Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第52部分

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Finn　fired　once；　taking　another　notch　out　of　the　grave　marker　that　concealed　the　attacker。
Immediately；　the　man　fired　from　the　other　side　of　the　marker；　a　shot　that　kicked　dirt　into　the
grave。　Finn　ducked　and　heard　another　shot；　followed　by　a　sharp　cry　from　Riley。
“Six；”　said　Finn；　tearing　off　his　jacket。　“Come　o？；　Coughlan！　Where　the　hell　are　you！”　He　flung
his　jacket　over　the　edge　of　the　grave。　When　no　bullets　came；　he　leaped　out；　firing　a　shot　to　keep
the　attacker　off…balance。
As　Finn　dragged　Riley　to　cover；　the　other　agent　swarmed　out　of　the　grave；　snatched　his　gun　and
dove　back　in。　Bullets　screamed　around　the　grave　again。　The　attacker　had　reloaded　quickly。
Finn　threw　himself　across　Riley　and　fired　two　quick　shots　that　sent　the　man　scrambling　back　for
cover。　By　touch　alone；　Finn　snatched　a　fresh　clip　from　his　belt　and　slapped　it　into　his　。45。　His
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eyes　scanned　the　close　ranks　of　granite　monuments；　looking　for　a　hint　of　movement。
From　fifty　yards　to　Finn’s　right　came　three　shots；　Coughlan　firing　as　he　ran　uphill。　To　be
protected　from　the　new　angle　of　attack；　or　to　counter　it；　the　man　had　to　change　position。　Finn
raised　his　gun；　waiting；　his　hand　steady。　The　attacker　gathered　himself；　took　two　long　steps；　and
dove　for　the　cover　of　a　blank…eyed；　eight…foot…tall　angel。
Finn’s　three　shots　echoed　as　one；　a　continuous　roll　of　sound。　The　man　twisted　in　midair；　arms
flung　out　and　legs　limp；　as　bullets　shattered　his　spine。　His　body　slammed　against　the　eroded
granite　angel　and　slid　down　to　the　damp　green　grass。
From　the　grave；　the　agent　poured　bullets　into　the　body。　Ricochets　whined　among　the
headstones。　Finn　did　not　even　look　up；　he　knew　that　the　man　was　dead。
In　a　single　movement；　Finn　rolled　off　Riley；　pulled　a　knife　out　of　his　boot；　and　opened　up　Riley’s
bloodstained　pantleg　with　a　sweep　of　the　blade。
Arterial　blood　leaped　and　ebbed；　marking　each　quick　beat　of　Riley’s　heart。　Finn’s　thumb　sank
into　Riley’s　thigh　just　below　his　crotch；　squeezing　down　on　the　ruptured　artery。　The　leap　of
blood　dwindled　to　a　slow　seep　of　scarlet　a　few　inches　below　Finn’s　hand。
Riley　groaned　and　tried　to　sit　up。
“Don’t　move；　hero；”　said　Finn。　“A　bullet　nicked　your　artery。”
Riley　looked　at　the　bright　patches　of　blood　smeared　across　his　legs　and　Finn’s　hands。　He　stared
at　F；inn；　then　at　the　open　grave。
“At　least　you　won’t　have　to　carry　me　far；”　Riley　said；　trying　to　smile。
“Shut　up；”　said　Finn；　but　his　voice　was　gentle。　“And　if　you　ever　again　yell　a　warning　before　you
hit　the　dirt；　I’ll　shoot　you　myself。”
Riley’s　face　twisted　with　pain。　He　closed　his　eyes　and　his　breath　sighed　out。
Coughlan　ran　up；　panting。　He　looked　at　the　blood　covering　Riley　and　spilling　over　onto　Finn。
“How　bad　is　it？”
“The　agent　over　there　is　dead。　As　long　as　I　keep　Riley　under　my　thumb；　he　has　a　chance。”
Coughlan　looked　at　Riley’s　white　face　and　the　blood　welling　slowly　beneath　Finn’s　hand。　“So
you’re　a　goddamn　doctor；　too。”
“Use　your　mouth　to　get　an　ambulance。　My　hand　is　getting　tired。”
