Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第27部分

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guardhouse　gets　to　looking　homey。　Hate　to　leave　it　just　to　look　at　a　few　–　“
“We　inspected　all　thirty…seven　vehicles；”　Diver　said。
“Neither　rain　nor　sleet；　right？”
“Yeah；”　said　Diver　indifferently。　“We’re　regular　mailmen。”
Diver　turned　back　to　the　table；　dismissing　Finn。　Finn’s　arm　hooked　around　Diver’s　throat。　In　a
single　motion　Finn　heaved　Diver　out　of　his　chair　and　laid　him　out　on　the　table　like　a　side　of　beef。
Diver　lunged　forward；　gagged　and　lay　back　again。　Before　the　three　other　guards　could　collect
themselves；　Finn　flipped　his　credentials　between　the　coffee　cups　and　ashtrays。　“Read　those　and
shut　up。”
Finn’s　right　forearm　lay　against　Diver’s　slamming　pulse　and　his　resilient；　elusive　windpipe。　Finn
leaned　down　until　blackness　filled　Diver’s　world。
“Let’s　try　it　again；　minus　the　horseshit。　How　many　vehicles　did　you　inspect？”
“About…　half。”
“Which　ones　didn’t　you　inspect？”　Finn’s　rage　showed　in　his　voice　and　his　eyes；　but　most　of　all　in
his　arm　choking　the　man　whose　greed　could　cost　millions　of　lives。
“Stop！”　gasped　Diver。
Finn　lifted　his　arm　a　few　inches；　then　slammed　Diver　back　onto　the　table。　“You’re　shit；　Diver。　If
you’d　done　your　job；　that　kid　wouldn’t　be　dead。”　That　kid　and　all　the　other　children；　a　world
lost。　“Which　vehicles　didn’t　you　inspect？”
“The　staff　cars；”　said　Diver。　As　he　swallowed；　his　Adam’s　apple　strained　against　Finn’s　forearm。
“If　we　knew　the　officers；　we　didn’t　look　in　the　trunk。　Chrissake；　no　one　expects　us　to！　It’s　a
dumb　–　“
“What　else？”
“Nothing。　We　–　“
Diver　gagged。
“You’re　wasting　my　time；”　snarled　Finn。　“What　about　the　civilian　stuff？”
Diver’s　face　was　deep　red。　Finn　lifted　the　pressure　very　slightly。
“Nothing；”　gasped　Diver。
“What　does　that　mean？”
Diver　swallowed　convulsively。　“I　can’t　–　talk。”
“Sure　you　can；”　Finn　said。　“You　just　have　to　try　a　little　harder。”
“A　liquor　truck　–　for　Officers’　Club；”　gasped　Diver。　“Never　inspect　that。　Sealed。”
Finn　waited；　poised　for　the　least　flicker　of　evasion　in　Diver’s　blue　eyes。
“Mail　truck；”　continued　Diver。　“Load　of　steel　rods。　Lumber。　Hardware。　That’s　all。　No　place　for
men　to　hide。”
“That’s　shit；　Diver。”
“No！　No！　That’s　all；　honest！”
Finn’s　fingers　closed　down。　Diver’s　face　went　from　red　to　purple。
“When　you　remember　something　‘honest；’”　said　Finn；　“wiggle　your　ears。”
After　a　few　moments；　Diver’s　frantic　efforts　to　speak　were　rewarded　with　a　quarter　inch　of
breathing　space。
“Laundry　–　truck！　Officers’　–　laundry！”
Finn　thought　quickly　but　could　not　remember　seeing　a　laundry　truck　on　the　list　ONI　had　given
to　him。
“Did　you　log　in　the　truck？”
“No。”
“Why　not？　Whores？　Drugs？　Betting　slips？”
“Betting；”　gasped　Diver。　“Goddamn　you　–　betting！”
“Describe　the　truck；”　Finn　said；　easing　the　pressure　on　Diver’s　neck。
“White。　Chicken　tracks　–　on　the　door。　A　Chink　job。”
“License　plate　number。”
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“How　the　hell　–　aggh。”
Finn　leaned　down。　“Then　how　did　you　know　it　was　the　right　truck？”
“Number　7　–　on　the　door！”
Finn　released　Diver　so　suddenly　that　the　CPO　did　not　realize　he　was　free。　Betting　slips。　For　the
sake　of　a　few　gamblers；　2　million　people　might　die。
“The　Chink　has　a　legit　business；”　said　Diver。　“Ho’s　Good　Luck　Laundry。　Does　dress　whites
better　than　anyone　in　Frisco。”
“Did　he　leave　out　anything？”　Finn　demanded　of　the　other　three　guards。
One　of　them；　a　Mexican…American　with　a　burr　haircut　that　emphasized　his　broad　Indio　features；
met　Finn’s　eyes。
“Dunno。　He　never　told　us　a　damn　thing　about　laundry　trucks。　And　since　he　kept　the　log…”　The
man　shrugged。
Finn’s　glance　shifted　back　to　Diver。　“What　did　the　bookies　pay　you　to　let　that　truck　onto　the
