shouting； sweating； shoving men gathered around a shallow pit。 Two Yaqui Indians crouched
there； coarse hair bound back by scarlet bandanas。 Each man hissed and grunted ritually；
arousing the fighting cock he held in his scarred hands。
One man stood apart； overseeing the crowd； the cocks； and the collecting of bets。 If the chaotic
battles of the Green Parrot had a generalissimo； it was Refugio Reyes y Rincón。 He was big；
muscular； and had thick； oddly graceful eyebrows。 Beneath a veneer of smiling indulgence； his
power bulged as surely as muscle beneath fat。 At his signal； the handlers redoubled their efforts
over the birds。
The two cocks ignored the yelling crowd； the hisses and grip of their handlers。 The cocks were
fixed on one another； trading glares with obsidian eyes； flaring their gaudy feather ruffs。 Their
steel…tipped spurs promised death。
The handlers hoisted the cocks up high； further enraging the birds。 The crowd howled。 Bets were
made in many languages and laid in many currencies in the instants before the cocks were
released。 No one noticed as Finn moved through the fringes of the crowd。 No one but the cook
looked up when Finn sat at an empty table near a charcoal grill。
The square Indio woman bent over her grill； poked a sizzling chunk of meat； and settled back
again on her heels。 Her black eyes were hooded and blank。 She stared beyond Finn； where
bettors seethed around the deadly cocks。 After a time she turned back to her cooking。
Finn relaxed and tipped his chair until it leaned against the wall。 If he had been followed； the
cook would have signaled him。 He was free to concentrate on one of his many enemies； the
broad…shouldered Mexican who ran the cockfight as ruthlessly as he ran his network of whores；
thieves and smugglers。
It was not Rufugio’s ordinary criminal pursuits that interested Finn； however； it was the man’s
extensive connections with Mexico’s Oriental communities – particularly the Japanese。 In
peacetime； Refugio and Takagura Omi had run the most successful smuggling operation in
northern Mexico； using Takagura’s high Japanese connections to import legal and illegal goods；
and Rufugio’s low Mexican connections to distribute the goods from Culiacan to San Francisco。
War had changed the nature of the smuggling trade。 Information； not opium； brought the
highest prices。 If a secret could be bought； Refugio had it to sell。
The handlers lowered the birds； then raised them high again。 The sounds of the crowd
overwhelmed the cocks’ screeches。
“Begin！” shouted Refugio。
Scarred hands threw the birds high。 They slashed at each other with spurs of steel。
Partially screened by a low adobe wall that divided him from the mainstream of the cantina’s
activities； Finn searched the tables for a new face； a man called Masarek； who was an assassin
sent by the Russian NKVD。 Finn had been especially wary of the Russians since the night he had
followed a team of NKVD saboteurs from Juarez to a point just below Los Alamos。 When
there could be no doubt of their destination； Finn struck。 He hid their bodies beneath a thin
blanket of sand and left as quietly as he had come。 By dawn he was back in Juarez； waiting for the
replacements that the Russians were sure to send。
In time； Masarek had appeared。
Finn’s own network of whores； informants and spies had told him that Masarek had been seen
with Refugio； heading north of the American border。 Apparently their attempt on Los Alamos
had been fruitless； for they had returned very quickly。 The same informant had told Finn that this
evening； Refugio was to meet with a newly arrived； very important foreigner in the Green
Parrot。 As Masarek was the only important foreigner to arrive recently in Juarez； Finn assumed
that he was the one who would meet Refugio tonight。 He assumed； but he was not certain。 He
would not be certain until he saw Masarek here； tonight。
None of the people Finn saw matched his description of Masarek。 Mexicans； Europeans and
Orientals occupied the cantina’s rough tables。 Among them circulated Refugio’s whores；
including his favorite； Rubia。 She was limber； blond； and perhaps fourteen。 Despite her dyed
hair； Rubia was unusally pretty。 She moved from table to table； dispensing drinks and sexual
invitation with equal ease。
The crowd around the cockfight humped up suddenly and roared like a breaking wave。 Finn
knew without looking that one cock had been wounded。 The birds varied from fight to fight； but
the crowd’s bay at first blood was always the same。 The fight itself promised to be special；
though； one of the birds was Refugio’s favorite； a scarred survivor of many battles。
People screamed prayers and imprecations in most of the civilized languages of man。 Bets flew
among the feathers as the cocks ripped each other with bloody spurs。 Sweating； Refugio waved a
fistful of money； boasting and betting on the red cock’s prowess。 The crowd heaved and
re…formed； blocking Finn’s view of Refugio。
The Indio woman’s hiss slid between the shrill sounds of the cantina。 Without looking at her；
Finn glanced to his right。 Several American servicemen were wandering toward him； obviously
looking for a table。
“Mind if we sit with you？” asked one of the men。
“Yes；” said Finn。
“Friendly type； huh。”
“No。”
“Are you an American？” demanded the man。
“Sometimes；” said Finn； completing the recognition sequence。
With a sound of disgust； the man herded his friends back into the cantina’s mainstream。 They
wedged themselves along the bar and prepared to wait for a vacant table。
Finn did not look at them again。 His mind was ticking off seconds with the precision of a
