Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第19部分

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would　come　only　once　today。
With　narrowed　eyes；　Kestrel　examined　the　surrounding　land　once　more；　seeing　little　but　varying
densities　of　black。　Between　ragged　clouds；　the　stars　in　the　east　were　changing　subtly；　more
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mecury　than　diamond；　dulling　by　increments　too　small　for　the　human　eye　to　measure。　Slowly；
land　solidified；　blacker　than　the　night。　A　long　western　wind　blew；　bringing　scents　of　rain　and
earth　and　distance。
An　intuition　of　movement　brought　Kestrel’s　eyes　to　the　southern　horizon。　Nearby；　dark　gray
against　the　dense　predawn　sky；　a　nighthawk　cruised；　alert　for　the　least　sound　or　movement　that
would　reveal　its　prey。　For　an　instant　longer　the　raptor　flew　in　swift　calligraphy　against　the　sky；
then　the　bird　vanished　as　silently　as　it　had　come。
Kestrel　opened　the　door　of　the　car　carefully；　knowing　how　far　sound　carried　across　desolate
land。　He　got　out　and　leaned　lightly　against　the　car’s　cold　metal　fender。
Reflexively；　he　stretched　the　long　muscles　of　his　legs　and　then　the　shorter　muscles　at　the　back　of
his　neck　where　tension　had　clamped　down；　impeding　the　flow　of　blood。　He　took　a　slow　breath；
filling　his　lungs　with　the　sharp；　clean　air　of　the　New　Mexican　desert。　Then　he　stepped　away　from
the　car；　moving　with　a　speed　and　silence　that　recalled　the　nighthawk；　relaxing　as　his　body　lifted
and　turned　in　stylized　exercises　that　had　been　old　before　America　was　discovered　or　named。
Tension　drained　out　of　Kestrel’s　body；　leaving　him　both　alert　and　calm。　Slowly　he　searched　the
land　again；　looking　toward　the　unborn　dawn　where　stars　paled；　looking　toward　a　horizon　that
was　still　concealed　by　dark　and　distance。
A　great　white　blister　of　light　burst　into　searing　incandescence　along　the　eastern　horizon。
Kestrel’s　eyelids　snapped　shut　even　as　his　head　turned　aside；　but　darkness　did　not　come　to　him。
The　explosion　had　burned　indelibly　into　his　retinas；　creating　an　afterimage　of　shimmering
purple。　Pain　scalded　his　eyes　and　he　was　afraid　that　he　was　blind；　condemned　to　a　lifetime　of
seeing　unearthly　brightness；　punishment　for　daring　to　look　into　the　searing　white　center　of　light。
Long　seconds　hung　like　souls　in　judgement。　He　forced　his　eyes　to　open　and　learned　he　was　not
blind；　and　then　wished　he　were。
The　raw　white　light　was　like　a　thousand　suns　burning　as　one；　or　a　single　new　sun　burning　a
thousand　times　closer　to　earth。
White　light　thickened；　turning　into　yellow；　and　a　column　of　clouds　churned　frantically　away　from
the　desert　floor。　A　blazing　circle　of　orange　formed　at　the　top　of　the　boiling　column。　Nearby
clouds　bloomed　an　eerie　violet；　lit　from　beneath　by　an　uncanny　dawn。
The　silence　was　absolute；　awesome；　a　world　holding　its　breath　while　the　future　irrevocably
sheered　away　from　the　past。　Even　as　Kestrel　felt　a　sensation　of　warmth　like　sunlight　over　his
body；　he　realized　that　he　was　counting　seconds；　had　been　counting　since　the　first　searing　white
instant；　trying　to　measure　his　distance　from　chaos。　With　each　silent　second　he　numbered；　his　fear
increased。　The　explosion　had　been　so　far　away　that　sound　had　not　yet　reached　him。　He　had　been
blinded；　cowed；　and　he　had　yet　to　hear　the　column’s　voice。
Nearly　a　minute　later　came　the　sound　of　sky　compressed　into　a　terrible　rolling　thunder。　The
violent　column　of　cloud　still　rose；　carrying　with　it　a　distinctive　crown。　Kestrel　felt　the　heat　and
the　light　and　the　thunder　and　could　not　believe　that　he　was　at　least　ten　miles　away　from　the
explosion。
A　vast　exhalation　of　wind　streamed　over　him；　lifting　his　hair　and　pressing　his　shirt　against　his
sweating　body　while　his　lips　soundlessly　shaped　incantations　he　had　thought　lost　with　childhood。