base？”
Diver　licked　his　lips　with　a　thick　tongue。　“Not　much。”
“And　you　kept　it　all；　didn’t　you？　None　of　that　share　…and…share…alike　crap；　right？”
Diver　glanced　nervously　at　his　three　colleagues。
“How　much？”　repeated　Finn。　His　hand　went　to　Diver’s　throat　so　quickly　that　the　CPO　had　no
time　to　flinch。
“A　hundred　bucks！”
One　hundred　dollars。　Two　million　people。　A　penny　for　every　200　dead　or　maimed。
Finn　reached　for　Diver’s　throat；　wanting　to　kill　the　man　who　had　sold　his　country　so　cheaply。　At
the　last　instant；　he　stepped　back；　his　hands　shaking。　He　stared　at　Diver。　Behind　the　men；　the
mess　door　opened。
“Coughlan’s　drying　off；”　said　Riley　as　he　approached　Finn。　Then；　seeing　Diver　stretched　out
upon　the　table。　“Still　a　war；　cowboy？”
Finn　looked　at　the　agent　for　a　long　moment。　Then　he　turned　away　and　spoke　to　the　three
apprehensive　guards。
“You　three　are　supposed　to　be　MPs。　Take　this　cheap　son　of　a　bitch　to　the　brig　and　lose　him。”
The　three　men　hustled　Diver　out　of　the　room。
“Was　that　all　necessary？”　asked　Riley　abruptly；　gesturing　toward　the　table。
“Anything　new　on　the　vehicles？”
“All　present　and　accounted　for。　We’re　running　the　list　again；　of　course。”　Then；　“Was　it
necessary？”
Finn　sighed。　“I　told　you　hard　or　easy　and　you　told　me　whatever　works。　Remember？”
“Yes；　but　–　“
Finn　picked　up　his　credentials　from　the　table。
Riley　looked　at　his　feet；　then　back　at　Finn。　“Did　it　work？”
“You’ve　got　coffee　stains　on　your　shirt；”　said　Finn；　taking　Riley’s　arm　and　pulling　him　toward
the　door。　“I　know　a　helluva　good　Chinese　laundry。”
Riley　tried　to　pull　free；　but　Finn’s　grip　was　too　hard；　“Don’t　worry；”　Finn　said；　opening　the
door　without　letting　go。　“CPO　Diver　assured　me　that　Ho’s　Good　Luck　Laundry　is　so　popular
around　Hunters　Point　that　no　one　even　bothers　to　log　the　laundry　truck　in　or　out。”
“Are　you　nuts？”　Then；　“Oh…”
“Yeah。　Oh。”　Finn　let　go。
“Are　you　sure？”
“Nothing’s　sure。　Tell　the　cops　to　put　out　an　APB　on　Ho’s　Good　Luck　Laundry　truck　number　7。
If　they　find　it；　call　us　and　stay　the　hell　away　from　the　truck。　Then　notify　all　police　departments
from　San　Diego　to　Seattle　to　watch　for　male　corpses　that　have　no　visible　marks　of　violence。
Special　attention　to　men　between　sixteen　and　forty。”
Riley　looked　up　in　silent　query。
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“After　thirty；　the　reflexes　begin　to　go。　By　forty　a　man　either　gets　out　or　gets　killed。”
“Sixteen　to　forty。　No　marks。　Anything　else？”
Finn　hesitated；　then　shrugged。　If　people　started　getting　sick　mysteriously；　questions　would　be
asked　anyway。　“If　anyone　goes　to　a　hospital　for　burns；　I　want　a　Fed　to　investigate。　If　the　person’s
story　isn’t　good；　or　if　the　doctor　thinks　there　is　anything　unusual　about　the　burns；　I　want　to　know
immediately。”
“If　I　asked　why；　would　you　tell　me？”
“I　wouldn’t　even　tell　myself　without　running　a　security　check。”
In　silence；　Riley　followed　Finn　to　the　car。
San　Francisco
4　Hours　11　Minutes　After　Trinity
Vanessa　stood　on　the　street　before　the　newspaper　building　and　looked　around　carefully。　She　had
circled　the　block　once　already；　inspecting　each　of　the　parked　cars；　looking　for　agents　who　were
looking　for　her。　She　did　not　find　any；　nor　did　she　expect　to。　There　had　not　been　enough　time　for
the　local　police　to　identify　Masarek；　much　less　put　a　watch　on　anyone　in　the　Bay　Area　who　might
be　associated　with　him。
As　she　passed　the　newspaper　office　once　more；　she　glanced　past　the　gold…leaf　lettering　to　the
open　room　beyond。　Young　men　and　middle…aged　women　sat　typing　or　talking　on　telephones。
None　of　the　people　impressed　her。　She　did　not　want　to　count　on　anyone　in　that　room；　but　had
little　choice。　Masarek　had　not　used　the　emergency　message　drop。　She　must　assume　that　he　was
