Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第24部分

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Absently；　Vanessa　rubbed　her　neck　where　the　dark　navy　sweater　chafed　her　skin。　She　wore　no
makeup。　Her　face　was　a　blank；　an　artist’s　canvas　ready　to　hold　whatever　would　be　painted　on。
Tonight；　a　plain　face　suited　Vanessa’s　purposes。　On　other　nights；　a　meticulously　gilded　face　had
served　her　well。　For　herself；　she　did　not　care。　She　had　been　born　into　the　wealth　of　an　English
merchant　family；　but　the　predictable　turns　of　such　a　life　–　marriage；　children；　church；　bowing　to
male　desires　six　days　a　week　and　to　a　male　God　on　the　seventh　–　repelled　her。　Beauty　had　given
her　a　weapon　against　men；　a　weapon　that　she　used　easures　of　cruelty　and　contempt。
When　making　and　breaking　romances　no　longer　excited　her；　Vanessa　had　moved　easily　to　affairs
of　the　mind。　First　Fabian　socialism；　then　Marxism；　then　radical　communism　attracted　her；　each
one　more　exciting　than　the　last；　and　more　dangerous。
A　man　who　called　himself　Melinkov　had　recruited　Vanessa　for　the　NKVD；　using　a　combination
of　ruthless　intellectual　and　sexual　domination。　She　rarely　thought　of　Melinkov　now；　the　memory
of　her　subjugation　was　uncomfortable。　Yet　she　owed　him　much。　He　had　taught　her　about　human
weakness。
Slitted　headlights　flashed　as　a　vehicle　turned　onto　the　waterfront。　Vanessa　sat　back　far　enough
not　to　be　picked　out　by　the　hard　light。　Traffic　was　thicker　than　she　had　expected　for　the　hour；　a
fact　which　pleased　her。　The　laundry　van　and　dark　coupe　would　not　attract　any　notice。
Blend　in。　Don’t　stand　out。　That　was　what　both　Moscow　and　London　had　taught　her。　She　never
forgot　it。
Another　set　of　lights；　set　wider　and　higher；　brought　Vanessa　fully　alert。　The　momentary　surge　of
adrenaline　stained　and　then　further　bleached　her　cheeks　as　a　pale　van　came　toward　her　out　of　the
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brilliant　halo　of　light　from　an　unhooded　streetlamp。　Automatically；　Vanessa　ducked；　her　fingers
wrapped　around　the　grip　of　a　pistol　hidden　beneath　the　blanket　that　both　concealed　and
warmed　her。
The　van　rattled　by　without　slowing。　On　its　side；　the　inelegant　shapes　of　a　plumber’s　helper　and　a
Stilsen　wrench　crossed　in　unconscious　parody　of　the　U。S。S。R。’s　Hammer　and　Sickle。
Slowly；　Vanessa　let　out　her　breath　and　settled　back　into　the　seat。　She　allowed　herself　one　brief
glance　at　the　radium…bright　face　of　her　watch。
Five　thirty…five。
They　were　late。　No；　not　late。　No　time　had　been　set　for　the　rendezvous　except　after　dawn　and
before　eight　o’clock。　She　looked　up　from　her　watch。　Her　blue　eyes　were　intent　on　the　street；　her
right　hand　warming　the　metal　grip　of　her　silenced　pistol；　waiting　for　Refugio。
Oakland；　California
1　Hour　19　Minutes　After　Trinity
Ana　looked　at　her　watch　for　the　seventeenth　time　since　the　last　car　had　passed　her　hiding　place
inside　the　flower　truck　that　had　once　belonged　to　her　father　and　now　belonged　to　Refugio’s
cousin。　Five　forty…eight。　Barely　thirty　seconds　passed　before　she　again　peered　at　the　glowing；
