Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第14部分

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“Are　you　sure　the　Americans　don’t　know　about　your　route？”　asked　Vanessa；　skepticism　clear　in
spite　of　her　husky　voice。
Refugio　shrugged。　“If　they　knew　my　route；　they　would　put　me　in　one　of　their　grand　calabozos
with　hot　and　cold　water　and　never　let　me　out。　They　want　me　very　much。”
“Then　why　don’t　they　shoot　you？”　asked　Masarek　in　a　colorless　voice。
Refugio　glanced　at　the　other　man。　“That’s　what　you　would　do；　no？”　He　laughed。　“That’s　what　I
would　do；　too。　But　the　gringos　won’t　shoot　me　because　that　would　be　against　their　rules。”　He
looked　at　Vanessa　in　the　rearview　mirror。　“It　is　a　foolish　idea　they　took　from　your　country；　no？”
Vanessa　agreed；　but　did　not　answer；　irritated　to　find　that　she　agreed　with　Refugio　about
anything　that　smacked　of　politics。　One　of　the　things　that　had　driven　her　first　to　Fabian　socialism；
then　to　Marxism　and　finally　to　radical　communism；　was　the　British　male’s　insistence　on　living　–
and　often　losing　–　by　arcane　rules　of　chivalry。
Refugio　laughed　again；　the　full…bellied　laugh　of　real　amusement。　“So　the　Americans　have　nice
rules　and　I　have　nice　pleasure　breaking　them。　They　will　never　catch　me　because　I　am　a　man；　not　a
gentleman。”
Vanessa　stared　out　the　window；　ignoring　Refugio。　“How　far　are　we　from　the　border？”
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“That　way；”　said　Refugio；　gesturing　widely　to　her　right；　“Perhaps　a　kilometer。　But　from　my
house；　much　less。”
The　car　bounced　off　the　dirt　road　onto　something　that　was　little　better　than　a　goat　path。　Ahead
of　the　straining　car；　an　amorphous　black　blot　resolved　into　a　cluster　of　small；　worn　houses。
Whether　through　neglect　or　design；　the　windows　of　the　houses　were　so　dirty　as　to　almost
obscure　the　lantern　light　burning　within。
A　pack　of　rough…coated　dogs　burst　from　the　direction　of　the　houses。　Lean；　half…starved；　the
dogs　raced　toward　the　Cadillac　as　though　it　were　their　natural　prey。
Refugio　neither　slowed　nor　turned　aside。　He　aimed　the　car　into　the　center　of　the　pack。　At　the
last　second　the　dogs　scattered　to　either　side；　snapping　at　tires　before　giving　up　and　trotting　back
toward　the　houses。
The　buildings　were　scattered　in　a　random　arrangement　dictated　by　the　rumpled　nature　of　the
land。　What　once　might　have　been　a　town　square　was　now　the　final　refuge　for　a　canted；
three…wheeled　wagon　and　the　rusty　remains　of　cars　that　had　no　wheels　at　all。　Dirt　and　sand　crept
up　the　sides　of　the　vehicles；　engulfing　them　silently；　blurring　the　boundary　between　artifact　and
desert；　past　and　present。　Just　beyond；　almost　hidden　by　the　wreckage；　was　the　communal　well。　It
was　circled　by　a　low　stone　wall　and　roofed　by　a　ragged　wooden　structure。　When　the　car　bounced
by；　doves　fled　into　the　night；　cooing　their　distress　in　liquid　tones。
The　car　skidded　to　a　stop　in　a　turbulent　cloud　of　grit　that　was　swirled　away　by　the　pre…dawn
wind。　Refugio　got　out；　stretched；　and　walked　to　meet　the　two　men　who　were　approaching　from
separate　directions。　Like　those　men；　Refugio　was　just　over　medium　height；　black…haired；　with
