Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第42部分

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“Is　Refugio　dead？”　asked　Kestrel。
“No。”　Ana　turned　her　hand　upside　down；　letting　crushed　petals　fall　to　the　floor。　“His　leg；　here；”
she　said；　touching　the　top　of　Kestrel’s　thigh。　“Like　a　furrow　plowed　in　raw　meat。”
“Can　he　walk？”
“With　help；　yes。　He　says　it’s　nothing。”　Ana　smiled。　“A　long　scab　and　a　limp。　Except　it　hasn’t
stopped　bleeding　yet　and　he’s　been　very　sick；　throwing　up　and　–　“　She　handed　Kestrel　a　frond
of　pale　green　fern。　“He’s　been　better　in　the　last　few　hours；　I　think。”
Kestrel　frowned。　It　did　not　sound　like　a　superficial　leg　wound。　“Is　the　bullet　still　in　his　leg？”
“No。　It’s　a　furrow；”　repeated　Ana。　She　reached　for　the　modeling　clay　used　in　complex　flower
arrangements。　With　her　thumbnail　she　gouged　a　shallow　trough　across　the　clay。　“Like　this。”
“Where　is　he？”
“I　moved　him　next　door；　to　his　cousin’s　funeral　parlor。　There　wasn’t　enough　privacy　here。　Too
many　people　in　and　out。　And　you　told　us　to　keep　the　businesses　open；　to　act　normally。”
Kestrel’s　fingers　paused；　then　he　selected　a　flawless　white　rose　and　anchored　it　in　the　frog；
completing　his　work。　He　had　duplicated　her　flower　arrangement；　except　that　he　substituted　the
single　white　rose　for　her　stalk　of　blood…colored　gladiolus。　The　result；　like　Kestrel　himself；　was
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strong　and　poised。
Ana　led　Kestrel　to　the　interior　door　that　connected　the　flower　shop　with　the　Reyes　Funeral
Home。　As　he　put　his　hand　on　the　door；　he　turned　toward　her。
“Memories　can　be　as　cruel　as　knives；”　Kestrel　said。　“Do　not　cut　yourself　more　than　you　must；
Ana。　It　was　karma　that　brought　you　here。　When　it　is　time；　karma　will　take　you　away　again。”
He　was　gone　before　Ana　could　find　her　voice　to　answer。
Kestrel　was　in　a　room　without　windows；　without　air。　In　one　corner　was　a　shapeless；　eerie　blue
glow。　Kestrel　had　never　seen　a　blue　so　pure；　no　tint　of　purple；　no　tone　of　green；　nothing　but　a
flawless　blue　blush　emanating　from…　what？
His　hand　fumbled　for　the　wall　switch。　Blue　disappeared　in　a　soundless　explosion　of　white　light
splintering　off　a　porcelain　table。　In　the　center　of　the　table　were　two　white；　oddly　shaped　chunks
of　metal；　one　of　which　was　three　times　larger　than　xhe　other。　The　two　pieces　were　less　than　a
hand’s　width　apart。
Swiftly；　Kestrel’s　fingers　snapped　off　the　light。　Blue　suffused　the　area　where　the　white　metal
pieces　had　been。　Kestrel　felt　an　instant　of　incredible　elation。　He　stood　motionless；　his　hand　on
the　light　switch；　transfixed　by　the　eerie　blue　light。　The　binding　power　of　the　universe　lay　before
him；　radiating　energy　as　though　alive。　And　it　was　alive；　the　embryo　of　a　deadly　cloud　eight　miles
tall。　With　that　metal；　he　controlled　the　future　of　his　country　as　surely　as　he　controlled　the　light
switch　on　the　wall。
But　then　a　secondary　realization　drenched　him　like　icy　rain；　making　his　skin　contract　in　a　reaction
as　old　as　man。　He　was　looking　at　the　radioactive　heart　of　an　atomic　bomb；　and　that　heart　was
deadly　to　human　flesh。