stopwatch。 When the count reached three hundred； he finished his beer； tipped the cook
generously； and prepared to leave the Green Parrot as inconspicuously as he had arrived。
As he stood up； the crowd around the pit shrieked and moaned。 The cockfight was approaching
its climax。 The birds leaped and raked over each other； steel spurs ripping out feathers and
blood。 He watched； realizing that the red cock had finally met his equal。 The fighters were well
matched。 Too well matched。 Like the German army at Stalingrad and the U。S。 Marines on
Japanese…held islands； the only winner was death。
The screams changed in pitch。 One cock was down； disemboweled； its black…and…white feathers
sprayed with blood。 The red cock began to crow triumphantly； then reeled sideways as its blood
pumped out of a slashed artery。 Both cocks thrashed about in the dusty pit while Refugio yelled
for his favorite to stand up and be proven the winner。
Both cocks died； steel spurs raking the dust。 Vicious arguments started over which cock had
died first。
Refugio shouldered into the pit； swearing at the bettors and handlers alike。 At his command； the
Yaquis held the cocks aloft for his inspection。 Guts slid down dusty arms； trailing ribbons of
blood。 He prodded the big red bird while men shouted at him； shrill as roosters。 The crowded
fragmented into fist… and knife…fights。
As Finn watched； three men clubbed their way to Refugio’s side。 He did not need his
bodyguards to restore order； though。 His own fists and boots were enough。 Men went down
around him； and stayed down。 Soon there was no one left fighting。 He shouted over the angry
bettors； pointing out that the spotted cock had gone down first and stayed down until it died。
Men yelled back； saying that Refugio’s red cock had died first。 Refugio began reciting the
superior points of the red cock。
Finn eased through the cantina； listening to the Mexican’s harangue on behalf of his favorite
cock。 Several thousand dollars were at stake； but it was pride as much as money that goaded
Refugio； a man whose pride was legend。
Suddenly； Refugio’s voice dropped。 Finn turned back； wondering what had happened to silence
the arrogant smuggler。 One of Refugio’s bodyguards stood close to him； talking quietly；
gesturing with a sawed…off shotgun。 Refugio’s eyebrows swept together in a thick frown。 He
turned to the Yaquis who stood impassively； death dangling from their hands。 At his curt gesture
they lowered the limp birds。 While he spoke； the handlers reached into covered baskets； pulled
out two fresh cocks and fastened on sets of razor spurs。
“A tie！” shouted Refugio； glaring at the crowd。 Men groaned and cursed。 Refugio shoved
through them shouting； “A tie！ No bets won or lost on a tie！”
The two new cocks saw each other and screamed challenges。 The crowd looked away from
Refugio； focusing once more on the cockpit where eager； violent birds were barely restrained by
their handlers。
As Finn turned back toward the side door； his glance automatically searched the crowd。 He
found himself staring across the room into slanted Japanese eyes。 Without seeming to； Finn
memorized the man as he did all strangers； trying to judge height and age and weight； looking
for distinguishing marks。 There was nothing。 The Japanese was dressed neither well nor badly；
his posture was neither timid nor aggressive； his hair neither too short nor too long； his clothes
neither too new nor too old。 He appeared as unremarkable as Finn himself – except for Rubia；
Refugio’s premiere whore； clinging to the man’s arm。 And then Refugio himself appeared at the
Japanese man’s side； smiling expansively as he greeted the stranger。
Smoothly； Finn’s glance moved on。 There was nothing to show his intense interest in the
Page 6
Japanese。 He turned away and went out the cantina’s side door； silently swearing at the necessity
that pulled him away from the cockfight。 In the alley Finn hurried； Refugio and the stranger had
cost him forty…three seconds。
As he ergency rendezvous point； he wondered what was so hot
that it could not be sent through regular channels； and so urgent that it required making contact
in so public a place as the Green Parrot。 Most of all； he wondered about the Japanese man who
had been more important to Refugio than his pride。
Finn felt the first hot touch of adrenaline sliding into his veins。 The same instincts that had saved
his life so many times in Burma told him that what he had seen tonight was important。 There was
a new player in the deadly game whose prize was a secret known only in Los Alamos。
Juarez
106 Hours Before Trinity
Vanessa Lyons waited just outside one of the public phone booths in the Hotel Mariscal。 She
glanced once at her watch； two minutes remained。 The tension she felt was not reflected by her
appearance。 Her face was as smooth as her pastel linen suit； her expression as correct as the hat
that shielded her pale blond beauty from the sun。
Self…control had been taught to her by a Russian spy； a man whose intelligence was exceeded
only by his cruelty。 She had not found his equal until Beria had introduced her to Masarek。 They
had worked together very well； she and Masarek； combing the ruins of war。 She and Masarek
had raced American agents to Peenemunde after Germany fell； seeking scientists。
Despite the influx of German atomic physicists into Russia； it was America who had won the
race to engineer an atomic bomb。 America； whose land and people were untouched by the war。
America； who had callously watched Russians die by the hundreds of thousands in Stalingrad；
w