blue…green　dial。　Daylight　was　coming　on；　but　even　more　slowly　than　time　was　passing。
Her　hand　moved　to　yank　aside　the　dark　curtain　separating　the　back　of　the　van　from　the　front；
but　she　restrained　herself。　Her　arm　dropped　to　her　side。　Radium　lines　leered　up　from　her　wrist。
The　second　hand　seemd　frozen　in　place。
With　a　small　sigh　halfway　between　fear　and　impatience；　Ana　wriggled　further　back　between　the
tall　wicker　baskets　that　held　thick　bouquets　of　flowers。　The　rank　odor　of　daisies　and　the
too…sweet　smell　of　dying　roses　choked　her。
She　beathcd　shallowly　through　her　mouth；　blaming　the　dense　smells　for　her　sweating　palms；
nausea　coiled　like　a　snake　in　her　stomach。
She　hated　being　back　in　America。　She　hated　the　stale　wet　waterfront　air。　She　hated　the　flower
van；　its　memories　and　its　tightness　and　the　darkness　where　roses　overwhelmed　her。’　Most　of　all
she　hated　herself　for　being　terrified　of　the　moment　when　Refugio　would　kill　Masarek　and　drag
the　blond　woman　into　the　truck。
How　would　Kestrel　question　the　English　spy？
Ana　decided　not　to　watch。　She　did　not　have　to　see　any　of　it。　Kestrel　had　told　her　only　to　bring
the　van　to　this　place　and　then　hide　in　the　back　until　Refugio　came。　The　van’s　open　engine
compartment　would　answer　any　questions　–　obviously　the　vehicle　had　broken　down　and　was
waiting　for　a　tow。
She　had　done　what　Kestrel　asked。　Now　she　must　wait；　and　she　was　very　bad　at　waiting。　“Just　like
an　American；”　Kestrel　would　say　if　he　could　see　her　impatience。　But　she　was　not　American。　She
was　Japanese；　and　therefore　patient。
Ana　leaned　against　the　cold　metal　side　of　the　van。　The　funeral　smell　of　roses　settled　over　her。
Trinity　Site
2　Hours　After　Trinity
Lattimer　signaled　Groves　urgently。　The　General；　who　had　been　congratulating　project
technicians　and　enjoying　his　triumph；　was　tempted　to　ignore　the　sign；　but　something　about
Lattimer’s　tense　posture　compelled　attention。　Groves　walked　over　to　him。
“Well；　what　is　it？”
“Admiral　Purnell’s　office；　sir；　in　San　Francisco；”　said　Lattimer；　indicating　the　phone　on　the　desk。
When　Groves　picked　up　the　receiver　and　began　to　speak；　Lattimer　interrupted。　“General；　if　I
were　you；　I　would　clear　the　whole　area。”
Groves　studied　the　security　man；　first　puzzled　and　then　alarmed。　Lattimer’s　anxiety　was
contagious。
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“Sir；”　said　Lattimer。　“There’s　a　problem　with　the　Bronx　shipment。　Please　let　me　clear　the
room。”
Groves　could　feel　the　tension　now；　a　tightness　beneath　his　rib　cage。　With　his　right　hand；　he
unconsciously　touched　the　left　side　of　his　chest；　probing　for　the　buried　knot　of　fear。
He　waited　while　Lattimer　herded　people　out　of　the　office。　As　soon　as　the　door　closed；　Groves
turned　to　the　phone。
“Groves　speaking。　What　the　hell　is　going　on？”
The　answer　was　fuzzed　by　the　patchwork　of　connections　between　San　Francisco　and　Trinity　Site；
but　Admiral　Purnell’s　words　were　clear。
“I　was　hoping　you　could　tell　me；　General。　You　remember　those　mysterious　packages　you　sent　to
me　for　immediate　delivery　elsewhere？”
“Yes；”　snapped　Groves。　The　tension　in　his　chest　increased；　making　it　hard　for　him　to　breathe。
