《Steal The Sun(战争间谍)》

下载本书

添加书签

Steal The Sun(战争间谍)- 第37部分


按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页,按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页,按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部!
diffuse blue light。 Below him was seamless dry midnight。
Suddenly his body knotted with pain。 His stomach; long since emptied of all but nausea;
attempted to throw off even that。 He hung his head over the pan beside him。 His whole body
convulsed。 Nothing came up but a vile taste。
Fever reclaimed him。 His mind slid on toward the dark bottom of the well。 He was faintly
surprised to find water there; delicious and cool。
Gradually Refugio realized that someone was washing his face and arms。 Darkness receded。 He
opened his eyes and saw a pair of sure; gentle hands ministering to him with white rags dipped in
cool water。
“Ana…” Refugio blinked and focused on the nearby face with an effort。 “Kestrel?”
“How do you feel?” asked Kestrel。 His face did not show his horror at the bruises that mottled
Refugio’s red skin; signs of massive internal bleeding brought on by radiation poisoning。 Gently;
Kestrel placed another wet cloth on Refugio’s forehead。
“Thirsty;” Refugio sighed。
Kestrel’s hands hesitated。 Water would make Refugio vomit again; weakening him even more;
Kestrel needed him for one additional task。
“First;” he said; “you must try to sit up。”
Kestrel braced the gurney against the embalming table while he helped Refugio to sit up。
Refugio retched and trembled。 Bruises formed on his skin where Kestrel’s hands held him
upright。 After a moment; he was able to sit up without Kestrel’s help。
“Very good;” Kestrel said。 “Now you can help me。 I won’t take long。”
He eased the gurney closer to the embalming table。 He had already laid swaths of thick foil
down the length of the table; stopping just short of the misshapen sphere of uranium。 Where the
Page 110
edges of the foil were crinkled; the vivid red of the foil’s reverse side showed like flames。
Refugio stared without comprehension as Kestrel locked the gurney’s wheels。
“Listen to me;” Kestrel said。 Refugio was weak; but his help in wrapping the uranium would
reduce Kestrel’s risk of radiation poisoning。 “Take the metal ball and wrap it in the foil。 Try to
put equal amounts of foil on all sides of the metal ball。 Do you understand?”
Refugio looked at the uranium and then at the foil edge with a hint of fire。 “Wrap 。 ; this” – he
touched the ball – “in… this。” He waved at the foil。
“Yes。”
Refugio tried to pick up the uranium and place it on the foil。 The ball was too heavy for him。
“Roll it;” suggested Kestrel。 “But be careful!”
The uranium teetered at the raised edge of the embalming table before rolling unevenly onto the
overlapping foil strips。 Clumsily; Refugio pulled the foil up and over the uranium。 The wrapping
was erratic; bunched up here and nearly splitting from tightness there; but it would have to do。
Refugio sat panting; his hands trembling。
“You did that very well;” said Kestrel; unlocking the gurney’s wheels。 “Now; hold on to me。”
Kestrel pushed the table across the room to the other embalming table。 The smaller piece of
uranium was there; along with another swath of lead foil。 Refugio wove unsteadily as the gurney
bumped into the table’s porcelain rim。 “Let me… lie down。”
“We’re almost done;” Kestrel answered。 “Quickly; now!”
Refugio leaned toward the table; confused by the presence of another piece of uranium and
more foil。 Had he not just done this? His hand slid off the gray…white lump。 He overbalanced;
tried weakly to save himself; and would have fallen face down on the embalming table if Kestrel
had not caught him。
“Try again;” Kestrel urged。
With a great effort; Refugio herded the lopsided sphere onto the two…colored foil。 The foil tore
beneath his clumsy fingers。 Uranium showed through the tear like a gray…white tooth。 Refugio
tried to cover it with more foil; but his hands would not respond。 Retching convulsed him。 He
was relieved when the black well leaped up; surrounding him once more。
Gently; Kestrel straightened Refugio’s unconscious body on the gurney。 As he did; he sensed
someone coming through the doorway to help him。 Ana。 She reached for the half…covered metal
sphere; then cried out when Kestrel slapped away her hands。
“I told you to stay out of here!”
