Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第48部分

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braceros　in　here。　Start　with　that　bunch　under　the　tree　out　front。”
“You’ll　want　the　foreman；　too；”　said　one　brother　as　the　other　left　to　round　up　the　braceros。　“He
translates　for　us。　None　of　the　field　workers　speaks　English。”
“You　？”　Riley　asked　Finn。
“You　get　the　first　round。　Play　it　nice　and　easy　and　dumb。　If　they　step　in　it；　I’ll　take　over。”
Salerno　returned　with　eight　Mexicans　in　tow。　Their　easy　flippancy　was　gone。　The　winery　was　dim
after　the　bright　morning　outside。　Squinting；　the　men　tried　to　see　why　they　had　been　dragged
back　to　the　scene　of　the　previous　night’s　crime。
Riley　flipped　through　his　notebook　as　though　looking　for　the　right　questions　to　ask。　“Do　any　of
you　speak　English？”
A　man　shrugged。　“I　do。”
Finn　looked　at　the　man　narrowly。　He　was　compact；　muscular；　and　had　a　lazy　yet　aggressive　air
about　him。　He　was　wearing　boots。
“Your　name？”　said　Riley。
“Rincón。　Franco　Rincón。”
“Translate　for　me；　please。”　Despite　Riley’s　smile；　it　was　more　of　a　demand　than　a　request。
Franco　shrugged　again。　“Si。　I　will　talk　for　you。”
“Ask　them　if　they　saw　or　heard　anything　last　night。　Tell　them　that　it　is　a　matter　of　great
importance。”
As　Franco　spoke；　Finn　watched　carefully；　studying　the　Mexicans。　Franco　was　at　ease　in　his
position　of　command。　He　was　accustomed　to　leading　men　rather　than　working　in　fields。　The
men　were　lined　up　in　a　loose；　informal　row；　like　guerrilla　soldiers。　Four　of　them　wore　huaraches。
None　of　them　seemed　particularly　interested　in　what　Franco　was　saying。　He　turned　back　to
Riley。　“They　know　nothing。”
“Tell　them　there’s　a　reward；”　said　Riley。　“A　hundred　–　no；　a　thousand　dollars。”
Franco　translated。
The　men　made　sounds　of　both　greed　and　awe。　One　man　in　particular　was　impressed。
“That’s　five　times　what　we　were　paid！”　he　said　in　Spanish。
“Shut　your　hole；　Griego！”　warned　Franco　in　the　same　language。
Finn　stepped　up　to　Franco　and　began　speaking　in　rapid；　hard　Spanish。
“Why　should　he　keep　a　closed　mouth？”　Finn　demanded。　“What　was　he　paid　so　little　for？　He
looks　tired。　Maybe　he　was　up　all　night；　no？　Maybe　he　is　hung　over　from　drinking　the　green　wine
he　stole　here。”
Franco　looked　at　Finn’s　eyes；　then　looked　away。　Finn　moved　quickly　to　intersect　Franco’s　gaze；
but　he　did　not　touch　the　Mexican。　Not　yet。
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“You；　Franco。　I’m　speaking　to　you；”　said　Finn。　“Tell　me　what　that　little　man　is　keeping　inside　his
closed　hole。”
“Nothing；”　said　Franco；　trying　not　to　give　way　before　the　man　with　the　soft　Spanish　words　and
hard　gringo　eyes。
‘‘Are　you　a　little　boy　that　you　can’t　speak　for　yourself？　Finn　demanded　of　Griego。
Griego　looked　into　Finn’s　unforgiving　eyes；　then　glanced　nervously　at　Franco。
“Don’t　look　to　him；”　said　Finn。　“Franco　says　close　your　hole；　but　it　is　not　Franco　who　will　feel
my　fists　and　boots　break　his　balls。　It　is　you　who　will　feel　that；　unless　you　talk　to　me。”
“Shut　up；　Griego！”　Franco　shouted。　“His　threats　are　only　air。　This　isn’t　Mexico。　He’s　not