“Pretty；　yes？”　said　a　low　voice。　“As　blue　as　the　eyes　of　God。”
Kestrel’s　hand　hit　the　switch　again。　Light　flooded　the　room；　revealing　what　he　had　overlooked
the　first　time　–　Refugio；　lying　motionless　on　a　gurney　a　few　feet　beyond　the　radioactive　glow。
It　took　every　bit　of　Kestrel’s　discipline　not　to　scream　at　Refugio’s　lethal　stupidity。　The　Japanese
was　a　physicist　before　he　was　a　spy；　he　knew　that　unshielded　radioactive　material　could　be　as
deadly　as　curare。
“Yes；”　he　said；　his　voice　ragged　in　spite　of　his　control。　“They’re　very　pretty。　Where　is　their
box？”
“Box？”
“What　they　were　packed　in。”
“Oh；”　Refugio’s　voice　was　casual。　“That　was　too　heavy。　Masarek　told　us　to　leave　it。”
“Too　heavy；”　repeated　Kestrel。　“Was　it　big？”
Refugio　was　lying　on　his　back；　his　hands　on　his　abdomen　as　though　to　hold　back　cramps。　The
bandage　on　his　thigh　was　crimson。　His　face　was　the　color　of　old　ivory。
“Not　very。”　Refugio　pulled　himself　upright　with　a　motion　that　sent　the　gurney　wheeling　closer　to
the　embalming　table。　“About　like　this；”　he　said；　sketching　the　canister　with　hands　that　shook。
“Lead？　Was　it　lead　that　made　it　so　heavy？”
Refugio　shrugged。　“Who　knows？　It　was　very　heavy；　Se？or　Kestrel。　Madonna！　Even　Salvador
could　not　lift　it。”
At　the　mention　of　Salvador’s　name；　Refugio’s　expression　changed。　“Salvador　is　dead。　So　is
Lopez。”　He　sighed。　“Masarek；　too。　He　was　hard　to　kill；　that　one。”
“The　woman；”　said　Kestrel。　“Is　she　dead；　too？”
“She　killed　Salvador。　I　don’t　know　if　he　hurt　her　first。　I　shot　at　her　but　it　was　foggy　and　my
leg…”　Refugio　shrugged　again。　“I　think　the　whore　is　alive。”
Kestrel　drew　a　breath；　feeling　elation　slide　away。　Masarek　was　dead；　but　the　blonde　was　still　free。
She　would　be　gathering　other　agents　to　her；　planning　a　means　of　stealing　back　the　uranium。　The
Russian　spy　network　had　the　regenerative　power　of　a　gifted；　mythic　snake：　so　long　as　the　head
remained　intact；　new　bodies　could　be　grown。
All　he　had　was　Ana　and　Refugio。
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“You’ve　been　sick；”　said　Kestrel。
“It’s　the　water；”　said　Refugio；　laughing　feebly　at　his　joke。
“It’s　more　than　water。　Can　you　walk？”
“Of　course。”
“Prove　it。　Take　the　smaller　piece　of　metal　and　put　it　over　there。”
Refugio　looked　from　the　uranium　to　the　table　Kestrel　had　indicated　on　the　far　side　of　the　room。
“But　why？”
“Do　it。”
Refugio　eased　himself　off　the　gurney。　Using　the　wheeled　table　as　a　rolling　crutch；　he　approached
the　embalming　table。
Kestrel　watched；　knowing　the　Mexican　was　absorbing　an　enormous　amount　of　radiation。　But
Kestrel　suspected　that　it　mattered　no　more　than　shooting　bullets　into　a　corpse。
The　uranium　rang；　bell…like；　when　Refugio　dropped　it　on　the　metal　table　at　the　far　end　of　the
room。　Kestrel　turned　out　the　lights　and　stared　intently。
“The　pretty　blue　light；”　said　Refugio；　“is　gone。”
Kestrel　stared　silently；　intently。　Both　spheres　had　been　heavily　irradiated。　He　could　not　guess　at
the　consequences。　After　a　few　minutes；　he　still　could　not　be　sure　whether　it　was　radioactivity　or
his　imagination　that　imbued　the　separate　metal　chunks　with　a　vague　flicker　of　blue　life。　He
