Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第36部分

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of　rusting　auto　bodies　from　the　cracked　sidewalk。　He　strained　to　hear　what　was　being　said；　but
all　he　could　hear　was　a　dog　sniffing　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　fence。
The　dog　sensed　Riley’s　presence；　but　made　no　noise。　Nor　did　the　animal　walk　away。　It　stood
silently；　poised；　waiting　for　Riley　to　go　over　the　fence　or　down　the　street。　Somehow；　Riley　was
reminded　of　Finn。
Riley　looked　up　as　the　reporter　turned　suddenly　and　limped　away；　as　though　he　wanted　to　put　as
much　distance　as　possible　between　himself　and　the　man　called　Finn。　Riley　waited　for　a　moment
longer；　then　walked　back　to　the　truck。
Behind　the　metal　fence；　the　dog　snarled。
Moscow
4　Hours　41　Minutes　After　Trinity
Lavrenti　Beria’s　dark；　narrow　eyes　neither　blinked　nor　shifted　from　the　speaker’s　nervous　face。
“Read　it　again；”　said　Beria；　flicking　his　fingernail　against　the　edge　of　his　desk。　“Slowly；　this
time。”
The　assistant　risked　a　quick　throat…clearing　before　he　began　to　read　from　the　cable　in　his　hands。
To　be　Comrade　Beria’s　most　confidential　assistant　was　both　an　honor　and　a　trial。　Beria’s　scrutiny
could　be　dangerous。　The　head　of　the　Commissariat　of　Internal　Affairs　was　known　for　abrupt　and
irrevocable　decisions。
“Proceed；”　said　Beria。
“Yes；　comrade。　‘To　the　Commissariat　of　Soviet　Fisheries：　Encountered　stormy　weather　while
transferring　cargo　at　sea。　First　mate　swept　overboard；　almost　certainly　dead。　Hired　crew　gone。
Cargo　lost。　Am　pursuing　promising　methods　of　salvage；　but　require　an　experienced；　trustworthy
crew。　Repeat。　Trustworthy。’”　The　assistant　cleared　his　throat　again。　“It’s　signed　‘V；’　comrade。”
Beria　stared　at　the　floor　for　several　minutes；　as　though　he　could　see　halfway　around　the　world。
His　fingernail　tapped　in　counterpoint　to　his　thoughts。　At　least　Vanessa　had　followed　orders　and
avoided　contacting　any　Russian　agents　in　San　Francisco。　This　was　a　secret　operation。　Only　Beria
himself　knew　the　extent　and　necessity　of　that　secrecy。
Cargo　lost。
The　fingernail　hesitated；　then　resumed　its　rhythmic　tapping。　If　only　he　could　be　sure　that　the
U…235　would　stay　lost…　but　that　was　impossible。　As　long　as　the　uranium　was　within　American
reach；　the　future　of　Soviet　Russia　was　written　on　an　atomic　cloud。
If　Russia　had　the　uranium；　however；　it　was　America　whose　future　was　written　in　radioactivity。
America　would　foolishly　commit　more　and　more　of　her　men　and　wealth　to　Japan’s　conquest。
When　the　fighting　was　at　its　height　and　all　of　America’s　strength　was　locked　in　final　battle　with
the　Emperor’s　foolish　pawns；　a　Russian　plane　would　fly　over　Japan。　Or　London；　Or
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Washington；　D。C。
Then　a　second　sun　would　rise。　A　Russian　sun。
Russia　had　every　drawing　of　importance；　every　schematic；　every　design　made　at　Los　Alamos。
Even　so；　the　plutonium　bomb；　with　its　intricate　spherical　wrapper　of　sixty…four　lens…shaped
explosive　charges　and　millionth…second　timers；　was　beyond　Russia’s　engineering　capabilities。