dead　or　captured。　She　could　not　go　to　any　of　the　professional　agents　she　knew　in　San　Francisco；
if　they　were　not　already　under　surveillance；　they　would　be　shortly。　The　whole　city　would　be　shut
down　while　the　Americans　searched　for　the　uranium。　She　needed　an　inactive　agent；　someone
who　had　never　really　overtly　worked　for　Russia　and　thus　would　not　be　under　surveillance。
In　the　reflection　of　the　window；　Vanessa　once　more　checked　her　makeup。　The　scratches　were
nearly　invisible　now；　and　her　expression　was　calm；　remote。　Satisfied；　she　entered　the　office。　A
teenager　approached　her。　She　dazzled　him　with　a　smile。
“I’m　looking　for　a　reporter　named　Peter　Hecht；”　she　said。
The　teenager　stared　for　a　moment　before　she　turned　and　shouted　Hecht’s　name　across　the
office。　A　reporter　who　was　hunched　over　a　phone　waved　without　looking　up。　He　wore　dark
pants；　a　badly　fitted　sportcoat　and　a　dirty　shirt。　He　scribbled　notes　as　he　spoke　on　the　phone。
Vanessa　waited；　letting　the　rest　of　the　people　resume　their　normal　activities。　Then　she　stepped
uninvited　past　the　wooden　railing　and　walked　across　the　room　to　Hecht’s　desk。　He　glanced　up；
showing　alert　eyes　in　an　impatient　face。　Vanessa　smiled。　He　waved　at　a　chair　beside　his　desk　and
continued　talking　into　the　phone。
“What’s　that　address　again？”　said　Hecht。　“Yeah；　yeah。　Got　it。　You　sure　there　were　four　bodies？
God；　that　Oakland　waterfront　gets　worse　every　day。”　He　glanced　toward　the　wall　clock。　“Shit；　I
just　blew　a　deadline。　Oh　well；　that　gives　me　ninety　minutes　to　get　this　story　together。　Okay。
That’s　one　I　owe　you。”　He　hung　up　and　turned　toward　Vanessa。　“Did　you　want　to　see　me？”
“Are　you　Peter　Hecht？”　said　Vanessa；　smiling　warmly　again　despite　the　shock　his　words　had
given　her。　Four　bodies　on　the　Oakland　waterfront。　Refugio　had　escaped；　but　Masarek　had　not。
“Yeah；　I’m　Hecht；　but　I’m　in　the　middle　of　a　big　story。”
“Then　I　won’t　waste　time。　I’m　a　student　of　history。”
For　a　moment　it　was　clear　that　Hecht　did　not　recognize　the　signal。　“Well；　that’s　very…”　His
voice　faded　and　his　complexion　paled　as　he　stared　at　the　beautiful　woman　who　was　smiling　at
him。　“Jesus；”　he　whispered。　“I　never　thought　I’d　be　called。”
Vanessa　leaned　toward　him；　still　smiling。　“Comrade　Hecht；”　she　murmured；　“the　response。”
Hecht　took　a　deep　breath　and　said；　“I；　too；　am　fascinated　by　historical　processes…”He　looked
around；　afraid　one　of　his　colleagues　would　overhear。
“Listen　carefully；”　said　Vanessa；　“and　smile。　We’re　just　old　friends　talking　together。　“
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He　nodded　and　smiled　unconvincingly。
“That’s　better。　The　Party　has　need　of　your　services。”
“Now？　I　just　got　a　tip　on　a　big　story。　That　was　the　police　dispatcher。　Pretty　soon　every
newspaper　in　town　is　going　to　know　about　it。”
“You　have　police　contacts？”
“Shit　yes。　A　reporter　can’t　live　without　them。”
“Can　you　trace　a　license　plate　for　me？”　demanded　Vanessa。　“I　need　it　quickly。”
“Is　that　all？”　said　Hecht；　relief　obvious　in　his　voice。　“Easy。　I　know　an　Irishman　on　the　auto　theft
squad。”
“He　doesn’t　know　about　your　ties　to　the　Party？”
“No！　No　one　does。　And　it　has　to　stay　that　way。　My　city　editor　hates　communists。”
Vanessa　took　a　piece　of　paper　from　his　desk　and　wrote　quickly。　“This　is　the　number。　I　need　to
know　the　name　and　address　of　the　owner；　and　whether　the　truck　is　listed　as　stolen。　I’ll　call　you　in
an　hour。”
She　stood　up。　Hecht　came　awkwardly　to　his　feet；　favoring　his　right　leg。　He　took　the　paper　and
glanced　at　it。　He　paused　before　putting　the　paper　into　his　pocket。
“This　isn’t　going　to　get　me　into　any　trouble；　is　it？　I　mean；　I　want　to　help　the　Party；　but　I　have　to
maintain　my　cover；　too。　I　have　to　get　that　story　first。”
Vanessa　studied