brown　skin　and　ebony　eyes。　Unlike　him；　the　men　were　bent　by　poverty。
“Buenas　noches；　don　Refugio；”　said　the　first　man。　Then　like　an　echo；　the　second　man　said
exactly　the　same　words。　“Buenas　noches；　don　Refugio。”
Both　men　moved　toward　Refugio　with　the　subtle　stiffness　that　came　from　a　combination　of
grinding　labor；　indifferent　health　and　growing　age。　They　wore　the　loose　white　cotton　pants　and
camisa　of　the　Mexican　peon；　and　greeted　Refugio　with　the　deference　of　vassal　to　lord。
“Buenas　noches；　Jorge。　Cómo　estas？”　said　Refugio。　“Juanito；”　he　said；　recognizing　the　other
man。　“Cómo　estas？”
In　low；　rapid　Spanish；　Refugio　gave　orders。　Then　he　turned　his　shoulders　against　a　gust　of　dry；
dirty　wind　and　walked　back　to　the　car。　He　noticed　Vanessa’s　window　had　been　rolled　down　and
knew　she　had　been　listening。　He　wondered　how　much　she　had　heard；　and　how　much　she　had
understood。　Earlier　that　night　he　had　spoken　Spanish　within　her　hearing；　describing　in　moist
detail　his　seduction　of　a　young　girl。　Not　once　had　Vanessa’s　expression　revealed　that　she
understood　the　language。
“Come；　Se？or　Masarek；”　Refugio　said。　“You　will　see　that　my　house　is　as　I　told　you。”
Even　before　Masarek　was　out　of　the　car；　Vanessa　was　standing　in　the　cool；　dry　wind。
Refugio　saw　Vanessa　walking　toward　him；　her　slim　silk…sheathed　legs　silver　beneath　a　loose　blue
skin　that　rose　with　every　breath　of　wind。　Refugio　started　to　object；　then　shrugged。　Apparently
Masarek　did　not　mind　parading　his　fine…boned　bitch　in　front　of　hungry　dogs。
Refugio　led　the　way　to　Jorge’s　house。　Without　knocking；　he　pushed　open　the　door　and　walked
in。　Vanessa　and　Masarek　entered；　followed　closely　by　Jorge　and　Juan。　The　Mexicans　could　hardly
take　their　eyes　from　the　delicate　curve　of　Vanessa’s　legs。　In　such　a　setting；　she　was　like　a　stroke　of
lightning　–　unexpected；　brilliant；　dangerous。
The　house　smelled　of　kerosene　and　chile　peppers。　A　small　lamp　with　a　cracked　chimney　sat　on　a
heavy　wood　table　in　the　middle　of　the　room。　The　lamp’s　wick　was　so　short　that　the　flame　barely
illuminated　the　dark　center　of　the　room；　leaving　deep　shadows　all　around。　Masarek　scanned　the
circling　darkness。　Eyes　stared　back；　watching　him　unblinkingly。
Refugio　lifted　the　kerosene　lamp　off　the　table。　Shadows　drained　like　dark　water　from　the
impassive　face　of　a　fat　woman　and　the　bunched；　curious　faces　of　her　children。　Their　eyes
glittered；　following　the　lamp　in　Refugio’s　hand。　Jorge　and　Juan　moved　to　opposite　sides　of　the
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thick　oak　table；　then　lifted　it　aside　with　a　precision　that　suggested　long　practice。
“You　will　see；”　said　Refugio。　“Below　this　floor　is　a　shaft；　then　a　tunnel　that　goes　to　the　American
side。　The　tunnel　is　not　large。　It　is　good　only　for　moving　people　and　small　things　such　as　opium。
But　you　have　told　me　that　what　you　want　moved　is　smaller　than　a　man；　no？”
Without　waiting　for　an　answer；　Refugio　made　a　curt　motion。　Jorge　bent　and　pulled　aside　the　rug。
Beneath　the　rug　the　faint　outline　of　a　trapdoor　was　revealed　by　the　dim　kerosene　light。　Moving