But　the　uranium　bomb　was　not。　Russia　would　not　even　have　to　worry　about　such　sophisticated
items　as　proximity　fuses。　All　that　ple　casing　and　a　suicide　crew　to
detonate　the　bomb　a　few　hundred　feet　above　the　ground。
The　possibilities　were　limited　only　by　the　detail　of　the　missing　uranium　–　and　Stalin’s　refusal　to
recognize　the　atomic　bomb　as　the　most　revolutionary　political　tool　since　the　musket。
“Direct　V　to　the　nearest　secure　radio；”　said　Beria　calmly。　“Tell　V　not　to　trust　anyone　in　that　cell。
Those　agents　are　fit　only　to　count　ships　passing。　I’ll　send　one　good　man；　usual　recognition
signals。”
Beria　hesitated。　He　wanted　to　send　more　for　Vanessa；　much　more；　but　could　not　do　so　secretly。
Even　as　much　as　he　had　done　so　far　would　cost　him　his　life　if　Stalin　found　out。　The　Great　Leader
had　given　no　orders　to　steal　uranium。　He　did　not　even　know　it　had　been　attempted。　Only　Beria
was　the　right　combination　of　visionary　and　opportunist　and　strategist　to　appreciate　the　awesome
political　potential　of　the　atomic　bomb。　Stalin’s　usually　acute　grasp　of　global　politics　had　been
blunted　by　the　parochial　necessities　of　governing　a　Russia　at　war。
Once　the　bomb　had　been　presented　to　Russia　as　a　fait　accompli；　Stalin　would　accept　and　reward
his　loyal　comrade；　Lavrenti　Beria。　Until　then；　Beria’s　actions　invited　misunderstanding。
Beria’s　nail　tapped　the　desk　four　times　in　rapid　succession。　He　still　wished　he　could　send
Vanessa　every　Russian　agent　in　the　United　States；　but　he　would　be　dead　or　in　exile　before　she
could　put　them　to　use。
The　fingernail　descended　to　the　polished　desk　a　final　time。
“Notify　me　immediately　of　any　further　communications　from　V；”　said　Beria；　dismissing　his
assistant　with　a　motion　of　his　finger。
Oakland
4　Hours　46　Minutes　After　Trinity
Finn　turned　off　the　radiation　counter　and　walked　back　up　the　street　from　the　spot　where　the
fourth　body　had　been　found。　If　the　dead　man　had　carried　the　uranium；　it　was　gone　now。　The
counter　had　picked　up　residual　radiation　where　the　body　had　been；　but　nothing　more。
“Okay；　Detective；”　said　Finn；　coming　up　to　Jones。　“Let’s　go　over　it　again。”
Jones　arranged　weapons　and　labeled　bags　on　the　hood　of　a　squad　car　as　he　spoke。　“When　I　got
here；　there　was　a　DB　down　the　road。　Male　Mexican；　about　thirty；　powerful　arms。　This　knife；”
Jones　indicated　a　short…bladed　sheath　knife；　“was　near　him。　This　bag　has　the　contents　of　his
pockets。　No　wallet。　No　ID；　just　matches；　cigarets　and　money。”
“Mexican　or　American？”
“Mexican　all　the　way。　He　smoked　Dóminos。　His　dead　pal　in　the　van　smoked　some　other　greaser
brand。”
Finn　sorted　the　contents　of　the　bag　on　the　car’s　hood。　The　matches　were　from　the　Green　Parrot。
He　thought　immediately　of　Refugio；　but　dismissed　it。　Refugio’s　eyebrows；　not　his　arms；　were　his
most　outstanding　characteristic。
“How　did　he　die？”
“Bullet　wounds　in　the　face　and　chest。”
“How　about　the　van？”
Jones　shifted　a　narrow　cigar　from　one　side　of　his　mouth　to　the　other。　“Well；　the　dead　Chink　was
in　the　back；　stuffed　in　a　laundry　bag。”
Riley　looked　up　at　Finn；　remembering　what　he　had　said　earlier　about　the　driver　either　being
