Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第42部分

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alien　land。　Baroque　Spanish　crosses　depicted　Christ　crucified；　writhing　in　eternal　agony　over　the
graves　of　Mexican　immigrants。
Finn　and　Riley　stood　near　the　top　of　one　hill；　watching　unhappy　FBI　agents　dig　in　damp　clay。
The　turf　had　been　peeled　back　and　stacked　to　one　side；　revealing　freshly　packed　graves。　The
work　had　gone　quickly；　the　graves　were　less　than　two　days　old。
The　radiation　counter　next　to　Finn　was　smudged　with　dirt。　He　and　Riley　had　dug　up　their
assigned　grave；　opened　the　coffin　and　found　a　dead；　nonradioactive　old　woman；　her　hands　stiffly
crossed。　The　other　two　graves　were　being　opened　by　less　dedicated　workers　than　Finn　and
Riley。
Looking　at　his　blistered　hands；　Riley　swore。　“I　hope　to　Christ　we　get　more　to　show　for　this　than
raw　meat。”
“Is　that　Coughlan？”　asked　Finn；　pointing　down　the　rise　to　one　of　the　thin　gravel　roads　that
wound　through　the　hilly　cemetery。
Riley　squinted　against　the　morning　sun。　Two　men　were　walking　away　from　one　of　the
nondescript　cars　favored　by　the　FBI。
“Yeah。　That’s　Coughlan。”
“Who’s　with　him？”
Riley　shrugged。　“He’s　not　FBI。　No　hat。”
“You’re　not　wearing　a　hat　either；”　Finn　pointed　out。
“I’m　the　Son　of　God；”　said　Riley。　“Remember？”
“Not　a　job　I’d　want。”
They　walked　down　the　hill　to　intercept　Coughlan；　meeting　near　the　gravesite　where　two　agents
stood　chest　deep　in　the　earth；　wielding　shovels。　The　man　with　Coughlan　was　a　Mexican；　past
middle　age；　heavyset　and　sullen。　Coughlan　ignored　him。
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“We’re　chasing　Rincons　all　over　the　place。　We　came　up　with　a　hearse　and　a　flower　truck　so　far；”
Coughlan　told　Finn。　“Nothing　in　either　of　them　but　Mexicans。”
“Did　they　say　anything？”
“Just　that　they　were　taking　their　families　on　a　trip。”
“How　was　their　English？”
“Lousy。　But　I　got　the　point　across。”
“I’ll　bet。　Speak　slowly；　and　if　that　doesn’t　work；　shout。”
Coughlan　flushed。　“I　got　answers。　They　were　going　to　Monterey　on　a　vacation。　They　hadn’t　seen
Refugio　recently；　and　they’d　never　even　heard　of　a　Jap　called　Kestrel　or　a　woman　called　Ana。”
“They’re　lying。　Refugio　is　in　there　in　a　coffin。”　Finn　knew　the　Mexicans　were　Japanese　pawns；
sent　out　to　lay　false　trails　that　would　cover　the　only　trail　that　mattered　–　Kestrel’s。　Each　trail　had
to　be　explored；　costing　time；　costing　lives；　and　the　uranium　got　further　and　further　out　of　reach。
“Sweat　them；”　he　said。　“They　probably　don’t　know　much；　but　whatever　it　is；　we　need　it。”　He
looked　at　the　Mexican　who　was　standing　behind　Coughlan。　“Who’s　this？”
Coughlan　almost　smiled。　“You　said　you　wanted　to　personally　interview　anyone　who’d　seen　any
new　faces　on　the　block　recently。”　Coughlan　jerked　his　thumb　over　his　shoulder。　“This　is
Velasquez。　He　rented　an　apartment　yesterday　to　a　whore　he’d　never　seen　before。”
“What　about　her？”
Coughlan　snickered。　“She　turned　three　tricks　the　first　day。　I　think　it　was　there；　anyway。　He　held
up　three　fingers。　Jesus；　you’d　think　they’d　learn　English　if　they’re　gonna　live　here。　Took　me　half
an　hour　to　get　through　to　him。”
“Just　three？”　asked　Finn。
“Yeah。”　Coughlan　shook　his　head。　“Just　three！　She　must　be　as　ugly　as　my　mother…in…law。”
Suddenly　Riley　grabbed　Velasquez；　tearing　his　shirt。　“He　understands　as　much　English　as　I　do。
He　smiled　at　that　crack　about　your　mother…in…law。”　Riley’s　fingers　dug　into　flesh。　“What　else　are
you　keeping　back？”
“Riley！”　Coughlan’s　voice　was　shocked。　“Let　him　go！”
The　Mexican　protested　first　in　Spanish；　then　in　desperate　English。
“Back　up；　Coughlan；”　Finn　ordered。　“Riley’s　done　better　in　thirty　seconds　than　you　did　in　thirty
minutes。　Listen　to　him。”
Finn　turned　to　Velasquez。　The　Mexican　looked　up　hopefully。　Finn　spoke　in　hard　border