permitted　to　hurt　you。”
Smiling；　Finn　said　in　English；　“I　was　hoping　you’d　bring　that　up；　pendejo。”
As　Finn　turned；　his　hand　swept　down　to　his　boot　and　came　back　up　holding　a　knife。
“There’s　this　little　clock　in　my　head；”　he　said　casually。　“Tick　tick　tick　tick。”　The　knife　moved
back　and　forth　like　the　arm　of　a　metronome。　“Seconds　going　by。　Tick。　Tick。　Nothing’s　quite　as
dead　as　yesterday；　amigo。　Would　you　like　to　talk　about　last　night　or　be　sent　back　to　yesterday？”
“Now　just　a　minute；　mister；”　said　one　of　the　Salerno　brothers。　“Franco’s　a　good　foreman。　You
can’t　threaten　him　like　this。”
“Freddy；”　said　Sheriff　Brown；　taking　the　brother　by　the　arm；　“you　and　Bob　have　been
promising　me　a　taste　of　the　thirty…nine　crop。　Now　is　as　good　a　time　as　any；　and　better　than
most。”
Sheriff　Brown　took　the　Salerno　brothers　and　led　them　out　of　the　barn。
Branscomb　looked　at　Finn；　who　ignored　him。　The　deputy　turned　to　Riley；　who　hitched　his
shoulders　in　a　don’t…look…at…me　shrug。　Finn　watched　Franco。　Franco　watched　the　knife　blade
flicking　from　side　to　side；　marking　off　seconds。　Riley　realized　that　he　himself　was　silently
counting；　had　been　counting　since　Finn’s　knife　had　appeared。
Twenty…five。　Twenty…six。　Twenty…seven。
“Time’s　up；　pendejo。”
Even　with　that　warning；　the　foreman　was　not　prepared　for　the　speed　of　Finn’s　attack。　Before
Franco　could　blink；　Finn　had　seized　Franco’s　middle　finger　and　bent　it　flat　along　his　palm　in　an
agonizing　grip。
Franco　paled。　Other　than　that；　he　gave　no　sign　that　he　felt　pain。
“That’s　what　I　thought；”　sighed　Finn。　“One　of　the　tough　ones。”
Finn　started　to　lead　Franco　away。
Deputy　Branscomb　stepped　halfway　in　front　of　Finn。　“Now　I’m　the　last　one　to　question　God’s
will；”　said　Branscomb　easily；　“but　I’d　sure　like　to　know　why　you’re　going　to　do　whatever　you’re
going　to　do　with　Salerno’s　Mexican。”
Finn　decided　it　would　be　quicker　to　explain　than　to　push　back。
“You　know　what　machismo　means？”　asked　Finn。
“Balls。　Manhood。　Something　like　that；”　said　Brans…comb。
“Close　enough。　Franco　here　is　muy　macho；　so　whatever　I　get　from　him　will　be　the　hard　way。”
Finn　shrugged。　“His　choice。　But　I　don’t　have　time　to　beat　the　truth　out　of　him；　so　I’ll　have　to　use
this。”
The　knife　glittered　as　Finn　moved　it　abruptly。　He　spoke　in　Spanish。　The　field　workers　gasped
and　stepped　back。　A　few　crossed　themselves。　Franco　did　not　move　because　he　could　not；　but
sweat　slid　from　his　forehead　to　his　dark　cheeks。
“What　did　you　say　to　them？”　asked　Branscomb。
“I　told　them　that　Franco　will　either　talk　to　me　or　he　won’t　have　any　manhood　to　protect。”
Finn　brushed　past　the　deputy。　Franco　moved　in　unwilling　lockstep；　prisoner　to　Finn’s
excruciating　grip。　In　the　silence；　the　remaining　men　could　clearly　hear　boots　crunching　over
broken　glass。　The　two　men　disappeared　behind　a　vat　of　raw　wine。
Finn’s　voice　cut　through　the　silence。　“Talk　to　me；　pendejo。”
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The　waiting　men　heard　no　answer。　Then　came　the　sound　of　a　man　spitting。　Something　heavy
slammed　against　the　vat。　There　was　a　grunt；　then　the　snarl　of　ripping　cloth。　Franco　shrieked；
