Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第2部分

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City　network　to　a　stranger。　He　had　resented　being　himself　turned　over　to　an　arrogant　desk
general　named　Groves；　a　man　who　had　sent　Finn　to　Okinawa　to　write　reports　on　the　American
invasion　that　any　man　with　two　eyes　and　a　pen　could　have　written。　But　most　of　all；　Finn　resented
knowing　less　about　what　he　guarded　than　the　Russian　spies　knew。
Finn　crossed　the　dusty　street　in　midblock　and　bought　a　tamale　from　one　of　the　pushcarts　that
creaked　along　the　streets　of　La　Mariscal。　He　ate　the　tamale　without　flinching　from　its　peppery
heat。　As　he　ate；　he　watched　his　back　trail。　No　one　ducked　or　turned　away　from　his　glance。　No
one　reversed　direction。　His　caution　was　its　own　and　only　reward。
He　crossed　the　street　once　more；　heading　toward　a　ramshackle　building　whose　only　decoration
was　a　sly　parrot　painted　on　a　sign　over　the　door。　The　building　had　once　been　a　series　of　small；
interconnected　stores。　They　had　burned；　leaving　behind　little　more　than　a　waist…high　maze　of
thick　adobe　walls。　Some　of　the　walls　had　been　razed；　some　had　been　left；　and　the　whole　had
been　roofed　over　like　a　huge　barn。　The　result　was　the　Green　Parrot；　centerpiece　of　Juarez’s
thriving　underworld；　an　international　circus　of　beggars　and　bankers；　thieves　and　peons　and　spies。
Without　looking　into　the　smoky　interior；　Finn　walked　past　the　cantina’s　front　entrance；　down　a
piss…stained　alley　and　through　a　small　side　door　into　the　building。　Inside；　the　Green　Parrot　was
more　like　a　battlefield　than　a　business。　One　skirmish　line　formed　at　the　bar　which　took　up　a
block…long　wall。　There；　bar　girls　fought　for　the　right　to　take　drinks　to　favored　patrons。　Both
ends　of　the　huge　room；　as　well　as　the　wall　opposite　the　bar；　were　chopped　up　into　separate
adobe…fenced　enclaves　where　pimps；　pickpockets　and　whores　engaged　in　single　combat　with
their　chosen　prey。　Smoke　twisted　above　the　charcoal　fiefdoms　of　warlord…cooks　whose　food
was　so　spicy　it　would　devastate　an　unprepared　enemy。
In　one　area　of　the　cantina；　the　battle　was　focused　like　light　through　a　curved　lens。　A　crowd　of
shouting；　sweating；　shoving　men　gathered　around　a　shallow　pit。　Two　Yaqui　Indians　crouched
there；　coarse　hair　bound　back　by　scarlet　bandanas。　Each　man　hissed　and　grunted　ritually；
arousing　the　fighting　cock　he　held　in　his　scarred　hands。
One　man　stood　apart；　overseeing　the　crowd；　the　cocks；　and　the　collecting　of　bets。　If　the　chaotic
battles　of　the　Green　Parrot　had　a　generalissimo；　it　was　Refugio　Reyes　y　Rincón。　He　was　big；
muscular；　and　had　thick；　oddly　graceful　eyebrows。　Beneath　a　veneer　of　smiling　indulgence；　his
power　bulged　as　surely　as　muscle　beneath　fat。　At　his　signal；　the　handlers　redoubled　their　efforts
over　the　birds。
The　two　cocks　ignored　the　yelling　crowd；　the　hisses　and　grip　of　their　handlers。　The　cocks　were
fixed　on　one　another；　trading　glares　with　obsidian　eyes；　flaring　their　gaudy　feather　ruffs。　Their
steel…tipped　spurs　promised　death。
The　handlers　hoisted　the　cocks　up　high；　further　enraging　the　birds。　The　crowd　howled。　Bets　were
