Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第42章

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“That’s　all。”
“Good。　It　is　done。”
San　Francisco
27　Hours　31　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　door　to　the　embalming　room　closed　softly　behind　Kestrel。　Even　so；　Refugio　was　startled。
His　fever　magnified　and　distorted　sounds。　He　wanted　desperately　to　sleep；　but　the　conflicting
agonies　in　his　guts　and　thigh　made　sleep　impossible。
“Refugio。”
Kestrel’s　voice　was　close；　calm；　cool；　like　water。
“Yes。”
Kestrel　wrung　out　a　rag　and　placed　it　on　Refugio’s　forehead。　“The　pain　is　very　bad　for　you？”
Refugio　did　not　answer　for　a　moment；　then　sighed。　“If　it　were　not　a　sin　to　wish　for　death；　I
would。”
“To　me；”　said　Kestrel；　“death　is　an　interruption　between　lives；　not　a　sin。”
Refugio　would　have　smiled　had　the　pain　not　been　so　cruel。　“If　I　had　to　feel　like　this　again；　I
would　spit　on　another　life。”
His　hot　hand　closed　around　Kestrel’s　wrist　as　the　Japanese　moved　the　damp　cloth　from
forehead　to　basin　and　back　again。
“But　what　is　worse　than　the　pain　is　the　time　when　I’m　falling　and　there’s　nothing　but　hot　black
sand　around　me；　filling　my　mouth　and　nose；　going　down　my　throat　and　I’m　choking；　dying　–　“
Slowly；　the　Mexican’s　fingers　loosened。　His　head　fell　slackly　onto　the　pillow。　Kestrel　dipped　the
rag　in　water　again；　wrung　it　out　and　wiped　Refugio’s　face。　Clumps　of　hair　fell　away　as　Kestrel
worked。　Refugio　began　retching　helplessly；　too　weak　even　to　move　his　head。　Blood　gathered　on
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his　lips　and　he　choked。　Kestrel　turned　Refugio　quickly；　holding　his　head　so　that　he　would　not
gag　on　his　own　blood。
“Madre　de　Dios；”　moaned　Refugio；　twisting　in　agony。　“That　pigfucker　poisoned　his　bullets。　I
will　die。”
“Yes；”　Kestrel　said；　“you　will　die。”
Kestrel　moved　the　rag　again　over　Refugio’s　face；　blurring　the　distinction　between　sweat　and
tears；　then　he　lifted　Refugio　upright　so　that　he　could　breathe　without　choking。
“How　–　long？”　gasped　Refugio。
“Two　days。　A　week。　Or　now；　Refugio。　Would　you　prefer　to　die　now？”
Refugio　tried　not　to　moan。　Then；　realizing　what　Kestrel　had　said；　he　stared　into　the　slanted　black
eyes　so　close　to　his　own。
“Suicide　is　a　mortal　sin；”　said　Refugio；　his　voice　shallow　and　hoarse。
“I’m　not　a　Catholic；”　said　Kestrel；　“and　I’m　not　speaking　of　suicide。”
In　the　silence；　Kestrel　could　hear　Refugio’s　fast；　shallow　breathing。
“Please　understand　me；”　said　Refugio；　his　tongue　thick　with　pain。　“I’m　Catholic。　I　can’t　ask　for
death。　Please　–　you　must　–　understand。　I　can’t　–　ask。”
Kestrel　nodded。　As　he　lowered　Refugio　back　onto　the　gurney；　his　head　lolled　back　over
Kestrel’s　arm。　Kestrel’s　right　hand　moved　in　a　blur　of　speed　and　power。　With　a　single　clean
crack；　its　calloused　edge　broke　Refugio’s　neck。
There　was　silence；　then　came　Ana’s　thin；　strangled　cry。
Kestrel　spun　toward　the　door　that　opened　into　the　flower　shop。　He　saw　Ana’s　startlingly　pale
face；　her　wide　black　eyes　ringed　by　the　hated　blue　makeup；　her　white　teeth　bruising　her　lower　lip。
“Ana；　Ana；”　murmured　Kestrel。　“When　will　you　learn　not　to　open　doors？”
Ana　looked　at　him　wildly。　She　started　to　speak；　but　could　not。　She　wanted　to　be　comforted；　but
the　only　man　who　could　comfort　her　was　the　very　man　who　had　frightened　her。
“Murderer。”
“You’re　very　American；　Ana　Oshiga；　American　and　Christian。　You　would　have　left　Refugio　in