blinked；　then　his　hand　swept　up；　bringing　light　back　into　the　room。　“I’ll　need　containers。”
“There　are　the　sacks　we　brought　them　in。”
“What？”
“The　canvas　laundry　bags。”
Kestrel　made　a　dismissing　motion　with　his　hand。　“I　need　something　heavy；　something　that　will
absorb　atomic　particles。”
“What？”
“Iron　or　steel；”　said　Kestrel。　“Lead　would　be　best。”
“Why　not　gold　as　well？”　said　Refugio　sarcastically。　“It’s　heavy　and　it’s　not　so　much　more
difficult　to　get　than　lead。”　The　Mexican　stared　at　Kestrel。　“Or　had　the　se？or　forgotten　that　Los
Estados　Unidos　is　at　war　with　Japan　and　such　things　as　lead　arc　so　hard　to　get　that　my　cousin
wanted　me　to　smuggle　it　here　from　Mexico？”
“Did　you？”
“Too　heavy；”　sighed　Refugio。　“Besides；　my　cousin　soon　discovered　that　not　many　Mexicans
here　can　afford　a　lead…lined　coffin。　My　cousin　Raul　even　sold　his　flower　holders　for　scrap　when
the　price　went　high　enough。”
Kestrel　swore　silently。　“I　must　have　lead！”
Refugio　licked　his　dry　lips。　“I　have　other　cousins；　se？or。　For　a　price；　they　will　get　you　your
lead。”
“How？　Where？”
“That’s　their　problem；　se？or。　Yours　is　to　pay　for　it。”
Kestrel　almost　laughed。　Money　was　the　least　of　his　problems。　“Arrange　it；”　he　said。
Sonoma　County；　California
19　Hours　15　Minutes　After　Trinity
It　was　dark；　with　only　a　thin　moon…smile　to　aid　the　men　creeping　through　the　vineyard　into　the
Salerno　Brothers　winery。
“Chingón！”　muttered　Griego　Rincón　as　he　stumbled　over　a　two…by…four　abandoned　in　the
weeds　in　back　of　their　winery。
“Shut　up！”　hissed　Franco　in　Spanish。　“Pick　up　your　feet；　cabrón！　The　house　is　not　so　far　away
that　you　can　curse　at　the　moon！”
Griego　looked　at　the　house　on　a　knoll　more　than　a　hundred　meters　away。　There　were　several
lights　still　on　in　the　second　story　of　the　old　mansion。　He　walked　with　more　care。　His　cousin
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Refugio　would　not　bail　incompetent　thieves　out　of　jail。
Franco　Rincón　stood　very　quietly；　listening　to　the　night。　Other　than　a　dog’s　distant　barking；
there　was　no　sound。　Apparently　no　one　at　the　house　had　heard　Griego　stumble　and　swear。
“Come　on；”　breathed　Franco；　jerking　Griego’s　sleeve　in　silent　command。
The　two　men　slipped　into　the　dense　moon…shadow　of　an　old　fieldstone　winery。　They　knew　the
way；　in　daylight　they　worked　at　the　winery。　Franco　pulled　a　tire　iron　from　his　belt。　He　put　the
flattened　end　between　the　steel　hasp　and　the　heavy　wooden　door　and　yanked　down　hard。　The
hasp　gave　way　with　a　squeal。
Again；　Franco　waited　with　his　head　up；　nostrils　flared　like　a　wolf　trying　to　scent　enemies。　At　the
house；　a　dog　barked　until　there　was　a　shout　from　the　bedroom。　Silence　returned　like　another
shade　of　black。　The　heavy　door　opened　soundlessly。　Griego　had　oiled　it　earlier　in　the　day　when
he　was　sweeping　out　the　winery。　Inside；　the　sharp…sweet　smell　of　fermentation　settled　around　the
men。　The　building　was　windowless；　the　darkness　complete。
Franco　pulled　out　a　flashlight　that　he　had　taped　until　only　a　pencil　of　light　shone　out。　He　swept
the　light　around；　but　there　was　no　one　and　noth