Coughlan　hesitated；　reluctant　to　leave　Riley。　Finally　he　ran　toward　his　car。　The　agent　left　in　the
grave　slowly　climbed　out　and　walked　up　the　hill　toward　the　man　sprawled　at　the　foot　of　the
blind　gray　angel。
Riley’s　head　moved　as　his　eyes　fluttered　open。
“Finn…”
“Don’t　talk。”
“Gotta　know；”　whispered　Riley。
“You’re　going　to　be　fine。”
“Not　that；”　Riley　said；　his　voice　weak；　his　eyes　trying　to　focus　on　Finn。　“That　Mexican…　in　the
winery。　You　didn’t　really…　cut　off　his…”
Riley　went　limp。　Only　the　slow；　bright　welling　of　blood　from　the　wound　in　his　thigh　told　Finn
that　the　agent　was　still　alive。
In　the　distance　came　the　first　thin　wailings　of　sirens　closing　in　on　the　graveyard’s　green　hills。
Northern　California
31　Hours　3　Minutes　After　Trinity
Even　in　mid…July；　Tioga　Pass　was　a　frigid　spectacle　of　ice　fields　and　granite　peaks。　The　road　was
a　narrow　gravel　ribbon　twisting　across　steep　rocky　ridges。　Where　avalanches　or　rockslidcs　had
occurred；　the　road　diminished　to　a　rutted　trail　gouged　out　by　road　crews。　The　road　had　been　all
but　destroyed　by　winter。　Potholes　big　enough　to　snap　an　axle　were　common。
Kestrel　drove　with　singular　concentration；　sparing　only　a　glance　at　the　slate…gray　turbulence　of
clouds　building　around　the　nearby　peaks。　July　blizzards　were　not　unknown　in　the　high　Sierras；
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the　wind　was　tipped　with　ice。
The　black　Chevrolet　lunged　from　curve　to　curve；　laboring　under　the　demands　of　the　road　and
the　altitude。　Sudden　lightning　stalked　the　heights　and　thunder　belled　deafeningly。　Hail　came　in　a
brutal　fall　that　drowned　out　even　the　thunder。
Ana　stared　at　the　unforgiving　landscape　as　it　turned　pale　beneath　the　onslaught　of　ice。　The　car
slid　sickeningly；　scraped　along　a　cliff　wall　and　lurched　back　to　the　center　of　the　narrow　road。　A
rear　wheel　thumped　into　a　pothole。
The　car　bounced　wildly；　slamming　Ana　first　toward　the　windshield　and　then　against　the　door。
Only　Kestrel’s　grip　on　the　steering　wheel　kept　him　in　his　seat。　The　undercarriage　banged　and
squealed　against　rocks　concealed　by　hail。
In　the　trunk；　uranium　danced。
Tuolumne　Meadow　was　all　but　hidden　by　clouds　and　falling　ice。　Only　the　flattening　of　the　road
told　Kestrel　that　he　had　reached　the　upper　limits　of　the　pass。　He　peered　out　at　the　alpine
meadow。　His　shoulders　and　the　long　flat　muscles　of　his　upper　back　were　knotted　from　wrestling
with　the　wheel。　He　had　chosen　this　mountain　road　to　avoid　the　possibility　of　a　roadblock　on　the
heavily　traveled　Donner　Pass。　His　greatest　danger　was　being　discovered　before　he　could　slide
into　the　anonymity　of　the　Japanese　faces　in　Manzanar。　He　would　stay　there　until　the　first　frantic
rush　of　American　security　slackened　into　acceptance　that　the　uranium　was　gone。　Only　then
would　he　risk　crossing　into　Mexico；　and　even　then；　he　would　avoid　Refugio’s　tunnel。　If　the
Americans　did　not　discover　it　and　set　a　trap　there；　Masarek’s　woman　would。
The　hail　stopped　abruptly。　Tuolumne　Meadow　was　behind　them。　Before　them；　the　road
dropped　thousands　of　feet　to　the　desert　floor　in　a　series　of　violent　corkscrews。　Trees　vanished；
