Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第40部分

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again。　Riley　came　out　of　the　restroom；　wiping　his　face　with　a　wet　paper　towel。
“Sorry。”
“You’ve　still　got　your　socks　on；”　said　Finn。　“That’s　better　than　I　did　the　first　time　around。”
Finn　turned　and　began　retracing　his　steps　to　the　lobby。　Riley　followed　him　down　the　hall　and　up
a　flight　of　stairs　in　companionable　silence。
“What　next？”　said　Riley；　looking　around　the　lobby。
“An　APB　on　Refugio　Reyes　y　Rincón。”
“What　if　he’s　in　Mexico？”
“I’d　be　damn　grateful；”　Finn　said。　“Mexicans　aren’t　as　genteel　about　questioning　people　as　we
are。　Saves　all　kinds　of　time。”
“I’ll　bet；”　said　Riley。　“And　after　the　APB？”
“I　don’t　know。”
Finn　walked　the　rest　of　the　hall　in　silence；　arranging　the　few　immutable　facts　he　possessed　in　their
most　likely　configuration。　Masarek；　Refugio　and　his　Mexican　hirelings　had　penetrated　Hunters
Point　and　stolen　the　two　deadly　chunks　of　metal。　Then　there　had　been　a　falling　out。　Masarek　had
been　killed；　but　not　before　he　killed　two　of　Refugio’s　men。　Someone　had　been　waiting　for　the
truck　on　the　waterfront　–　the　blond　woman；　probably。　Someone　else　had　also　been　waiting；
another　woman；　the　one　who　had　helped　Refugio　escape：　he　would　assume　that　it　was　Refugio
who　was　injured。　As　for　the　uranium…　it　was　either　in　the　second　truck　with　Refugio　or　in　the
car　with　the　blond。
Finn　ran　through　the　facts　again　in　his　mind。　The　pattern　fit；　but　he　was　not　satisfied。　Something
was　missing　from　it。　Refugio　was　a　smuggler　and　a　pimp；　not　a　thief。　The　plan　for　the　theft　must
have　been　Russian；　which　meant　that　Refugio　probably　had　little　or　no　idea　of　what　he　was
stealing。　Yet　he　had　risked　his　life　to　steal　the　uranium　from　a　man　like　Masarek。　If　the　uranium
had　been　gold；　it　would　make　sense；　Refugio　knew　the　worth　of　gold　to　the　last　peso。　Even　if　it
was　assumed　that　Refugio　knew　what　uranium　was；　what　could　he　do　with　it　once　he　had　stolen
it　from　Masarek　–　sell　it　back　to　the　U。S。？　Possibly；　but　it　was　not　quite　Refugio’s　style。　His
political　sympathies　in　the　war　lay　with　his　pocket…book　–　and　Takagura　Omi。　Japan；　“Kestrel；”
Finn　said　aloud。　“Kestrel。”
“What？”　said　Riley。
Finn　did　not　hear。　He　was　remembering　the　moment　he　had　seen　Kestrel　in　the　Green　Parrot。
Kestrel；　alert　and　deadly；　watching　him　across　the　body　of　a　dead　fighting　cock。　Kestrel’s　eyes
had　been　as　predatory　as　the　hawk　whose　name　he　had　taken。
Page　97
Yes。　Kestrel。
Los　Alamos
7　Hours　7　Minutes　After　Trinity
“Your　call　is　on　the　line；　General。”
Groves　rubbed　chocolate　from　his　fingers　with　a　handkerchief　and　took　the　phone。　“How　close
are　you　to　a　solution？”
“I　don’t　know。”
“Old　Give…’Em…Hell…Harry　was　on　the　horn　living　up　to　his　name。　I　don’t　need　to　tell　you　what
he　said。”
“Forty　hours　and　fifty…one　minutes；”　Finn　said　succinctly。
“What？”
“The　time　left　until　0530；　July　18th；　Mountain　War　Time；　when　either　we　give　Truman　the
uranium　or　he　gives　us　an　invasion。”
“Yes；　that’s　roughly　what　the　President　told　me。　Well？”
