Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第35部分

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“You’ve　been　sick；”　said　Kestrel。
“It’s　the　water；”　said　Refugio；　laughing　feebly　at　his　joke。
“It’s　more　than　water。　Can　you　walk？”
“Of　course。”
“Prove　it。　Take　the　smaller　piece　of　metal　and　put　it　over　there。”
Refugio　looked　from　the　uranium　to　the　table　Kestrel　had　indicated　on　the　far　side　of　the　room。
“But　why？”
“Do　it。”
Refugio　eased　himself　off　the　gurney。　Using　the　wheeled　table　as　a　rolling　crutch；　he　approached
the　embalming　table。
Kestrel　watched；　knowing　the　Mexican　was　absorbing　an　enormous　amount　of　radiation。　But
Kestrel　suspected　that　it　mattered　no　more　than　shooting　bullets　into　a　corpse。
The　uranium　rang；　bell…like；　when　Refugio　dropped　it　on　the　metal　table　at　the　far　end　of　the
room。　Kestrel　turned　out　the　lights　and　stared　intently。
“The　pretty　blue　light；”　said　Refugio；　“is　gone。”
Kestrel　stared　silently；　intently。　Both　spheres　had　been　heavily　irradiated。　He　could　not　guess　at
the　consequences。　After　a　few　minutes；　he　still　could　not　be　sure　whether　it　was　radioactivity　or
his　imagination　that　imbued　the　separate　metal　chunks　with　a　vague　flicker　of　blue　life。　He
blinked；　then　his　hand　swept　up；　bringing　light　back　into　the　room。　“I’ll　need　containers。”
“There　are　the　sacks　we　brought　them　in。”
“What？”
“The　canvas　laundry　bags。”
Kestrel　made　a　dismissing　motion　with　his　hand。　“I　need　something　heavy；　something　that　will
absorb　atomic　particles。”
“What？”
“Iron　or　steel；”　said　Kestrel。　“Lead　would　be　best。”
“Why　not　gold　as　well？”　said　Refugio　sarcastically。　“It’s　heavy　and　it’s　not　so　much　more
difficult　to　get　than　lead。”　The　Mexican　stared　at　Kestrel。　“Or　had　the　se？or　forgotten　that　Los
Estados　Unidos　is　at　war　with　Japan　and　such　things　as　lead　arc　so　hard　to　get　that　my　cousin
wanted　me　to　smuggle　it　here　from　Mexico？”
“Did　you？”
“Too　heavy；”　sighed　Refugio。　“Besides；　my　cousin　soon　discovered　that　not　many　Mexicans
here　can　afford　a　lead…lined　coffin。　My　cousin　Raul　even　sold　his　flower　holders　for　scrap　when
the　price　went　high　enough。”
Kestrel　swore　silently。　“I　must　have　lead！”
Refugio　licked　his　dry　lips。　“I　have　other　cousins；　se？or。　For　a　price；　they　will　get　you　your
lead。”
“How？　Where？”
“That’s　their　problem；　se？or。　Yours　is　to　pay　for　it。”
Kestrel　almost　laughed。　Money　was　the　least　of　his　problems。　“Arrange　it；”　he　said。
Sonoma　County；　California
19　Hours　15　Minutes　After　Trinity
It　was　dark；　with　only　a　thin　moon…smile　to　aid　the　men　creeping　through　the　vineyard　into　the
Salerno　Brothers　winery。
“Chingón！”　muttered　Griego　Rincón　as　he　stumbled　over　a　two…by…four　abandoned　in　the
weeds　in　back　of　their　winery。
“Shut　up！”　hissed　Franco　in　Spanish。　“Pick　up　your　feet；　cabrón！　The　house　is　not　so　far　away
that　you　can　curse　at　the　moon！”
Griego　looked　at　the　house　on　a　knoll　more　than　a　hundred　meters　away。　There　were　several
lights　still　on　in　the　second　story　of　the　old　mansion。　He　walked　with　more　care。　His　cousin
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Refugio　would　not　bail　incompetent　thieves　out　of　jail。
Franco　Rincón　stood　very　quietly；　listening　to　the　night。　Other　than　a　dog’s　distant　barking；
there　was　no　sound。　Apparently　no　one　at　the　house　had　heard　Griego　stumble　and　swear。
“Come　on；”　breathed　Franco；　jerking　Griego’s　sleeve　in　silent　command。
The　two　men　slipped　into　the　dense　moon…shadow　of　an　old　fieldstone　winery。　They　knew　the
way；　in　daylight　they　worked　at　the　winery。　Franco　pulled　a　tire　iron　from　his　belt。　He　put　the
flattened　end　between　the　steel　hasp　and　the　heavy　wooden　door　and　yanked　down　hard。　The
hasp　gave　way　with　a　squeal。
Again；　Franco　waited　with　his　head　up；　nostrils　flared　like　a　wolf　trying　to　scent　enemies。　At　the