agony　and　called　it　the　will　of　God。”　Kestrel　went　to　a　long　counter　and　began　opening　drawers。
He　moved　quickly；　collecting　the　items　he　needed。　“Bring　my　uniform；”　he　said　without　turning
around。　“Quickly。　And　get　two　pails　from　the　flower　shop。”
Ana　watched　Kestrel；　carrying　a　handful　of　makeup；　approach　the　corpse。
She　fled　back　into　the　flower　shop。
When　she　returned　with　the　two　buckets　and　uniform；　Refugio’s　corpse　was　naked　on　the
embalming　table。
“Bolt　the　door。”
Ana　turned　and　fumbled　with　the　bolt。
“They’re　leaving；”　she　said　hesitantly。　“The　Rincons。　They’ve　taken　the　flower　trucks　and　the
hearses　and　all　but　one　car。”
“Good。”
Kestrel　dressed　the　corpse。　The　uniform　was　too　small。　He　opened　up　the　back　of　the　clothes
with　a　scalpel。　When　he　tucked　the　split　cloth　beneath　the　body；　the　rents　in　the　back　were
invisible。
The　corpse　now　wore　the　clothes　of　a　Nisei　and　the　face　of　an　Indio。　Kestrel　sewed　shut　the
mouth　and　powdered　and　rouged　the　dead　skin。　He　had　a　certain　skill　with　cosmetics；　but　the
eyes　defeated　him。　Short　of　surgery；　Kestrel　knew　of　no　way　to　fake　an　epicanthic　fold。
“Like　this；”　said　Ana。
She　took　the　dark　pencil　with　hands　that　trembled。　A　few　deft　strokes　increased　the　slant　of　each
eye　and　suggested　a　fold　on　each　eyelid。　Like　the　uniform；　the　eyes　would　now　pass　a　cursory
inspection。
“Good；”　said　Kestrel。　Then；　hearing　the　harshness　of　his　own　voice　he　added；　“Thank　you。”
Ana　looked　at　Kestrel’s　eyes；　then　looked　away　quickly。　“I　was　wrong；”　she　whispered。　“I’m　a
Page　115
coward。　I’m　glad　he’s　dead　and　I　don’t　have　to　hear　him　moan　and　see　him　–　but　I　wouldn’t　have
killed　–　I　couldn’t　–　I　–　“　She　began　sobbing。
“Hush。　It’s　almost　over。”
Kestrel　touched　the　tears　at　the　corner　of　her　eyes；　then　turned　back　to　what　must　be　done。　He
went　to　the　coffin　room；　selected　the　lightest　coffin　he　could　find　and　dragged　it　into　the
embalming　room。
He　pulled　the　coffin　onto　a　gurney；　then　heaved　Refugio’s　corpse　into　it；　arranged　the　body；　and
wheeled　the　coffin　back　into　the　storage　room。　He　nailed　the　lid　down。
“Bring　some　makeup　for　me；”　Kestrel　called　over　his　shoulder。　He　put　one　piece　of
foil…wrapped　U…235　in　each　bucket。　“I’ll　have　to　be　an　Indio　until　we　get　to　Manzanar。”
The　garage　was　dark　and　damp；　as　though　the　sun　never　penetrated　the　interior。　In　the　midst　of
the　gloom　was　a　black　Chevrolet　sedan。　Kestrel　opened　its　trunk　and　placed　a　bucket　along　one
side。
He　brought　the　second　pail　and　wedged　it　as　far　away　from　the　first　as　the　trunk　allowed。　He
waited；　squinting　into　the　dark　hole　of　the　truck。　No　blue　haze　shimmered　into　life。　It　was　a
crude　gauge　of　safety；　but　it　was　the　only　one　he　had。
The　heavy　trunk　lid　slammed　shut　with　a　thick；　final　sound。　Kestrel　went　to　the　door　that　opened
into　the　alley　and　peered　out。　No　one　was　in　sight。　If　there　were　any　watchers；　they　had　been
drawn　off　by　the　Rincón　exodus。
As　Kestrel　opened　the　garage’s　big　double　doors；　Ana　ran　in　from　the　front　of　the　funeral
home；　carrying　two　suitcases。　She　sat　on　the　right　side　of　the　car；　waiting　for　Kestrel。　He　slid
into　the　driver’s　side　and　started　the　engine。
In　the　sunlight　flooding　through　the　open　garage　door；　Ana　looked　pale；　thin…lipped；　distraught。
“Cry　now；　Ana。　It　will　help。”
Ana　gave　Kestrel　a　look　that　he　could　not　read。
“And　you；　Kestrel。　When　will　you　cry？”
Kestrel　drove　the　car　out　of　the　garage　without　answering。　Ana　did　not　ask　the　question　again。
Nor　did　she　cry。