bought　or　killed。
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“Funny　thing　about　the　Chink；”　Jones　continued。　“If　his　shirt　hadn’t　been　off；　we’d　still　be
looking　for　what　killed　him。　The　wound　wasn’t　as　wide　as　my　finger。　Not　a　drop　of　blood。
Whoever　did　it　was　a　pro。”
Finn　looked　in　the　bag　holding　the　Chinese　driver’s　possessions。　He　riffled　through　the　wallet；
finding　the　paper　residue　of　a　life　spent　obeying　white　law　in　public　and　tong　law　in　private。
Nothing　for　Finn　to　use。　It　was　the　same　for　the　bag　holding　more　Mexican　cigarets　and　Green
Parrot　match　books。
“Shot　through　the　eye；”　said　Jones　before　Finn　could　ask　about　the　second　Mexican。　“Fell　just　in
back　of　the　front　seat。”
Finn　nodded。　He　had　seen　the　puddle　of　blood。　He　had　also　seen　blood　sprayed　across　the
inside　of　the　windshield；　the　passenger　side　and　down　both　sides　of　the　seat。　As　one　cop　had
pointed　out；　they　had　had　their　own　little　war　in　the　van。
“You　said　four　bodies；”　Finn　said；　looking　for　another　bag　of　personal　effects。
“Nothing　in　the　fourth　guy’s　pockets　but　lint　–　and　not　much　of　that。　Not　even　labels。”
“Describe　him；”　demanded　Finn　quickly。　It　would　be　like　Masarek　to　leave　no　trace　of　his
identity；　not　even　labels　in　his　clothes。
Detective　Jones　shrugged。　“Male；　over　thirty。”
“That’s　not　much　help；”　said　Riley。
Jones　took　out　his　cigar　and　blew　on　its　smoldering　tip。　“Ever　seen　a　razor　wire；　son？”
“Huh？”　said　Riley。
“Well；　this　wire　job　was　bungled；”　said　Jones。　“Victim　got　a　hand　under　the　wire　before　it
closed。　Between　the　blood　and　the　usual　eye…popping；　his　own　mother　wouldn’t　know　him。”
Riley　made　an　odd　sound　as　he　swallowed。
“Hair　color？”　Finn　asked　calmly。
“Dark。　Might　have　been　gray　at　the　temples。　Kinda　hard　to　tell；　what　with　all　the　mess。”　Jones
shot　a　quick　glance　at　Riley。　“You　know；　when　you　put　the　kind　of　pressure　on　a　man’s　artery；
not　only　does　the　face　turn　purple　and　the　eyes　bug　out；　but　–　“
“I’ll　bet；”　said　Riley　loudly；　cutting　across　the　details　of　death；　“that　you　get　a　boot　out　of
putting　razor　blades　in　trick…or…treat　apples。”
Detective　Jones　laughed；　not　at　all　offended。　“Kid；　the　first　thing　you　learn　as　a　homicide　dick　is
that　corpses　stink；　blood　washes　off　and　lunchtime　comes　at　noon。”
“　‘Dead　is　pretty　much　dead；’”　quoted　Finn。　“Right；　Riley？”
“Yeah。　Right。”
Finn　turned　away　and　walked　back　to　the　van；　with　both　men　following。
The　air　inside　still　smelled　of　cordite。　That　told　him　nothing　new；　the　cordite　was
American…made　and　blood　was　the　same　the　world　over。
Only　the　uranium　was　unique；　and　it　was　gone。
“The　way　I　figure　it；”　said　Jones；　leaning　into　the　front　seat　of　the　van　next　to　Finn；　“is　that　the
guy　with　the　wire　and　his　pal　stood　behind　the　front　seat；　dropped　the　wire　around　the
passenger；　and　–　“Jones　made　a　juicy；　descriptive　sound。
“The　passenger　stays　kicking　long　enough　to　do　for　the　pal　–　bang　bang　–　but　can’t　get　to　the
guy　pulling　on　the　wire。”
Finn’s　glance　raked　over　the　truck；　re…creating　the　scene　in　his　mind。　“The　driver　was　shot　by　the
passenger　before　the　wire　dropped；”　said　Finn。　He　p