“All　Hunters　Point　personnel　vehicles　are　checked　out　and　cleared。　No　radioactivity；　except　for
the　storeroom　where　the　canister　was　opened。　After　questioning　the　gate　guards；　I　found　out
that　the　vehicle　the　thieves　used　to　enter　and　leave　the　Point　was　a　truck　from　Ho’s　Good　Luck
Laundry。”
“ONI　pressed　by　your　method　of　questioning　the　guards；”　said　Groves。
“It　got　answers。”
“I’m　not　criticizing；　Captain。　If　I’d　wanted　a　bridge　party；　I’d　have　sent　the　officers’　wives。”
“The　Jaundry　truck　was　found　by　the　Oakland　police。　They　waited　an　hour　to　call　us。”
Groves　heard　the　residual　fury　in　Finn’s　voice。
“When　I　finally　got　to　the　waterfront；”　continued　Finn；　“the　bodies　were　gone。　The　truck　was
hot；　and　I　don’t　mean　just　stolen。　The　men　who　grabbed　the　isotope　were　either　suicidal　or
flunkies　who　didn’t　know　what　they　had。　As　far　as　I　could　tell；　the　uranium　was　still　unshielded
when　it　was　transferred　to　another　truck。”
“And　the　men？”
“Dead。　Two　of　them　made　the　counter　sing；　but　they　didn’t　die　of　radiation。”
“What　next？”　said　the　General　bluntly。
“I　have　an　APB　out　for　the　Mexican　national　whose　men　were　in　the　morgue。　The　police　and
hospitals　are　on　the　alert　for　unusual　deaths　or　burn　cases。　The　FBI　is　checking　out　every　eyelash
and　piece　of　lint　from　those　bodies　and　the　truck；　and　questioning　everyone　on　the　Oakland
waterfront…。”
“Yes？”　prompted　General　Groves。
“It’s　something　for　them　to　do；”　said　Finn　sardonically。
“You　don’t　think　it　will　help？”
“If　it　can　be　done　by　the　book；　the　FBI　will　do　it。　But　the　book　was　revised　at　dawn　this
morning。”
There　was　a　silence　followed　by　a　muttered　oath。　“Captain；　I’ve　shut　down　the　ports　and
borders。　And　I　mean　shut　down。　No　ships　leaving。　No　planes　flying　over。　Nothing。　You
couldn’t　move　a　fart　without　my　men　smelling　it。　But　that　won’t　do　any　good　if　the　thieves　just
sit　on　that　uranium　for　the　next　forty…one　hours。”
“They’d　better　wrap　it　in　lead　before　they　roost；　or　they’ll　–　“　Finn　stopped　speaking　suddenly。
“Excuse　me；　General。　Are　there　any　other　questions？”
“You　just　thought　of　something。　What？”
“Lead；　sir。　Whoever　organized　this　theft　must　have　known　what　he　was　stealing。　His　flunkies
bounced　the　pieces　together　enough　that　the　uranium　must　be　fairly　hot　by　now。　Whoever　takes
delivery　is　going　to　need　some　lead　to　cool　off　the　pieces。　Since　lead　is　on　the　restricted　list　of
war　materials；　all　sales　are　recorded。”
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“Good　idea；　Finn。　Get　on　it　and　call　me　when　–　“　Groves　realized　he　was　talking　into　an　empty
line。
San　Francisco
8　Hours　42　Minutes　After　Trinity
Vanessa　made　a　right　turn　and　entered　Chinatown；　looking　for　addresses　or　signs　written　in　a
language　she　could　understand。　As　she　searched　she　tried　not　to　think　about　the　dangerous　lie
she　had　sent　to　Beria。　She　had　no　“promising”　salvage　prospects。　She　had　nothing　but　her　wits；
her　determination　and　a　license　plate　number。
The　streets　seemed　more　narrow　than　those　in　the　rest　of　the　city；　but　were　not。　They　simply