made　in　many　languages　and　laid　in　many　currencies　in　the　instants　before　the　cocks　were
released。　No　one　noticed　as　Finn　moved　through　the　fringes　of　the　crowd。　No　one　but　the　cook
looked　up　when　Finn　sat　at　an　empty　table　near　a　charcoal　grill。
The　square　Indio　woman　bent　over　her　grill；　poked　a　sizzling　chunk　of　meat；　and　settled　back
again　on　her　heels。　Her　black　eyes　were　hooded　and　blank。　She　stared　beyond　Finn；　where
bettors　seethed　around　the　deadly　cocks。　After　a　time　she　turned　back　to　her　cooking。
Finn　relaxed　and　tipped　his　chair　until　it　leaned　against　the　wall。　If　he　had　been　followed；　the
cook　would　have　signaled　him。　He　was　free　to　concentrate　on　one　of　his　many　enemies；　the
broad…shouldered　Mexican　who　ran　the　cockfight　as　ruthlessly　as　he　ran　his　network　of　whores；
thieves　and　smugglers。
It　was　not　Rufugio’s　ordinary　criminal　pursuits　that　interested　Finn；　however；　it　was　the　man’s
extensive　connections　with　Mexico’s　Oriental　communities　–　particularly　the　Japanese。　In
peacetime；　Refugio　and　Takagura　Omi　had　run　the　most　successful　smuggling　operation　in
northern　Mexico；　using　Takagura’s　high　Japanese　connections　to　import　legal　and　illegal　goods；
and　Rufugio’s　low　Mexican　connections　to　distribute　the　goods　from　Culiacan　to　San　Francisco。
War　had　changed　the　nature　of　the　smuggling　trade。　Information；　not　opium；　brought　the
highest　prices。　If　a　secret　could　be　bought；　Refugio　had　it　to　sell。
The　handlers　lowered　the　birds；　then　raised　them　high　again。　The　sounds　of　the　crowd
overwhelmed　the　cocks’　screeches。
“Begin！”　shouted　Refugio。
Scarred　hands　threw　the　birds　high。　They　slashed　at　each　other　with　spurs　of　steel。
Partially　screened　by　a　low　adobe　wall　that　divided　him　from　the　mainstream　of　the　cantina’s
activities；　Finn　searched　the　tables　for　a　new　face；　a　man　called　Masarek；　who　was　an　assassin
sent　by　the　Russian　NKVD。　Finn　had　been　especially　wary　of　the　Russians　since　the　night　he　had
followed　a　team　of　NKVD　saboteurs　from　Juarez　to　a　point　just　below　Los　Alamos。　When
there　could　be　no　doubt　of　their　destination；　Finn　struck。　He　hid　their　bodies　beneath　a　thin
blanket　of　sand　and　left　as　quietly　as　he　had　come。　By　dawn　he　was　back　in　Juarez；　waiting　for　the
replacements　that　the　Russians　were　sure　to　send。
In　time；　Masarek　had　appeared。
Finn’s　own　network　of　whores；　informants　and　spies　had　told　him　that　Masarek　had　been　seen
with　Refugio；　heading　north　of　the　American　border。　Apparently　their　attempt　on　Los　Alamos
had　been　fruitless；　for　they　had　returned　very　quickly。　The　same　informant　had　told　Finn　that　this
evening；　Refugio　was　to　meet　with　a　newly　arrived；　very　important　foreigner　in　the　Green
Parrot。　As　Masarek　was　the　only　important　foreigner　to　arrive　recently　in　Juarez；　Finn　assumed
that　he　was　the　one　who　would　meet　Refugio　tonight。　He　assumed；　but　he　was　not　certain。　He
would　not　be　certain　until　he　saw　Masarek　here；　tonight。
None　of　the　people　Finn　saw　matched　his　description　of　Masarek。　Mexicans；　Europeans　and
Orientals　occupied　the　cantina’s　rough　tables。　Among　them　circulated　Refugio’s　whores；