Only　when　he　realized　that　the　wind　was　coming　from　the　east　instead　of　the　west　did　he　really
believe　what　he　had　seen。　At　that　same　moment　he　also　realized　that　his　body　was　poised　in
futile　fighting　reflex；　one　foot　slightly　forward；　hands　extended；　fingers　rigid。
But　no　man　could　fight　the　sun。
Kestrel　stood　alone　on　the　dirt　road；　transfixed　by　the　furious　column　that　still　clawed　upward；　a
column　capped　by　an　unearthly　crown；　silent　again　after　the　shock　waves　had　expanded　past　him
out　into　the　desert。　Gradually　the　greenish　light　faded；　superseded　by　a　distant　sun’s　light
growing　calmly；　silently；　out　of　the　east。
As　though　freed　by　the　second　dawn；　Kestrel　spun　toward　his　car；　unable　to　think　coherently；
knowing　only　that　he　had　seen　the　future　and　it　was　American；　not　Japanese；　a　future　without
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pride　or　ritual　or　tradition。　Terribly　new。
Moscow
5　Minutes　After　Trinity
（Excerpt　from　NKVD　radio　log。　Decoded。）
AMERICANS　EXPLODED　ATOMIC　BOMB。　OUR　AGENT　WAS　NOT　AT　TRINITY
SITE。　DETAILS　TO　FOLLOW。
Alamogordo　Test　Range
Trinity　Site　Base　Camp
25　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　atomic　cloud　churned　upward　until　it　was　eight　miles　tall；　a　pillar　of　gold　burnished　by
sunrise。　Groves　watched　the　culmination　of　Manhattan　Project　with　a　feeling　of　awe　and
exhilaration　that　had　not　diminished　in　the　twenty…five　minutes　since　the　atomic　bomb　had
blown　apart　itself；　the　night；　and　a　square　mile　of　desert。　That　huge；　boiling　column　vindicated
every　argument　he　had　made；　every　dollar　he　had　spent；　every　man　he　had　broken　with　his
relentless　demands。　The　atomic　cloud　was　awesome；　beautiful；　it　towered　like　a　god　over　the
men　who　gathered　at　its　feet。
“I　wonder　if　Moses　followed　something　like　that　to　the　Promised　Land；”　said　one　of　the
technicians。
There　was　no　answer；　nor　did　the　man　expect　one。
Dr。　Oppenheimer　looked　at　the　awesome　column　and　its　tumultuous　crown　and　was　reminded
not　of　the　Old　Testament；　but　of　the　Bhagavad　Gita：　lam　become　death；　the　destroyer　of
worlds。
Nearby；　Lattimer　measured　the　towering　signature　of　the　bomb。　“Jesus　Christ　on　a　crutch。　You
might　as　well　tell　me　to　keep　the　Mississippi　River　a　secret。”
General　Groves　shook　his　head。　“It　doesn’t　matter　now。”　His　voice　was　confident；　almost
exultant。　“The　war’s　over。　One　of　those　bombs　and　Japan　will　be　finished。”
Lattimer　dragged　on　his　cigaret　and　blew　out　smoke　in　a　long　sigh。　“Maybe。　But　it　will　take　at
least　two　atomic　bombs。　The　Japs　won’t　believe　the　first　one。　Hell；　/　don’t　believe　it　and　the
goddamn　thing　is　standing　on　my　goddamn　toes！”　He　sighed　again　and　ground　out　his　cigaret
butt。　“At　least　two　bombs；　General。　It’s　just　flat　fucking　unbelievable　the　first　time。”
Groves　looked　at　Lattimer；　the　voice　of　the　past；　a　gun　soldier　who　could　not　read　the　future
even　when　it　consumed　the　very　sky　in　front　of　him。　Groves　turned　back　to　the　mushroom　cloud
that　changed　as　he　watched；　transforming　itself　as　it　had　transformed　the　world。　He　nodded　his
head；　satisfied。　The　general　who　had　never　been　in　a　shooting　war　had　accomplished　something
all　the　gun　soldiers　in　the　world　had　not　been　able　to　do　–　he　had　given　his　country　a　victory。
Alamogordo　Test　Range
Trinity　Site
33　Minutes　After　Trinity
（Top　Secret　memorandum　to　Secretary　of　war　Henry　L。　Stimson。）
At　0530；　16　July　1945；　in　a　remote　section　of　the　Alamogordo　Air　Base；　New　Mexico；　the　first
full…scale　test　was　made　of　the　implosion　type　atomic　fission　bomb。　For　the　first　time　in　history
there　was　a　nuclear　explosion。　And　what　an　explosion！
Maj。　Gen。　Leslie　R。　Groves
Washington　D。C。
47　Minutes　After　Trinity
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（Cable　sent　to　President　Truman　at　Potsdam　Conference。　Not　encoded。）
PATIENT　OPERATED　ON　THIS　MORNING。　DIAGNOSIS　NOT　YET　COMPLETE　BUT