“Someone　apparently　couldn’t　wait　for　Christmas。　One　of　the　packages　was　opened。”
“The　big　one？”　said　Groves；　thinking　how　easy　it　would　be　to　sabotage　the　bomb’s
fifteen…foot…long　casing　with　all　its　wiring；　timers　and　fuses。
“No。　The　small　package。　The　canister。”
“Jesus　God！”　Groves　swallowed；　trying　to　suppress　his　fear　and　fury。　“Anything　missing？”
“How　would　I　know？”　asked　the　Admiral　coolly。　“No　one　told　me　what　was　in　the　package　in
the　first　place。”
“What’s　left　of　the　package？”　Groves’　voice　was　thin　with　the　effort　of　staying　calm。
“The　can；　its　top　and　a　metal　cylinder　that　fitted　inside。”
“One　piece？　Just　one？”
“Yes。”
“What　color　is　the　piece？”
“What　color！”　exploded　the　Admiral。　“Dark…goddamn…gray！　General；　an　eighteen…year…old
ensign　was　murdered！　Now　by　God　you　are　going　to　tell　me　what　the　hell　is　going　on！”
Groves　did　not　answer。　He　could　not。　His　world　had　just　imploded　like　the　spherical　charge　of　a
plutonium　bomb。　His　plans；　his　country’s　plans；　a　world　given　back　to　gun　soldiers　who　would
spend　millions　of　lives　to　invade　islands　defended　by　fanatics。　And　Russia　–　Russia　hovering　like
a　vulture　at　a　feast。
“Oh　God；”　he　groaned；　seeing　the　morning’s　victory　shattered。　“Oh　my　God。”　He　tried　to
breathe　but　could　not。　His　chest　was　held　in　a　vise　of　pain；　his　mind　paralyzed　by　the　rapid　swing
from　victory　to　catastrophe。　“How　did　it　happen？”
“I　don’t　know；”　snapped　the　Admiral。　“The　theft　and　murder　occurred　between　0200　and　0630；
Pacific　War　Time。”
Groves　glanced　at　his　watch。　The　uranium　had　been　stolen　at　almost　the　same　moment　the
atomic　bomb　had　been　detonated。　He　wondered　whether　the　irony　was　accidental　or
purposeful。　The　thought　that　his　enemies　were　laughing　at　him　broke　his　paralysis。　He　began　to
think　again；　to　take　command。
“Let　me　talk　to　Finn。”
“His　plane　spent　most　of　the　night　ducking　thunderstorms；”　said　Purnell。　“I　sent　a　man　over　to
Alameda　Air　Station　to　pick　him　up。　He’ll　call　you　as　soon　as　he’s　on　the　ground。”
Groves　swore　viciously。
“Finn　takes　over　the　investigation　the　instant　he　gets　to　Hunters　Point；”　he　continued。　“You　will
give　him　every　possible　assistance。　You　will　treat　his　every　suggestion　as　coming　direct　from　the
President　–　which　it　does。”　Groves　paused；　staring　blindly　out　of　the　bunker；　seeing　an　atomic
cloud　spread　across　the　sky。　“Call　the　local　FBI　office。　We’re　going　to　need　every　agent　they
have。　Tell　them　what　you　know。　I’ll　call　Hoover　myself。”
“Hold　it；　General。　My　Shore　Patrol　and　Naval　Intelligence　boys　are　pretty　damn　good　and　–　“
“No。　You　will　do　nothing　but　what　I　told　you。”
There　was　a　long　silence。　Then　Purnell　said；　“The　FBI　will　insist　on　knowing　what’s　missing。”
Page　59
“They　can　insist　until　their　jaws　lock。　Whether　or　not　they　find　out　is　up　to　the　President。”
“I　see；”　said　Purnell。　He　cleared　his　throat。　“You’ll　put　all　those　orders　in　writing；　of　course。”
“Of　course。　But　not　even　the　Joint　Chiefs　of　Staff　have　the　security　clearance　to　read　them。”
There　was　another　long　silence。　Only　the　hiss　of　static　told　Groves　that　the　line　was　still　open。
“Is　there　any