Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第41部分

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Coughlan　flushed。　His　hands　became　fists。　Finn　waited；　smiling；　his　eyes　pale　and　intent。　After　a
long　moment；　Coughlan　stepped　aside。　Finn　walked　past　him　to　the　shop’s　splintered　door。
“Your　information　was　crap；”　Coughlan　yelled　after　him。　“There’s　nothing　in　there　but　flowers！”
Without　answering；　Finn　switched　on　the　radiation　counter　and　began　sweeping　the　shop。　The
odd；　clicking　box　drew　curious　glances　from　the　agents　who　were　tearing　the　flower　shop　apart。
“What　are　you　looking　for？”　asked　one　of　them。
“Same　thing　you　are。”
“Shit；”　said　the　man　in　disgust；　throwing　aside　a　dripping　bouquet　of　flowers　and　peering　into
the　bottom　of　the　vase。　“You　don’t　know　any　more　than　we　do。　How　in　God’s　name　can　you
look　for　something　without　knowing　what　the　hell　it　is！”
“It’s　smaller　than　a　bread　box。”
“Fuck　you；”　said　the　agent；　reaching　for　another　soggy　bouquet。
The　counter　clicked　slowly；　indicating　normal　radiation。　Finn　moved　quickly　to　the　rear　of　the
shop；　sweeping　the　probe　in　front　of　him　as　though　searching　for　land　mines　beneath　the　floor。
When　the　probe　passed　near　the　narrow　bed；　the　counter’s　clicks　blurred　into　a　buzz。
The　agent　who　was　dismantling　the　bathroom　stuck　his　head　out　to　locate　the　source　of　the
noise。　He　walked　over　to　the　bed。
“Out；”　said　Finn；　jerking　his　head　toward　the　front　of　the　shop。　“Poison。”
The　agent　left　hastily。　Finn　moved　the　probe；　delineating　the　area　of　increased　radiation。　He　felt
himself　tense　in　the　presence　of　his　invisible　enemy。　The　residue　was　well　below　danger　level；
even　at　its　most　intense　in　the　center　of　the　torn…up　bed。
The　garage　showed　slightly　elevated　readings；　but　nothing　definitive。　Impatiently；　Finn　returned
to　the　narrow　bed　in　the　rear　of　the　flower　shop。　He　set　down　the　counter　and　shook　out　the
sheets；　looking　for　blood。
“Waste　of　time；”　said　Coughlan。　“We　already　did　that。　Clean　sheets；　dirty　mattress。”
Finn　began　on　the　mattress。　It　was　thin；　lumpy；　soiled。　He　flipped　it　over。　New；　dark　brown
stains　were　superimposed　over　older　stains。　Coffee；　wine；　menstrual　blood　–　the　stains　could
have　been　caused　by　utterly　normal　things。
Finn　switched　on　the　counter。　Its　clicks　slurred　together　excitedly　when　the　probe　neared　the
fresh　stains。　Finn　rubbed　his　fingers　over　the　stained　area。　Dry。　Refugio　might　have　bled　there；
but　not　within　the　last　few　hours。　Too　late　again。　Too　little　time。　Shit。　He　threw　aside　the
mattress　and　stood　up。
There　was　the　sound　of　glass　breaking；　followed　by　a　hoarse　“Goddamn　it！”　The　door
connecting　the　flower　shop　to　the　funeral　home　opened。　An　agent　came　through　nursing　a　cut
hand。　He　kicked　shut　the　door　and　headed　for　the　bathroom。
Finn　stared　at　Coughlan。
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“Next　door；”　said　Coughlan。　“A　mortuary。　The　Rincón　brothers　own　it；　so　we’re　searching　it
for　good　measure。”
“For　chrissake！”　exploded　Riley。　“You　could　have　told　us！”
Coughlan　ground　out　his　cigaret　butt　on　the　cement　floor。　“Thought　you　knew；　kid；　working　for
God　like　you　do。”
Finn　shoved　past　Coughlan　and　into　the　embalming　room。　As　he　entered；　the　counter’s　clicks
became　a　buzz。
“Line　up；”　snapped　Finn　to　the　surprised　agents　in　the　room。
The　agents　looked　beyond　Finn　to　Coughlan。　He　nodded。　Finn　moved　the　probe　over　each
man。　The　two　agents　who　had　been　searching　the　right　side　of　the　embalming　room　set　the
counter　screaming。
Finn　turned　on　Coughlan。　“Keep　pushing；　pendejo。　You’ll　get　some　dead　heros　to　decorate
your　dreams。”
Coughlan　looked　away　uncomfortably。
“Get　those　two　men　hosed　off；”　Finn　ordered。　“The　rest　of　you　clear　out。”
There　was　a　rush　for　the　door。　Only　Riley　remained。
