　canister　with　hands　that　shook。
“Lead？　Was　it　lead　that　made　it　so　heavy？”
Refugio　shrugged。　“Who　knows？　It　was　very　heavy；　Se？or　Kestrel。　Madonna！　Even　Salvador
could　not　lift　it。”
At　the　mention　of　Salvador’s　name；　Refugio’s　expression　changed。　“Salvador　is　dead。　So　is
Lopez。”　He　sighed。　“Masarek；　too。　He　was　hard　to　kill；　that　one。”
“The　woman；”　said　Kestrel。　“Is　she　dead；　too？”
“She　killed　Salvador。　I　don’t　know　if　he　hurt　her　first。　I　shot　at　her　but　it　was　foggy　and　my
leg…”　Refugio　shrugged　again。　“I　think　the　whore　is　alive。”
Kestrel　drew　a　breath；　feeling　elation　slide　away。　Masarek　was　dead；　but　the　blonde　was　still　free。
She　would　be　gathering　other　agents　to　her；　planning　a　means　of　stealing　back　the　uranium。　The
Russian　spy　network　had　the　regenerative　power　of　a　gifted；　mythic　snake：　so　long　as　the　head
remained　intact；　new　bodies　could　be　grown。
All　he　had　was　Ana　and　Refugio。
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“You’ve　been　sick；”　said　Kestrel。
“It’s　the　water；”　said　Refugio；　laughing　feebly　at　his　joke。
“It’s　more　than　water。　Can　you　walk