including　his　favorite；　Rubia。　She　was　limber；　blond；　and　perhaps　fourteen。　Despite　her　dyed
hair；　Rubia　was　unusally　pretty。　She　moved　from　table　to　table；　dispensing　drinks　and　sexual
invitation　with　equal　ease。
The　crowd　around　the　cockfight　humped　up　suddenly　and　roared　like　a　breaking　wave。　Finn
knew　without　looking　that　one　cock　had　been　wounded。　The　birds　varied　from　fight　to　fight；　but
the　crowd’s　bay　at　first　blood　was　always　the　same。　The　fight　itself　promised　to　be　special；
though；　one　of　the　birds　was　Refugio’s　favorite；　a　scarred　survivor　of　many　battles。
People　screamed　prayers　and　imprecations　in　most　of　the　civilized　languages　of　man。　Bets　flew
among　the　feathers　as　the　cocks　ripped　each　other　with　bloody　spurs。　Sweating；　Refugio　waved　a
fistful　of　money；　boasting　and　betting　on　the　red　cock’s　prowess。　The　crowd　heaved　and
re…formed；　blocking　Finn’s　view　of　Refugio。
The　Indio　woman’s　hiss　slid　between　the　shrill　sounds　of　the　cantina。　Without　looking　at　her；
Finn　glanced　to　his　right。　Several　American　servicemen　were　wandering　toward　him；　obviously
looking　for　a　table。
“Mind　if　we　sit　with　you？”　asked　one　of　the　men。
“Yes；”　said　Finn。
“Friendly　type；　huh。”
“No。”

“Are　you　an　American？”　demanded　the　man。
“Sometimes；”　said　Finn；　completing　the　recognition　sequence。
With　a　sound　of　disgust；　the　man　herded　his　friends　back　into　the　cantina’s　mainstream。　They
wedged　themselves　along　the　bar　and　prepared　to　wait　for　a　vacant　table。
Finn　did　not　look　at　them　again。　His　mind　was　ticking　off　seconds　with　the　precision　of　a
stopwatch。　When　the　count　reached　three　hundred；　he　finished　his　beer；　tipped　the　cook
generously；　and　prepared　to　leave　the　Green　Parrot　as　inconspicuously　as　he　had　arrived。
As　he　stood　up；　the　crowd　around　the　pit　shrieked　and　moaned。　The　cockfight　was　approaching
its　climax。　The　birds　leaped　and　raked　over　each　other；　steel　spurs　ripping　out　feathers　and
blood。　He　watched；　realizing　that　the　red　cock　had　finally　met　his　equal。　The　fighters　were　well
matched。　Too　well　matched。　Like　the　German　army　at　Stalingrad　and　the　U。S。　Marines　on
Japanese…held　islands；　the　only　winner　was　death。
The　screams　changed　in　pitch。　One　cock　was　down；　disemboweled；　its　black…and…white　feathers
sprayed　with　blood。　The　red　cock　began　to　crow　triumphantly；　then　reeled　sideways　as　its　blood
pumped　out　of　a　slashed　artery。　Both　cocks　thrashed　about　in　the　dusty　pit　while　Refugio　yelled
for　his　favorite　to　stand　up　and　be　proven　the　winner。
Both　cocks　died；　steel　spurs　raking　the　dust。　Vicious　arguments　started　over　which　cock　had
died　first。
Refugio　shouldered　into　the　pit；　swearing　at　the　bettors　and　handlers　alike。　At　his　command；　the
Yaquis　held　the　cocks　aloft　for　his　inspection。　Guts　slid　down　dusty　arms；　trailing　ribbons　of
blood。　He　prodded　the　big　red　bird　while　men　shouted　at　him；　shrill　as　roosters。　The　crowded
fragmented　into　fist…　and　knife…fights。
As　Finn　watched；　three　men　clubbed　their　way　to　Refugio’s　side。　He　did　not　need　his
bodyguards　to　restore　order；　though。　His　own　fists　and　boots　were　eno