“You；　too；”　Finn　told　him。
“I　know　what　to　look　for。”
Finn　looked　at　Riley’s　smiling；　stubborn　face。　“Stay　put　until　I　say　otherwise。”　He　advanced　on
the　left　side　of　the　room；　methodically　swinging　the　probe　in　quick　arcs。　Except　for　a　spot　at　the
head　of　the　porcelain　embalming　table；　there　was　little　sign　of　radiation。　He　was　both　relieved
and　disappointed。
“Rummage　all　you　want　along　that　side；　but　stay　away　from　the　table；”　said　Finn。
Riley　crossed　the　room　and　began　opening　drawers　and　cupboards。　Finn　went　to　the　opposite
end　of　the　room；　adjusting　the　counter　as　he　walked。　Two　feet　from　the　second　embalming
table；　the　counter’s　muttering　became　a　sustained　scream。　His　hands　tightened　on　the　probe。
Sweat　started　on　his　skin。　He　circled　the　table；　wary　as　a　wolf。　When　he　shifted　the　probe　to　the
sinks　or　floors　or　walls；　the　howl　became　a　whisper。　Only　the　table　raised　the　counter’s　full　cry；
yet　the　surface　was　bare。
“But　there’s　nothing　there；”　said　Riley。
“There　was。　The　damn　fools　must　have　had　the　pieces　right　on　top　of　each　other。”
Finn　retreated　until　the　counter　quieted。　He　cursed　the　invisible　power　that　was　as　much　his
enemy　as　time　was。
“Get　the　lab　people　down　here。　Seal　off　the　room。　Don’t　take　any　crap　about　it。　This　place　is
hot！”
Finn　hustled　Riley　out　of　the　embalming　room　and　slammed　the　door。　Riley　posted　a　guard；
then　followed　Finn　out　to　the　street　and　in　the　front　door　of　the　funeral　home。　Without　a　word；
Finn　turned　on　the　counter　and　went　over　the　open　casket　displays　with　the　probe。　The　counter
remained　quiet。　Sweat　cooled　on　his　skin；　but　the　wariness　did　not　leave　his　stance。　He　was　a
man　expecting　to　be　ambushed。
The　storage　room　was　next。　Finn　hefted　each　coffin　before　he　used　the　probe　on　it。
“What　are　you　doing？”　Riley　asked。
“Seeing　if　they’re　lead…lined。”
“Oh。”
Riley　went　down　the　other　side　of　the　room；　jostling　coffins。　None　felt　heavy　enough　to　be
lead…lined。　He　reached　the　pale　pine　coffin　resting　on　a　wheeled　table；　as　though　waiting　to　be
rolled　out　to　a　hearse。　Its　lid　was　nailed　in　place。　He　tried　to　lift　the　corner　of　the　coffin。　It　was
heavy。
“Finn；　I　think　–　“
Finn　was　already　there。　The　counter　crackled　like　a　radio　in　a　lightning　storm。　“Out。　Get　out！”
“If　it’s　lead…lined　and　you’re　still　getting　a　reading；”　said　Rilty；　“then　it’s　too　damned　hot　for
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anyone；　including　you！”
Finn　knew　Riley　was　right；　but　it　did　not　change　what　must　be　done。　He　shoved　Riley　through
the　door；　set　down　the　counter　and　picked　up　the　claw　hammer　that　had　been　used　to　nail　the
coffin　shut。　For　an　instant　fear　held　hirp；　then　his　arm　descended。　The　hammer　smashed　through
the　lid。　He　shoved　the　probe　into　the　hole。
The　counter　howled。
For　an　instant　Finn　thought　he　had　found　the　uranium。　Sweating；　he　jumped　the　setting　on　the
counter　twice。　The　howl　became　a　murmur。　The　coffin　was　hot；　but　not　as　hot　as　the　table　had
been。　The　uranium　was　not　here。
Finn　let　out　his　breath；　shut　down　the　counter　and　wiped　off　sweat　with　hands　that　shook　slightly
in　the　aftermath　of　an　adrenaline　storm。　When　Riley　returned；　Finn　did　not　object。　The　two　of
them　wrenched　off　the　coffin　lid。
“A　Jap；”　said　Riley；　peering　into　the　deeply　shadowed　interior　of　the　coffin。
Finn　pushed　the　table　out　of　the　darkness。　Light　slanted　across　the　corpse’s　face；　revealing　huge；
bushy　eyebrows。
“Refugio；”　said　Finn　flatly。
“But　–　“
“Made　up　to　look　Japanese。”　Finn　fingered　the　uniform。　“Nisei　Battalion。　So　that’s　how　he
moved　around　the　country　without　being　noticed。”
“Refugio？”
“No。　Kestrel。　The　Emperor’s　best　spy。”
Finn　studied　the　corpse　for　a　few　moments　longer；　then　heaved　the　lid　into　place。　“Is　Coughlan
tracking　down　the　people　who　own　this　place？”
