Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第3部分

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bodyguards　to　restore　order；　though。　His　own　fists　and　boots　were　enough。　Men　went　down
around　him；　and　stayed　down。　Soon　there　was　no　one　left　fighting。　He　shouted　over　the　angry
bettors；　pointing　out　that　the　spotted　cock　had　gone　down　first　and　stayed　down　until　it　died。
Men　yelled　back；　saying　that　Refugio’s　red　cock　had　died　first。　Refugio　began　reciting　the
superior　points　of　the　red　cock。
Finn　eased　through　the　cantina；　listening　to　the　Mexican’s　harangue　on　behalf　of　his　favorite
cock。　Several　thousand　dollars　were　at　stake；　but　it　was　pride　as　much　as　money　that　goaded
Refugio；　a　man　whose　pride　was　legend。
Suddenly；　Refugio’s　voice　dropped。　Finn　turned　back；　wondering　what　had　happened　to　silence
the　arrogant　smuggler。　One　of　Refugio’s　bodyguards　stood　close　to　him；　talking　quietly；
gesturing　with　a　sawed…off　shotgun。　Refugio’s　eyebrows　swept　together　in　a　thick　frown。　He
turned　to　the　Yaquis　who　stood　impassively；　death　dangling　from　their　hands。　At　his　curt　gesture
they　lowered　the　limp　birds。　While　he　spoke；　the　handlers　reached　into　covered　baskets；　pulled
out　two　fresh　cocks　and　fastened　on　sets　of　razor　spurs。
“A　tie！”　shouted　Refugio；　glaring　at　the　crowd。　Men　groaned　and　cursed。　Refugio　shoved
through　them　shouting；　“A　tie！　No　bets　won　or　lost　on　a　tie！”
The　two　new　cocks　saw　each　other　and　screamed　challenges。　The　crowd　looked　away　from
Refugio；　focusing　once　more　on　the　cockpit　where　eager；　violent　birds　were　barely　restrained　by
their　handlers。
As　Finn　turned　back　toward　the　side　door；　his　glance　automatically　searched　the　crowd。　He
found　himself　staring　across　the　room　into　slanted　Japanese　eyes。　Without　seeming　to；　Finn
memorized　the　man　as　he　did　all　strangers；　trying　to　judge　height　and　age　and　weight；　looking
for　distinguishing　marks。　There　was　nothing。　The　Japanese　was　dressed　neither　well　nor　badly；
his　posture　was　neither　timid　nor　aggressive；　his　hair　neither　too　short　nor　too　long；　his　clothes
neither　too　new　nor　too　old。　He　appeared　as　unremarkable　as　Finn　himself　–　except　for　Rubia；
Refugio’s　premiere　whore；　clinging　to　the　man’s　arm。　And　then　Refugio　himself　appeared　at　the
Japanese　man’s　side；　smiling　expansively　as　he　greeted　the　stranger。
Smoothly；　Finn’s　glance　moved　on。　There　was　nothing　to　show　his　intense　interest　in　the
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Japanese。　He　turned　away　and　went　out　the　cantina’s　side　door；　silently　swearing　at　the　necessity
that　pulled　him　away　from　the　cockfight。　In　the　alley　Finn　hurried；　Refugio　and　the　stranger　had
cost　him　forty…three　seconds。
As　he　ergency　rendezvous　point；　he　wondered　what　was　so　hot
that　it　could　not　be　sent　through　regular　channels；　and　so　urgent　that　it　required　making　contact
in　so　public　a　place　as　the　Green　Parrot。　Most　of　all；　he　wondered　about　the　Japanese　man　who
had　been　more　important　to　Refugio　than　his　pride。
Finn　felt　the　first　hot　touch　of　adrenaline　sliding　into　his　veins。　The　same　instincts　that　had　saved