replaced　by　rocks　in　tones　of　gray　and　ocher　and　rust。　The　land　was　dry　and　unyielding。
Neither　Ana　nor　Kestrel　spoke　as　he　drove　the　road；　cliffs　on　one　side　and　a　void　on　the　other。
The　road　was　so　narrow　that　a　minor　miscalculation　would　send　the　car　end　over　end　to　smash
on　the　land　a　mile　below。
Finally　the　mountains　yielded　to　the　high　desert。　With　a　feeling　of　relief；　Kestrel　headed　for　the
two…lane　blacktop　road　that　undulated　along　the　dry　side　of　the　Sierras。　Half　a　mile　short　of　the
new　road；　he　pulled　over　and　shut　off　the　engine。
“What’s　wrong？”　asked　Ana。
“I　want　to　check　the　trunk。”
Kestrel　got　out　and　stretched。　Above　him　the　sun　was　high　and　hot；　the　hailstorm　no　more　than
an　improbable　memory。　The　air　here　reminded　him　of　New　Mexico；　clear　and　pungent　and　dry。
He　walked　back　to　the　trunk。　In　the　instant　that　the　dusty　lid　popped　up；　he　saw　that　the　two
pieces　of　uranium　were　touching。
Reflexively；　Kestrel　slammed　shut　the　trunk；　then　realized　that　did　little　good。　The　car’s　steel
body　could　not　shield　flesh　against　a　critical　mass　of　U…235。　The　only　protection　was　to　separate
the　lumps　of　uranium。
Even　knowing　that；　it　took　all　of　his　discipline　to　open　the　trunk　again。　The　uranium　was　at　the
back　of　the　trunk；　jammed　into　a　corner。　A　pale　wash　of　blue　showed　even　in　the　full　outpouring
of　desert　noon。
Except　for　the　suitcases；　the　pails　and　the　uranium；　the　trunk　was　empty；　not　even　a　jack　or　a　tire
iron　to　knock　apart　the　nestled　pieces。　And　while　he　hesitated；　radiation　grew。　He　would　have　to
separate　the　uranium　as　Refugio　had；　flesh　against　isotope；　almost　certain　death。
But　death　was　always　certain；　the　sole　door　to　new　life。
“What’s　the　odd　light？”　asked　Ana。　She　had　come　around　the　trunk　to　stand　near　Kestrel。
Kestrel　did　not　answer。　He　leaned　into　the　trunk　and　grabbed　the　smaller　ruby　parcel。　It　was
warm。　In　the　instant　he　held　it；　he　sensed；　or　perhaps　only　imagined；　a　subliminal　current　of
energy　pouring　through　his　hand。　Immediately　he　tossed　the　uranium　into　a　pail。　The　pail
wobbled；　then　was　still。　He　put　it　along　the　right　side　of　the　trunk。
The　pale　blue　glow　flickered　and　died　as　silently　as　it　had　been　born。
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Kestrel　dumped　the　larger　piece　into　the　second　pail；　moved　it　away　from　the　first；　and　wedged
both　pails　as　securely　as　he　could。　As　he　worked；　he　noticed　that　the　rough　ride　had　abraded　and
torn　the　foil　on　both　pieces　of　uranium；　revealing　the　shine　of　naked　metal　beneath。
Nausea　coiled　inside　Kestrel。　He　controlled　it　swiftly；　knowing　it　originated　in　his　mind　rather
than　his　body。　Refugio；　with　far　greater　exposure；　had　not　become　incapacitated　until　several
hours　after　he　was　exposed。
For　an　instant　Kestrel　considered　trying　to　flee　to　Mexico　while　he　was　well　enough　to　travel。
Then　he　put　aside　the　temptation。　The　tunnel　was　known　to　Vanessa；　more　ordinary　routes
across　the　border　were　controlled　by　the　Americans。
If　Japan　were　to　use　stolen　uranium　to　bargain　for　an　honorable　peace；　it　would　have　to　do　so
from　an　enemy　prison　camp　called　Manzanar。
San