house；　a　dog　barked　until　there　was　a　shout　from　the　bedroom。　Silence　returned　like　another
shade　of　black。　The　heavy　door　opened　soundlessly。　Griego　had　oiled　it　earlier　in　the　day　when
he　was　sweeping　out　the　winery。　Inside；　the　sharp…sweet　smell　of　fermentation　settled　around　the
men。　The　building　was　windowless；　the　darkness　complete。
Franco　pulled　out　a　flashlight　that　he　had　taped　until　only　a　pencil　of　light　shone　out。　He　swept
the　light　around；　but　there　was　no　one　and　nothing　he　had　not　expected　to　see。
“Over　there；”　whispered　Griego；　pulling　on　Franco’s　hand。
The　flashlight　wobbled；　then　fixed　on　an　old　wine…bottling　machine。　Empty　bottles；　metal
pincers　and　bottle　holders　gleamed　dully　in　the　light。　A　roll　of　scarlet　foil　and　a　roll　of　bright　red
labels　dangled　overhead。　A　half…filled　case　of　burgundy　sat　at　the　end　of　the　conveyor　belt。
Franco　went　quickly　to　the　conveyor　belt。　With　a　muttered　curse；　he　grabbed　Griego　by　the
arm。
“Where’s　the　rest　of　it？”　he　snarled。
Griego　cringed　away　from　the　fingers。　He　gestured　at　the　cartons　of　burgundy　that　had　been
filled　in　the　last　few　days。　“There！　On　the　bottles！”
Griego’s　gestures　knocked　the　half…filled　carton　of　wine　off　the　conveyor　belt。　With　a　sound　like
the　end　of　the　world；　bottles　exploded　against　the　floor。　The　reek　of　green　wine　rose　from
curved　shards　of　glass。
On　the　hill；　the　dog　barked　again；　urgently。
Franco　grabbed　what　he　had　come　for　and　headed　out　of　the　bottling　room。　Griego　hesitated；
picked　up　a　full　case　of　burgundy　and　followed　Franco’s　flashlight。
The　two　men　hurried　awkwardly　out　of　the　winery；　across　the　dirt　farm…road　and　into　the
concealment　of　chest…high　rows　of　vines。　At　a　clumsy　trot；　Franco　crossed　the　sandy　vineyard　to
another　dirt　road　where　his　car　was　parked　beneath　a　tree。
The　dog’s　bark　continued　sporadically；　then　faded　into　a　silence　disturbed　only　by　the　faint
sound　of　a　car　receding　into　the　distance；　leaving　a　thin　wake　of　dust　beneath　the　moon。
San　Francisco
25　Hours　31　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　restaurant　on　Market　Street　catered　to　the　all…night　crowd　from　the　Tenderloin　district。
Riley　toyed　with　the　limp　strands　of　pasta　coated　with　tomato　sauce　and　olive　oil。　He　took　a
tentative　bite。　Finn　ate　hungrily。　Riley　put　down　his　fork。
“How　the　hell　did　I　let　you　talk　me　into　this？”　said　Riley。
“There　was　nothing　else　left　to　do。　The　FBI　is　watching　every　known　or　suspected　communist
agent；　one　of　them　has　been　approached　by　a　blond　woman　with　a　British　accent。　We　put　out
grab　notices　on　Refugio　and　a　Jap　spy；　and　what　did　we　get？”
“Eight　Mexicans；　three　Chinese　and　a　Korean。　Drunks。”
“We　put　four　bodies　through　a　FBI　sieve。　What　did　we　find　out？”
“We　found　out　they’re　dead；”　said　Riley。
“The　weapons　and　the　laundry　van　and　the　laundry　and　–　“
“Nothing！”
“As　for　the　lead；”　said　Finn；　‘‘we　now　know　that　in　the　Bay　Area；　no　new　orders　for　lead　have
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been　processed　in　the　last　twenty…four　hours。　Nobody　has　bought　a　pile　of　toy　soldiers；　religious
statues；　frogs　–　“
“Frogs？”　yelped　Riley。　“What　the　hell　do　frogs　have　to　do　with　this？”
“Flower　holders；”　explained　Finn；　then　continued　with　his　list。　“Old　batteries；　scrap；　new
batteries　–　I　forgot　something。”
“Coffins；”　said　Riley　after　a　moment。
“Yeah。　Coffins。　All　the　lead…lined　luxury　models　sold　recently　are　wrapped　around　dead
customers。”　Finn　stopped　abruptly。　“In　short；　we　seem　to　be　fishing　in　the　dark　with　a　broken
hook。”　He　returned　his　attention　to　his　food。
“The　problem　with　fishing　in　the　dark；”　said　Riley；　“is　that　the　damned　hooks　have　a　way　of
ending　up　in　the　wrong　places。　A　man　could　hurt　himself　fishing　in　the　dark。”