high　and　terrible；　a　sound　of　primal　terror。　The　sound　climbed　unendurably；　then　stopped　as
abruptly　as　it　had　begun。
Finn　appeared　suddenly　out　of　the　vat’s　odorous　shadows。
“Tú！”　said　Finn；　pointing　to　Griego。　“Ven　acá！　Pronto！”
Riley　stared。　For　the　first　time　he　confronted　the　fact　that　this　might　be　more　than　a　brutal　bluff。
Finn’s　voice　was　as　frightening　as　the　bloody　knife　in　his　hand。
Griego　looked　around　hurriedly；　but　there　was　no　escape。　He　began　speaking　so　quickly　that　his
words　sounded　alike。　Finn　listened。　Gradually　his　face　lost　its　savagery。　He　asked　a　few　clipped
questions。　Griego　answered　eagerly。　Finn　spoke　again；　gesturing　to　the　vat　behind　which　Franco
lay。　Griego　nodded。
Finn　put　his　knife　back　in　his　boot。
Riley　started　breathing　again　until　Finn　grabbed　Griego’s　left　foot；　looked　at　the　sole　of　the
huarache；　then　released　the　foot　so　quickly　that　Griego　staggered。
“Bueno；”　said　Finn。　“ándale！”　He　turned　toward　Riley。　“Go　up　to　the　house　and　call　Coughlan。
Tell　him　to　surround　the　Fragrant　Petal　flower　shop　in　Little　Tokyo。　Surround　it；　seal　it　off；　but
don’t　go　in。　Understand？　I　don’t　want　anyone　leaving　that　place；　and　I　don’t　want　anyone　going
inside　until　I　get　there。”
“Right；”　said　Riley。　He　hesitated。　“Look；　you　didn’t　really　hurt　that　guy；　did　you？”
“Make　the　call；”　said　Finn；　turning　back　to　the　braceros。　“I’ll　clean　up　here。”
San　Francisco
28　Hours　39　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　curtain　fell　into　place。　Vanessa　turned　and　moved　across　the　room；　passing　Hecht　without
looking　at　him。
“The　mortuary　was　closed；”　he　began；　closing　the　door　behind　him。　“I　couldn’t　hear　anyone
moving　around　there　or　next　door。　The　garage　was　open。”　He　watched　Vanessa　warily。　“There
weren’t　any　vehicles　inside；　not　even　a　hearse。　I　tried　the　inside　door　and　–　are　you　listening？”
Vanessa　opened　her　purse；　screwed　the　silencer　onto　her　pistol　and　went　to　the　door。　“The
shops　were　locked；　one　garage　was　open；　there　was　nothing　inside；”　she　summarized。　“Anything
else？”
“The　door　inside　the　garage　was　locked；　too。”
“That’s　all？”
“Uh　–　yeah。”
“Then　shut　up。”
Vanessa　stood　with　one　hand　on　the　doorknob。　In　her　other　hand；　the　silencer　made　the　barrel
of　the　gun　look　unbalanced。　She　listened　intently。　Suddenly　she　opened　the　door；　keeping　it　as　a
shield　between　herself　and　the　hallway。
Slaven　hurried　into　the　room；　dragging　a　Mexican　teenager　with　him。　The　boy　stared　around　the
room；　his　eyes　large　and　dark。　“Where’s　Uncle　Refugio？”
Vanessa　looked　at　Slaven；　who　had　not　let　go　of　the　boy’s　arm。
“His　name　is　Jaime　Reyes。　He　stopped　for　gas；”　said　Slaven　tersely。　“He　works　in　his　father’s
mortuary。”
Jaime　looked　at　the　people　in　the　room；　confused。　Then　he　focused　on　Slaven；　the　man　who　had
known　so　much　about　his　uncle。　“You　said　Refugio　needed　me。”
“Yes；”　said　Vanessa　smoothly。　“He　wanted　you　to　tell　us　about　the　Japanese　man　in　the　Army
uniform。”
Jaime　looked　at　each　face；　white　skin　and　light　eyes　–　strangers。　He　looked　away。　“All　the
Japanese　left　a　lon