RESULTS　SEEM　SATISFACTORY　AND　ALREADY　EXCEED　EXPECTATIONS。
LOCAL　PRESS　RELEASE　NECESSARY　AS　INTEREST　EXTENDS　GREAT　DISTANCE。
DR。　GROVES　PLEASED。　HE　RETURNS　TOMORROW。　I　WILL　KEEP　YOU　POSTED。
END
（Reply。　Not　encoded。）
I　SEND　MY　WARMEST　CONGRATULATIONS　TO　THE　DOCTOR　AND　HIS
CONSULTANT。　END
San　Francisco
1　Hour　After　Trinity
Sunrise　rarely　came　to　San　Francisco　in　the　summer；　except　in　a　gradual；　almost　imperceptible
increase　of　gray　light　diffused　through　fog　banks　couched　on　steep　hills　around　the　Bay。
Suspended　in　damp　swirls　of　earthbound　clouds；　the　Bay　Bridge’s　curves　and　thrusts　of　steel
supported　traffic　that　thickened　with　the　light。
Military　traffic　had　once　been　treated　with　deference；　but　now　olive　drab　trucks　and　Navy　blue
Jeeps　had　to　butt　and　shoulder　with　civilian　vehicles；　their　passengers　eager　to　leave　the　war
behind。　The　sound　of　the　struggle　tumbled　off　the　bridge　and　down　to　Oakland’s　dirty　industrial
waterfront　like　a　harsh　rain。
The　cacophony　scraped　Vanessa’s　nerves。　She　moved　restively　in　the　back　seat　of　her　parked
car；　watching　through　mist　for　the　pale　shape　of　a　Chinese　laundry　truck。　She　adjusted　the　dark
blue　scarf　that　hid　her　bright　hair。　From　the　outside　of　the　car　she　was　invisible。
The　distant　bob　of　a　flashlight　warned　Vanessa　that　a　night　watchman　from　one　of　the　nearby
factories　was　making　another　indifferent　round。　The　presence　of　Vanessa’s　car　did　not　excite　any
interest。　There　were　always　private　and　commercial　vehicles　parked　at　random　along　the　street
and　in　parking　lots；　waiting　for　jobs　or　for　gas　ration　coupons　or　money　or　spare　parts。　Vanessa
had　watched　each　of　the　vehicles　carefully　when　she　first　arrived；　but　had　seen　no　one。
Absently；　Vanessa　rubbed　her　neck　where　the　dark　navy　sweater　chafed　her　skin。　She　wore　no
makeup。　Her　face　was　a　blank；　an　artist’s　canvas　ready　to　hold　whatever　would　be　painted　on。
Tonight；　a　plain　face　suited　Vanessa’s　purposes。　On　other　nights；　a　meticulously　gilded　face　had
served　her　well。　For　herself；　she　did　not　care。　She　had　been　born　into　the　wealth　of　an　English
merchant　family；　but　the　predictable　turns　of　such　a　life　–　marriage；　children；　church；　bowing　to
male　desires　six　days　a　week　and　to　a　male　God　on　the　seventh　–　repelled　her。　Beauty　had　given
her　a　weapon　against　men；　a　weapon　that　she　used　easures　of　cruelty　and　contempt。
When　making　and　breaking　romances　no　longer　excited　her；　Vanessa　had　moved　easily　to　affairs
of　the　mind。　First　Fabian　socialism；　then　Marxism；　then　radical　communism　attracted　her；　each
one　more　exciting　than　the　last；　and　more　dangerous。
A　man　who　called　himself　Melinkov　had　recruited　Vanessa　for　the　NKVD；　using　a　combination
of　ruthless　intellectual　and　sexual　domination。　She　rarely　thought　of　Melinkov　now；　the　memory
of　her　subjugation　was　uncomfortable。　Yet　she　owed　him　much。　He　had　taught　her　about　human
weakness。
Slitted　headlights　flashed　as　a　vehicle　turned　onto　the　waterfront。　Vanessa　sat　back　far　enough
not　to　be　picked　out　by　the　hard　light。　Traffic　was　thicker　than　she　had　expected　for　the　hour；　a
fact　which　pleased　her。　The　laundry　van　and　dark　coupe　would　not　attract　any　notice。
Blend　in。　Don’t　stand　out。　That　was　what　both　Moscow　and　London　had　taught　her。　She　never
forgot　it。
Another　set　of　lights；　set　wider　and　higher；　brought　Vanessa　fully　alert。　The　momentary　surge　of
adrenaline　stained　and　then　further　bleached　her　cheeks　as　a　pale　van　came　toward　her　out　of　the
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brilliant　halo　of　light　from　an　unhooded　streetlamp。　Automatically；　Vanessa　ducked；　her　fingers
wrapped　around　the　grip　of　a　pistol　hidden　beneath　the　blanket　that　both　concealed　and
warmed　her。
The　van　rattled　by　without　slowing。　On　its　side；　the　inelegant　shapes　of　a　plumber’s　helper　and　a
Stilsen　wrench　crossed　in　unconscious　parody　of