quickly；　Juan　opened　the　trapdoor　and　Jorge　lowered　himself　into　the　darkness。　A　second　lamp
flared　below；　dispelling　the　absolute　black　of　the　shaft。　A　ladder　suddenly　poked　up　into　the
room。
“The　se？orita　will　wait　here；”　said　Refugio。
As　though　she　had　not　heard；　Vanessa　walked　toward　the　ladder；　grasped　its　splintery　sides　and
started　down。　Refugio　gave　Masarek　a　quick；　probing　look；　but　the　East　European　seemed
indifferent　to　Vanessa’s　show　of　independence。
Vanessa　vanished；　descending　with　quick；　precise　steps　until　she　came　face　to　face　with　a　leering
Jorge。　He　had　stood　below；　watching　her　descent　with　singular　attention。
“You　are　a　swine；”　said　Vanessa　in　Russian。　“An　eater　of　shit。”
Jorge　smiled　and　nodded；　responding　to　the　intimate　tone　rather　than　the　incomprehensible
language。
“Your　betters　are　dying　in　Russia　right　now；”　continued　Vanessa；　“dying　so　that　your　miserably
begotten　children　won’t　be　slaves　of　class　oppression。　But　you　don’t　care　about　that；　do　you？
Like　all　peasants；　you　only　care　about　your　gut　and　your　balls。　You　belong　to　the　decadent　past。
You　are　as　stupid　as　you　are　ugly。　You　disgust　me。　Swine。”
Vanessa　smiled　while　she　whispered　the　final　word。　Then　she　stepped　aside；　making　room　for
Masarek；　who　was　quickly　followed　by　Refugio。　The　Mexican　moved　easily；　almost　carelessly；
holding　the　lamp。　The　ladder　and　tunnel　were　as　familiar　to　him　as　the　gold　rings　he　wore　on
both　hands。
Masarek　moved　differently　in　the　depths　of　the　tunnel；　as　though　his　body　were　tightly　coiled
against　a　lurking　danger。　The　lantern　light　revealed　faint　lines　on　his　face；　traces　of　an　emotion
Vanessa　recognized　but　never　before　had　associated　with　the　assassin　–　fear。　It　was　the　first　flaw
she　had　found　in　Masarek’s　seamless　competence。
Holding　the　kerosene　lamp　high；　Refugio　slowly　moved　his　arm　until　every　curve　of　the　circular
chamber　was　revealed。　The　walls　of　the　tiny　room　were　rough；　composed　of　an　aggregate　that
looked　as　unstable　as　the　gravel　it　once　had　been；　when　the　desert　was　the　bottom　of　an　ancient
sea。　Compressed　by　the　passage　of　eons；　stones　and　dirt　had　combined。
The　walls　of　the　chamber　were　not　shored；　except　in　one　spot　where　a　softness　in　the　aggregate
had　spilled　several　cubic　yards　of　material　onto　the　floor。　Walls；　ceiling　and　floor　were　a　uniform
sand　color　that　turned　to　gold　in　the　lantern　light。
“It　is　just　as　I　told　you；　no？”　said　Refugio　when　he　had　finished　lighting　every　corner　of　the　small
anteroom　at　the　head　of　the　tunnel。　“See？”
“I　see　a　little　dirt　room　and　what　could　be　the　opening　of　a　tunnel　over　there；”　said　Masarek；
gesturing　contemptuously　toward　the　opposite　side　of　the　chamber。　“I　have　only　your　word　that
the　tunnel　–　if　that　is　a　tunnel　–　goes　anywhere。”
“Come　then；　I　will　show　you。”　Refugio　smiled　cruelly；　for　he　had　seen　Masarek’s　instant　of　fear。
“The　tunnel　was　dug　by　Chinese　to　smuggle　other　Chinese。　They　are　not　a　big　people；　se？or；　as
you　will　find　out　when　you　use　their　tunnel。　The　walls　come　in　very　close。”
Refugio　laughed　silently；　and　the　sweat　in　his　massive　eyebrows　winked　as　though　sharing　the
joke。　A