Frowning；　Finn；　picked　up　the　empty　wine　bottle。　He　turned　it　around　in　his　hands；　staring　at　it
as　though　the　answer　to　his　problem　were　concealed　in　the　green　glass　curves。　He　liked　Riley。
Even　worse；　he　felt　responsible　for　the　young　agent。　Finn　did　not　want　to　be　responsible　for　any
life　except　his　own。　But　there　Riley　sat；　too　young；　too　kind。　Green　on　green；　like　the　glass
turning　between　his　hands。　Abruptly；　Finn’s　fingers　closed　around　the　neck　of　the　bottle。　“You
ever　take　any　physics　in　college？”
Riley’s　face　showed　his　surprise。　He　nodded　his　head　and　waited。
“You　know　about　radioactivity？”
“Some。”
“What　we’re　looking　for　is　two　pieces　of　white；　radioactive　metal。　Alone；　each　piece　is　hot；　but
not　dangerously　so。　If　you　get　the　pieces　too　close；　they　can　get　hot　enough　to　kill。”
Riley　stared　at　the　empty　green　bottle　that　was　again　rolling　between　Finn’s　lean　hands。　“What
exactly　does　that　mean？”
“It　means　that　the　thieves　really　fucked　up　when　they　left　behind　the　lead　shipping　canister。
They’re　playing　with　fire。　Problem　is；　they　can’t　see　the　flames　or　feel　the　heat。　And　neither　can
we。”
Riley　sighed。　“At　least　I　understand　now　why　you　have　a　hundred　agents　scouring　the　Bay　Area
for　lead。　You　figure　the　thieves　will　have　to　use　it　as　a　shield　or　wrapper　to　absorb　the　radiation
from　the　stolen　stuff　–　whatever　that　is。”
“Uranium；”　said　Finn。　“Pure　uranium…235。”
“How　many　micrograms　were　stolen？”
“Try　kilograms。　Close　to　ten。”
Riley’s　mouth　opened　and　closed　soundlessly。　He　licked　his　lips　and　tried　again。　“I　didn’t　know
there　was　that　much　U…235　on　the　whole　planet。　How　did　we　ever　get　that　much　all　in　one
place？”
“I　don’t　know。　It　cost　around　one　billion　bucks；　if　that　gives　you　a　clue。”
Riley　sat　without　moving；　chewing　on　the　information　like　under…cooked　sphagetti。　“Well；”　he
said　at　last；　“thank　God　all　the　lead　in　northern　California　is　accounted　for。”
“Wrong；”　said　Finn　flatly。　“All　the　lead　in　all　the　places　we’ve　thought　to　look　is　accounted　for。”
Finn　paused；　staring　at　the　wine　bottle　rolling　between　his　palms。　Then　he　put　down　the　bottle
and　fingered　the　thick　metal　foil　that　covered　the　neck。　The　foil　peeled　off　easily。　He　rolled　a
long　strip　of　it　between　his　fingers。　It　made　a　hard；　heavy　ball　the　size　of　a　pea。　“Lead；”　breathed
Riley。　“By　God；　lead！”
“How　many　wineries　are　there　in　northern　California？”
“Can’t　be　more　than　fifty；”　said　Riley。　Then；　hastily；　“Pray　to　God　no　more　than　fifty。”
“That’s　twenty…five　apiece；”　said　Finn；　standing　up
and　throwing　money　on　the　table。　“Any　more　than　that　and　they’re　all　yours；　Riley。”
San　Francisco
26　Hours　38　Minutes　After　Trinity
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Vanessa　twitched　aside　the　white　curtain；　a　gesture　that　had　become　almost　automatic。　The　long
night　had　given　her　too　much　time　to　think；　and　her　thoughts　had　been　as　gloomy　as　San
Francisco’s　fog。
Failure　was　a　death　sentence　for　her。　At　some　unknown；　but　not　far　distant　moment；　Beria
would　decide　that　the　chance　that　Vanessa　would　recover　the　uranium　was　smaller　than　the
chance　that　Stalin　would　discover　her　secret　assignment。　At　that　moment；　an　NKVD　assassin
would　be　given　Vanessa’s　name。
She　looked　through　the　glass　as　she　had　all　night。　No　lights　had　shown　in　the　Fragrant　Petal；　no
cars　had　parked　nearby；　no　one　had　gone　into　the　shop　since　the　Japanese　soldier　yesterday
afternoon。　She　had　not　seen　him　come　out。
The　appearance　of　a　Nisei　officer　at　a　flower　shop　owned　by　the　cousin　of　the　man　who　had
betrayed　her　and　killed　Masarek　was　too　remarkable　to　be　taken　for　mere　coincidence。　She　had
immediately　tried　to　find　reinforcements　but　the　two　numbers　she　had　called　were　answered　by
people　who　gave　her　coded　warnings　instead　of　recogniti