his　life　so　many　times　in　Burma　told　him　that　what　he　had　seen　tonight　was　important。　There　was
a　new　player　in　the　deadly　game　whose　prize　was　a　secret　known　only　in　Los　Alamos。

Juarez
106　Hours　Before　Trinity
Vanessa　Lyons　waited　just　outside　one　of　the　public　phone　booths　in　the　Hotel　Mariscal。　She
glanced　once　at　her　watch；　two　minutes　remained。　The　tension　she　felt　was　not　reflected　by　her
appearance。　Her　face　was　as　smooth　as　her　pastel　linen　suit；　her　expression　as　correct　as　the　hat
that　shielded　her　pale　blond　beauty　from　the　sun。
Self…control　had　been　taught　to　her　by　a　Russian　spy；　a　man　whose　intelligence　was　exceeded
only　by　his　cruelty。　She　had　not　found　his　equal　until　Beria　had　introduced　her　to　Masarek。　They
had　worked　together　very　well；　she　and　Masarek；　combing　the　ruins　of　war。　She　and　Masarek
had　raced　American　agents　to　Peenemunde　after　Germany　fell；　seeking　scientists。
Despite　the　influx　of　German　atomic　physicists　into　Russia；　it　was　America　who　had　won　the
race　to　engineer　an　atomic　bomb。　America；　whose　land　and　people　were　untouched　by　the　war。
America；　who　had　callously　watched　Russians　die　by　the　hundreds　of　thousands　in　Stalingrad；
waiting　for　a　Second　Front　that　never　seemed　to　come。　American　soldiers　drank　wine　and
screwed　English　whores　while　in　Stalingrad　Russians　sucked　on　the　bones　of　rats　and　died。
Eventually　the　Germans　had　been　crushed；　but　Russia　had　paid　an　enormous　price　for　victory。
She　needed　time　to　gather　her　armies　and　secure　herself　against　enemies　new　and　old。　Given
time；　the　opportunities　were　huge。　China　was　a　vacuum　waiting　to　be　filled；　Europe　was　chaos
waiting　to　be　ordered；　and　Russia　was　a　nation　whose　destiny　was　to　rule　the　world。　All　that
stood　between　Russia　and　her　rightful　place　was　America　–　or　more　specifically；　Los　Alamos。　A
successful　atomic　bomb　would　shorten　the　war　disastrously；　forcing　Japan　to　surrender　before
an　American　invasion　was　launched。　But　if　America　did　not　founder　in　Japan　as　the　Germans
had　foundered　in　Stalingrad；　Russia　would　have　traded　millions　of　lives　for　a　few　worthless
Middle　European　countries。
Lavrenti　Beria　had　seen　the　danger　before　anyone　else。　He　had　sent　teams　of　Russian　saboteurs
to　Oak　Ridge　and　Los　Alamos。　The　Oak　Ridge　team　was　captured。　The　Los　Alamos　team
simply　vanished。　There　was　no　more　time　to　mount　another　assault　on　Los　Alamos　before　the
bomb　was　shipped　out　to　Japan。　The　only　alternative　was　to　steal　the　uranium　core　of　the　bomb
when　it　left　Los　Alamos。
That　was　proving　to　be　no　easier　than　sabotage　had　been。
Vanessa　looked　at　her　watch　again。　She　stepped　into　the　booth　and　secured　the　door。　This　time
“Jack”　had　better　have　more　for　her　than　guesses。
The　phone　was　warmer　than　her　skin。　She　put　in　a　coin；　spoke　with　the　operator　and　waited　for
the　connection　to　go　through　to　another　public　phone　booth　in　Socorro；　New　Mexico。　She
suspected　the　American　telephone　operator　was　listening　in；　but　was　unconcerned；　the　few
American　spies　who　spoke　Russian　were　in　Europe；　not　Mexico。
“Jill？”　asked　a　man’s　voice。　The　accent；　like　hers；　was　British。