San　Francisco
27　Hours　38　Minutes　After　Trinity
Vanessa　paced　the　room；　her　body　tense；　her　eyes　brilliant　with　suppressed　emotion。　Hecht　sat
very　quietly；　his　hands　clenched　around　the　cold　weight　of　the　gun　and　ammunition　he　had
purchased。　He　watched　Vanessa’s　luminous　beauty　with　more　fear　than　admiration。
“Comrade；”　said　Hecht　hesitantly；　again　holding　out　the　brown　paper　bag；　“the　gun。”
Vanessa　gave　Hecht　a　single；　savage　glance。　She　had　watched　flower　trucks　and　funeral　cars　leave
their　respective　shops。　She　had　watched；　and　been　helpless。　She　needed　fifteen　men。　All　she　had
was　Slaven　and　a　nitwit　with　pretensions　to　international　communism。
At　the　moment；　Slaven　was　chasing　one　of　four　dusty　black　funeral　cars。　The　flower　store　and
funeral　home　might　or　might　not　be　a　trap；　might　or　might　not　be　baited　with　something
significant。　She　must　know；　and　she　must　depend　on　Hecht　to　find　out。
Vanessa　made　a　sound　of　disgust。
“Have　I　done　something　wrong？”　asked　Hecht；　looking　away　from　Vanessa’s　fierce　blue　eyes。
“You　were　born；”　said　Vanessa；　but　she　said　it　in　Russian　because　she　still　had　a　use　for　Hecht。
She　took　the　paper　bag　from　him　and　examined　its　contents。　At　least　he　had　managed　to　buy　the
right　size　ammunition。　The　gun　itself　was　used；　dirty；　and　still　had　a　pawnshop　number　dangling
from　its　trigger　guard。　She　checked　the　weapon　skillfully；　then　shrugged。　It　might　fire　a　few　more
rounds　before　it　fell　apart。
Vanessa　loaded　the　gun；　put　the　hammer　in　the　safe　position　and　returned　the　weapon　to　Hecht。
He　handled　it　awkwardly。
“Get　used　to　it；”　she　said。
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Hecht　looked　up；　startled。　“I　thought　it　was　for　you！”
“I　have　one。”
She　returned　to　the　window；　hoping　to　see　Slaven　with　an　unwilling　Mexican　in　tow。　There　was
one　thing　she　had　to　know；　a　question　only　a　Rincón　would　answer：　which　vehicle　contained
Refugio　and　two　lumps　of　U…235？　She　would　pay　well　for　that　information。
Abruptly；　she　turned　back　to　Hecht。　“Go　see　if　the　stores　are　locked。　Try　the　front　first；　then　the
back。　If　the　funeral　home　is　open；　come　back　here　immediately。”
“What　about　this？”　asked　Hecht；　holding　up　the　pawnshop　pistol。
“Shoot　yourself；”　suggested　Vanessa　in　Russian。
Sonoma　County
28　Hours　2　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　black　Ford　flashed　between　rows　of　grapevines　falling　away　from　both　sides　of　the　country
road。　Riley　dozed　in　the　front　seat。
“Heads　up；”　warned　Finn。　He　turned　off　onto　a　dirt　farm…road。
The　Salerno　Brothers　winery　was　a　mile　off　the　highway。　There　were　scattered　outbuildings　and
two　large　old　barns　with　steep　roofs　supported　by　thick　fieldstone　walls。
Seven　Mexican　field　hands；　braceros；　stood　in　the　front　yard；　shaded　by　a　large　sycamore。　Finn
glanced　their　way　as　he　got　out　of　the　car。　A　restlessness　in　their　manner　caught　his　eye。　One　of
the　men　said　something　in　Spanish。　The　others　laughed。
Deputy　Branscomb　met　Finn　and　Riley　in　the　doorway　of　the　winery。　A　large　pocket　watch
gleamed　in　his　rough…knuckled　hand。
“Fifty…nine　minutes　and　a　few　odd　seconds。　Not　bad　at　all；　for　amateurs。”　Branscomb　slipped
the　watch　back　into　the　slash　pocket　of　his　worn　green　uniform　pants。　“Back　here；”　he　said；
leading　them　into　the　cool　interior　of　the　winery。
The　sweet…sharp　smell　of　green　wine　filled　the　building。　Twenty…foot…high　redwood　holding
tanks　lined　the　aisle；　their　round　sides　girdle