teemed。　People　spilled　out　in　to　the　streets。　Voices　raised　in　dispute　were　nearly　drowned　out　by
the　honks　of　drivers　who　had　crept　around　one　obstruction　only　to　be　balked　by　another。
In　the　end；　Vanessa　found　Ho’s　laundry　more　because　of　the　identically　modest；　unmarked　cars
in　front　of　it　than　because　of　its　small　English　sign。　The　cars；　as　much　as　the　curious　crowd；　told
Vanessa　that　Ho’s　Good　Luck　Laundry　had　become　a　focus　of　police　attention。
She　had　not　really　expected　the　FBI；　although　it　was　that　possibility　which　had　lured　her　into
Chinatown。　If　the　Americans　knew　about　the　laundry　truck；　did　that　mean　that　they　had
recovered　the　uranium？　She　had　to　know。　To　find　out；　she　needed　Hecht；　the　reporter。
Vanessa　parked　her　own　car　down　the　block；　well　away　from　casual　observation。　After　a
moment’s　hesitation；　she　removed　the　pistol　from　her　purse；　tucked　it　well　under　the　front　seat；
locked　the　car　and　hurried　to　the　laundry。
Ho’s　laundry　was　closed。　There　were　several　men　outside；　trying　to　break　up　the　crowd。　Vanessa
stood　across　the　street；　growing　more　uneasy。　The　men　in　front　of　the　laundry　were　FBI　agents；
not　local　police。　Only　the　FBI　had　men　so　carefully　dressed。
Here　in　Chinatown；　these　well…trained　agents　stood　out　like　popcorn　in　a　bowl　of　peanuts。
And　so　did　she。
She　slipped　into　a　crowded　market　and　watched　the　laundry　through　a　window　that　was　all　but
covered　with　ideographs。　She　spotted　Hecht　easily；　his　limp　was　pronounced　as　he　brushed　past
the　cordon　in　front　of　the　laundry。　Immediately；　he　was　challenged　by　an　agent　at　the　front　door。
Hecht　gestured　angrily；　then　produced　identification　from　his　wallet。　The　papers　were　not
sufficient　to　gain　him　entry　into　the　laundry。　Arguing；　gesturing　and　waving　his　ID；　Hecht　was
escorted　back　behind　the　cordon。
He　turned　and　began　looking　around；　clearly　trying　to　spot　Vanessa　in　the　crowd。　She　had　no
desire　to　be　seen　while　the　FBI　was　around。
Hecht　looked　for　a　minute　longer；　then　limped　back　down　the　street　toward　his　car。　Vanessa
watched　him　approach；　waited；　then　left　the　store　to　intercept　him　a　block　from　the　laundry。
“Did　you　get　the　license　plate　traced？”　she　demanded。
Hecht　dug　in　his　pocket　and　produced　a　slip　of　paper　with　an　address　on　it。　He　handed　the
paper　to　her。
“Detective　Mullen　got　it　for　me；　no　problem；”　he　said。　“Told　me　it’s　out　in　what　used　to　be
Little　Tokyo。　The　license　was　issued　to　a　truck　owned　by　Julio　Rincón。　It’s　a　commercial　vehicle
used　for　something　called　the　Fragrant　Petal。　Sounds　like　some　kind　of　Oriental　flower　shop；　or
maybe　a　teahouse。”
“Did　the　police　want　to　know　why　you　needed　the　information？”
“No。　Mullen　was　doing　me　a　favor　just　like　I’d　do　for　him。”　He　smiled。　“He’d　have　been　hot　if
he　knew　the　license　was　somehow　connected　with　the　four　murders。　There’s　a　whole　lot　of　cops
mad　about　being　cut　out　of　the　action。”
“What　do　you　mean？”
“Take　a　look。”　Hecht　gestured　back　toward　the　laundry。　“Those　are　FBI　agents；　not　local　cops。
They　don’t　have　jurisdiction　in　local　crimes。　That　means　the　murders　aren’t　what　they　were　said
to　be　–　g