Spanish。　“The　whore。　What　did　she　look　like？”
“Blond；”　said　Velasquez；　switching　to　Spanish　with　relief。　“Very　pretty。　She　was　not　of　the
Southwest；　though。　She　did　not　sound　like　you　or　me。”
“British？”
“Who　knows？”
Riley；　sensing　that　the　answer　displeased　Finn；　gave　Velasquez　a　hard　shake。
“Please；　se？or；”　said　Velasquez。　“I　do　not　know。　It　was　not　a　soft　accent。　She　spoke　no　Spanish。
Does　that　help　you？”
Finn　shrugged。　The　woman’s　accent　could　have　been　Canadian　or　British　or　even　Bostonian；　it
proved　nothing。
“The　men　who　went　to　her　room；”　said　Finn。　“Were　they　from　the　barrio？”
“Only　one。”　Velasquez　snickered。　“Rincon’s　nephew；　Jaime。　Only　fourteen；　that　one；　but　already
an　eye　for　the　women。”
“What　about　the　other　men？”
Velasquez　turned　his　hands　upward。　“Who　knows？　One　had　twenty…five　years；　more　or　less。　The
other　was　older。　I　think　that　man　was　her　pimp。　A　bad　one。　He　brought　Jaime　to　the　whore’s
room。”
Finn　turned　back　to　Coughlan。　“Did　you　pick　up　the　whore？”
“No　one　home。　She’s　probably　out　drumming　up　trade。”
“Search　her　room。　If　she’s　there；　bring　her　to　me。”　Finn　turned　to　Velasquez。　“Anything　else
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about　her？”
“She　paid　for　two　months；”　said　Velasquez。　“Cash。　She　had　much　money。　That’s　all；　se？or。　I
swear　it　on　my　mother’s　grave！”
Finn　looked　impassively　at　Velasquez。　“Let　him　go。”
Riley　released　Velasquez　so　quickly　that　the　Mexican　staggered。　Coughlan　started　to　berate
Riley；　who　turned　his　back　on　everyone　and　watched　the　two　nearby　agents　shoveling　out　a
day…old　grave。　Their　suitcoats　had　been　put　aside；　folded　neatly　inside　out　to　prevent　grass
stains。　Shoulder　holsters　were　coiled　on　top　of　the　coats　like　sleeping　reptiles。
As　Coughlan　led　Velasquez　aorning　sunlight；　alternately
rubbing　and　stretching　the　muscles　in　his　shoulder。　From　the　open　grave　came　the　sound　of　a
shovel　rasping　along　a　coffin　lid。　With　a　sigh；　Finn　bent　over　and　picked　up　his　radiation
counter。
“Back　to　work；　Riley。”
As　Riley　turned　toward　the　grave；　a　movement　up　the　hill　caught　his　eye。　A　man　was　walking
over　the　crest　of　the　hill　carrying　a　bouquet　of　flowers。　He　threaded　among　the　crowded
headstones　without　looking　up；　apparently　unaware　of　the　activity　just　down　the　hill。　To　all
appearances；　he　was　simply　a　mourner　who　had　come　to　lay　flowers　on　a　grave。
Riley　looked　away；　then　back　suddenly。　Something　was　wrong。　The　flowers　in　the　man’s　left
hand　were　old；　petals　falling　like　pastel　rain；　revealing　a　bright　shine　of　metal　in　the　right　hand
hidden　behind　the　bouquet。
“Finn！”　yelled　Riley。
Finn’s　reflexes　responded　instantly。　He　threw　himself　to　one　side；　rolling　and　drawing　his　gun。
Two　closely　spaced　shots　exploded　through　the　graveyard　silence。　A　bullet　plowed　up　dirt
where　Finn　had　been　an　instant　before。　Finn’s　return　fire　blazed　uphill；　seeking　a　target　in　the
thicket　of　granite　headstones。　Lead　screamed　from　stone　to　stone。
As　he　fired；　Finn　rolled　into　the　shelter　of　the　open　grave。　One　agent　flung　himself　out　of　the
grave；　clawing　for　his　gun。　A　shot　picked　up　the　agent　and　slammed　him　onto　the　grass　a　few
feet　away；　dead。　The　second　agent　crouched　at　the　far　end　of　the　grave；　out　of　Finn’s　way。
Riley　was　down　in　front　of　the　grave；　clutching　his　left　leg；　his　hand　bright　with　blood。　Thirty
yards　above　him；　faded　flowers　lay　in　a　fan；　dropped　by　the　man　as　he　dove　for　cover　from
Finn’s　return　fire。　As　Riley　brought　up　his　gun；　the　attacker　took　aim　over　a　baroque　angel。
“Stay　down；　Riley！”　yelled　Finn；　firing　as　he　spoke。
Granite　chips　scored　the　man’s　cheek。　He　ducked　back　behind　the　thick　stone　marker。
Finn　watched　the　marker　over　the　sights　of　his　pistol；　waiting　for　any　flicker　of　movement。