“Hello；　Jack；”　she　said；　then　switched　immediately　to　Russian。
“What　have　you　confirmed　about　the　Bronx　shipments？”
“Speak　more　slowly；”　said　the　man　in　hesitant　Russian。
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Vanessa　repeated　her　question。
“The　Bronx　shipments　arrived　at　Hunters　Point　between；”　he　paused；　translating　English　to
Russian　numerals；　“18　and　2400　on　the…　15th。”
Neither　Vanessa’s　voice　nor　her　expression　showed　her　triumph；　now　she　held　the　lever　with
which　she　hoped　to　move　a　world。　“When　will　the　uranium　leave　Los　Alamos？”
“Manhattan　has　some　secrets　left；”　he　said；　his　voice　brittle；　the　voice　of　a　man　under　pressure。
“The　route　is　one　of　them。”
“We　must　have　the　Bronx　shipment！”
“Look；　it　can’t　be　done　from　here！　I’m　not　a　bloody　miracle　worker！”　shouted　the　man　in
English。　Then　he　switched　back　to　halting　Russian。　“I’ve　confirmed　from　two　other　sources　that
the　shipment　weighs　about　ten　kilos。　There　are　two　pieces。　White　metal。　They　aren’t…”　he
searched　for　the　correct　Russian　word；　“…　explosive　by　themselves。”
“How　is　the　uranium　handled　in　the　labs？”
“Like　ten　kilos　of　lead。　It’s　not…　explosive　without　the　bomb…”　he　swore　and　switched　to
English；　“…　casing；　you　understand？　And　that’s　being　shipped　separately。”
“How　is　it　guarded？　What　are　the　passwords？”
“Few　guards；”　he　said　in　Russian。　“No　excitement。　Very；　very　secret；　you　understand？　No
passwords　yet。　At　Hunters　Point；　a　Lawrence　Radiation　lab　team　will　check　it。”　He　switched　to
English。　“Do　we　have　anyone　there？”
Vanessa’s　answer　was　in　Russian。　“That’s　not　your　concern。　Is　there　anything　else？”
“Good　luck。”
“If　you’ve　done　your　job；　I　won’t　need　luck。”
Los　Alamos；　New　Mexico
100　Hours　Before　Trinity
Finn　dozed　in　a　hallway　on　a　steel　chair　as　he　waited　for　General　Groves　to　see　him　and　explain
why　he　had　called　Finn　out　of　Juarez。　Neither　asleep　nor　awake；　sweating；　his　mind　in　a　jungle
half　a　world　away；　Finn　shifted　uneasily　in　the　chair。　He　was　caught　again　in　the　nightmare　that
had　budded　in　Burma　and　bloomed　in　Okinawa；　and　each　petal　was　a　separate　horror。
There　was　no　mistaking　the　sodden　heat；　the　feral　odor　of　decay；　the　world　that　was　every　shade
of　green；　sunlight　strained　through　a　billion　leaves　until　everything　was　tints　and　tones　of　green；
even　the　smell　of　death。　Burma；　green　on　green。
He　was　on　his　first　patrol；　leading　nine　men　along　a　narrow　jungle　trail　to　a　forward　observation
post。　When　he　arrived　at　the　post　he　was　alone。　He　had　heard　no　sound；　not　one；　nothing　to
mark　the　killing　of　nine　men　one　by　one；　his　men　gone　as　though　they　have　never　lived。　But　he
lived；　ambusher　and　ambushed　by　turns；　learning　each　time　until　he　was　a　part　of　the　jungle；
silent　and　quick；　a　deadly　green　shadow。
There　were　other　times　when　he　was　the　only　man　to　survive。　That　was　his　special　gift；　survival。
Yet　each　time　he　felt　guilt　as　well　as　triumph。　Most　of　all　he　felt　confusion　–　why　had　God　or
Satan　or　fate　left　him　alive　and　other　men　dead？　But　such　questions　were　luxuries　in　a　place
where　necessity　conducted　a　reign　of　terror。　Questions　slowed　reflexes；　and　reflexe