“Yeah。　Bulletins　are　out　on　the　Rincón　brothers　and　on　all　vehicles　owned　by　the　two　families。”
“At　least　Coughlan　is　good　for　something。　I　wonder　how　good　he　is　with　a　shovel。”
“Huh？”
“This　one　was　ready　for　the　cemetery；”　said　Finn；　tapping　the　pine　box　with　his　knuckle。　“They
had　plenty　of　time　to　bury　the　uranium；　and　plenty　of　excuses。　They’re　undertakers；　after　all。”
Riley　glanced　at　his　white；　uncalloused　hands。　“I’ll　round　up　some　men　and　meet　you　at　the　car。”
San　Francisco
29　Hours　29　Minutes　After　Trinity
Unhappily；　Vanessa　stared　out　the　window　at　the　men　milling　around　near　the　Fragrant　Petal。
When　she　spotted　Finn；　she　called　Slaven　over。　The　big　longshoreman　stood　so　that　he　could
look　over　Vanessa’s　shoulder　without　exposing　himself　to　the　street。
“The　tall　man　in　the　white　shirt　–　see　him？”　Vanessa　said。
“Yes。”
“Remember　him。　When　he　leaves；　follow　him。　When　you　can；　kill　him。”
She　turned　away　from　the　window；　took　a　map　from　her　purse；　and　began　tracing　possible
routes　to　Manzanar。
Northern　California
29　Hours　43　Minutes　After　Trinity
The　gas　station　attendant　watched　Ana　count　ration　coupons　and　dollars　into　his　hand。　He　gave
her　change；　a　perfunctory　leer；　and　moved　on　to　his　next　customer。
Ana　started　the　car　and　drove　around　to　the　back　where　the　restrooms　were。　Kestrel　was　not　in
sight。　She　turned　on　the　car　radio　and　waited；　half…dozing；　the　radio　a　commentary　on　her
hidden　fears。
“…　ports　and　borders　of　the　state　are　still　closed。　The　War　Office；　when　asked；　had　no
comment　other　than　the　original　statement　that　the　closure　has　to　do　with　matters　of　utmost
national　security。　So　for　you　folks　planning　a　drive　to　Mexico；　our　advice　is　–　don’t。　Only
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emergency　vehicles　are　allowed　across；　and　only　then　after　a　careful　search。”
“The　Longshoremen’s　Union　says　it　will　enter　a　formal　protest　unless　port　and　shipping
activities　are　returned　to　normal　by　midnight；　July　19th。”
“In　other　Bay　Area　news；　the　San　Francisco　police　say　that　they　have　no　new　leads　on　the
spectacular　quadruple　murder　on　the　Oakland　waterfront　yesterday　morning。　The　–　“
Ana　snapped　off　the　radio；　she　had　enough　pictures　in　her　head　of　the　murders；　she　had　no　need
of　the　radio　announcer’s　speculations。
Kestrel　opened　the　driver’s　door。　Ana　slid　over　to　make　room　for　him。　Without　speaking；
Kestrel　got　in；　started　the　car　and　headed　east；　toward　the　tall　mountains　that　were　still　so　far
they　were　only　a　blue　shadow　on　the　horizon。
Covertly；　Ana　studied　Kestrel。　Disguised　as　an　Indio；　he　was　a　blunt…faced；　coarse…seeming
stranger。　Beneath　his　disguise；　he　was　fine…boned；　almost　elegant；　but　still　a　stranger。　And　a
murderer；　and　her　lover。
Ana　leaned　against　her　locked　door；　closed　her　eyes　and　tried　not　to　think。　In　time；　she　began
whimpering　uneasily　as　her　mind　reshaped　the　last　two　days　into　frightening　red　dreams。　Kestrel
spoke　to　her　softly；　his　voice　sliding　between　the　spaces　of　her　fears；　calming　her。　When　his
fingers　lightly　caressed　her　cheek；　she　sighed　and　slipped　deeper　into　sleep。
San　Francisco
30　Hours　33　Minutes　After　Trinity
Damp；　sinuous　hills　curved　away　in　every　direction；　brilliant　green　on　green　that　emphasized　the
white　of　grave　markers。　Soft　blurs　of　color　glowed　where　people　had　left　bouquets　to　die　among
the　white　stone　forest。
The　cemetery　reflected　the　pretensions　of　San　Francisco’s　wealthy　and　the　aspirations　of　its
poorest　immigrants。　Huge　alabaster　angels　hovered　over　marble　crypts。　Simple　granite
headstones　told　of　families　born　on　the　eastern　fringe　of　America　and　buried　along　its　western
margin。　Crosses　engraved　with　ideographs　spoke　succinctly　of　Oriental　Christians　dying　in　an
alien　land。　Baroque　Spanish　crosses　depicted　Chr