Whoever　the　attacker　was；　he　was　no　amateur。　He　had　the　advantages　of　surprise；　uphill　position
and　cover。　It　was　the　kind　of　assassination　Masarek　would　have　planned；　but　he　was　dead。　The
killer　was　probably　his　replacement；　trained　by　the　NKVD。
Out　of　the　corner　of　Finn’s　eye；　he　saw　that　Riley　was　down。　Blood　welled　from　his　thigh　in
rhythmic　spurts。　He　was　behind　the　thin　cover　of　a　knee…high　cross。　He　had　his　pistol　in　one
hand　and　was　trying　unsuccessfully　to　stop　the　flow　of　blood　with　the　other。　If　he　did　not　get
help　fast；　he　would　bleed　to　death。
Finn　fired　once；　taking　another　notch　out　of　the　grave　marker　that　concealed　the　attacker。
Immediately；　the　man　fired　from　the　other　side　of　the　marker；　a　shot　that　kicked　dirt　into　the
grave。　Finn　ducked　and　heard　another　shot；　followed　by　a　sharp　cry　from　Riley。
“Six；”　said　Finn；　tearing　off　his　jacket。　“Come　o？；　Coughlan！　Where　the　hell　are　you！”　He　flung
his　jacket　over　the　edge　of　the　grave。　When　no　bullets　came；　he　leaped　out；　firing　a　shot　to　keep
the　attacker　off…balance。
As　Finn　dragged　Riley　to　cover；　the　other　agent　swarmed　out　of　the　grave；　snatched　his　gun　and
dove　back　in。　Bullets　screamed　around　the　grave　again。　The　attacker　had　reloaded　quickly。
Finn　threw　himself　across　Riley　and　fired　two　quick　shots　that　sent　the　man　scrambling　back　for
cover。　By　touch　alone；　Finn　snatched　a　fresh　clip　from　his　belt　and　slapped　it　into　his　。45。　His
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eyes　scanned　the　close　ranks　of　granite　monuments；　looking　for　a　hint　of　movement。
From　fifty　yards　to　Finn’s　right　came　three　shots；　Coughlan　firing　as　he　ran　uphill。　To　be
protected　from　the　new　angle　of　attack；　or　to　counter　it；　the　man　had　to　change　position。　Finn
raised　his　gun；　waiting；　his　hand　steady。　The　attacker　gathered　himself；　took　two　long　steps；　and
dove　for　the　cover　of　a　blank…eyed；　eight…foot…tall　angel。
Finn’s　three　shots　echoed　as　one；　a　continuous　roll　of　sound。　The　man　twisted　in　midair；　arms
flung　out　and　legs　limp；　as　bullets　shattered　his　spine。　His　body　slammed　against　the　eroded
granite　angel　and　slid　down　to　the　damp　green　grass。
From　the　grave；　the　agent　poured　bullets　into　the　body。　Ricochets　whined　among　the
headstones。　Finn　did　not　even　look　up；　he　knew　that　the　man　was　dead。
In　a　single　movement；　Finn　rolled　off　Riley；　pulled　a　knife　out　of　his　boot；　and　opened　up　Riley’s
bloodstained　pantleg　with　a　sweep　of　the　blade。
Arterial　blood　leaped　and　ebbed；　marking　each　quick　beat　of　Riley’s　heart。　Finn’s　thumb　sank
into　Riley’s　thigh　just　below　his　crotch；　squeezing　down　on　the　ruptured　artery。　The　leap　of
blood　dwindled　to　a　slow　seep　of　scarlet　a　few　inches　below　Finn’s　hand。
Riley　groaned　and　tried　to　sit　up。
“Don’t　move；　hero；”　said　Finn。　“A　bullet　nicked　your　artery。”
Riley　looked　at　the　bright　patches　of　blood　smeared　across　his　legs　and　Finn’s　hands。　He　stared
at　F；inn；　then　at　the　open　grave。
“At　least　you　won’t　have　to　carry　me　far；”　Riley　said；　trying　to　smile。
“Shut　up；”　said　Finn；　but　his　voice　was　gentle。　“And　if　you　ever　again　yell　a　warning　before　you
hit　the　dirt；　I’ll　shoot　you　myself。”
Riley’s　face　twisted　with　pain。　He　closed　his　eyes　and　his　breath　sighed　out。
Coughlan　ran　up；　panting。　He　looked　at　the　blood　covering　Riley　and　spilling　over　onto　Finn。
“How　bad　is　it？”
“The　agent　over　there　is　dead。　As　long　as　I　keep　Riley　under　my　thumb；　he　has　a　chance。”
Coughlan　looked　at　Riley’s　white　face　and　the　blood　welling　slowly　beneath　Finn’s　hand。　“So
you’re　a　goddamn　doctor；　too。”
“Use　your　mouth　to　get　an　ambulance。　My　hand　is　getting　tired。”
Coughlan　hesitated；　reluctant　to　leave　Riley。　Finally　he　ran　toward　his　car。　The　agent　left　in　the
grave　slowly　climbed　out　and　walked　up　the　hill　toward　the