Tears grew in Ana’s eyes。 “But you needed help;” she said; her voice breaking between reason
and emotion。 “I saw Refugio – “
“Go back to the flower shop。 Stay there。 I’ll be through in a few minutes。”
Tears gathered in her lashes and slid down her cheeks。
“Please;” said Kestrel; kissing her eyelids。 “It is best this way。” Reassured by Kestrel’s
gentleness。 Ana left。 She stopped just beyond the doorway。 Kestrel did not notice。 He had
already turned back to the embalming table。 Beneath his strong hands; uranium and foil grew
into an ungainly scarlet jewel。
San Francisco
27 Hours 15 Minutes After Trinity
A knock sounded on the door。
“Who is it?” called Vanessa; reaching for the pistol concealed in her purse。
“A student of history;” answered a deep voice。
“I; too; am a student of history。 Come in。”
The man was so thick and muscular that he almost had to turn sideways to enter the room。 He
was young; nearly six feet tall。 His head seemed to be joined directly to his huge shoulders。 He
wore a merchant seaman’s rough clothing and a single small gold loop in his left ear。
He walked by Vanessa without speaking。 She closed the door but did not look away from him。
Page 111
He saw her pistol; but acted as though it were no more unusual than a wedding ring。
“Good morning; comrade;” he said; smiling。
His voice was surprisingly gentle and unaccented; despite his olive skin and Mediterranean
appearance。
Vanessa returned the smile in spite of herself。 After Hecht’s easily shocked innocence; this man
with the earring was reassuring。 Certainly the sight of a gun did not make him blanch。 A young
Masarek; perhaps。 She lowered her gun。
“Welcome; comrade。 What shall we call you today?”
“Slaven?” said the big man。 He laughed and swept the watch cap off his shaved head。 “Yes;
Slaven – a poor working man who helps the cause any way he can。”
Slaven’s formality had a mocking quality; but it was himself he laughed at; not her。
“Tell me; Slaven;” murmured Vanessa; “can you shoot?”
“Yes。”
“Good。 What work do you do?”
“I’m a longshoreman;” he said。 “Sometimes。”
“A trade unionist?”
“Sometimes。”
“And what do you do now?”
A sound came from the hallway; footsteps approaching。 As Slaven moved toward the door; a
gun appeared in his huge fist。 The footsteps passed without pausing。 Slaven waited until they
could be heard no more。 Then; before he replaced his gun; he flicked open its cylinder;
inspected the cartridges and then the barrel。 He handled the pistol the way a cook would handle
a skillet – with utter familiarity。 “Sometimes I’m a metal worker。”
“Metal? Steel and lead; no doubt。”
Slaven’s only answer was another smile。
San Francisco
27 Hours 21 Minutes After Trinity
“I followed the gringo down the street; to an apartment above Velasquez’s grocery store;” said
Julio Rincón。
“Were you able to learn anything more?” asked Kestrel。 His eyes were patient; impenetrable。
Marco smiled。 “I talked to Velasquez。 He told me that he rented the apartment just yesterday
afternoon to a blond woman with a foreign accent。”
Kestrel glanced at Ana; who stood watching; concern growing on her face。
“Masarek’s woman;” said Ana。 “It must be。”
Kestrel nodded absently; his mind examining the dimensions of the problem。 The flower shop
had become a trap。 He must escape it before the woman could recruit enough help to take back
the uranium。 Refugio was no help to him now。 He was dying。 Once dead; the Rincón brothers
would want to strike a new deal with Kestrel; and the Rincón brothers were more American than
Mexican。 He could not trust them。
“Where is the woman now?” asked Kestrel。
“Velasquez thinks she is still in the apartment。 I have one of the children watching to see who
comes and goes。”
“Children? This isn’t a game for children!”
Julio shrugged。 “He’s only watching。 I told him to stay out of sight。”
“Did he see anything? Is she alone?”
“The man who bought the flowers stayed there。 Another man came; too。 He is very big; very
strong。 A mean one; se?or。”
Kestrel dismissed Julio with a quick nod and turned away。 The mourning room in which he
stood was small; draped ceiling to floor with dark velvet。 The heavy folds of cloth absorbed
sound and light; leaving nothing。 On one wall was a massively framed portrait of a languid
Page 112
Cristo; a pale effeminate face on a black velvet background。
Kestrel looked away from the picture; repelled by its shallowness。 Even the dusty god’s eye in
the Mexicali whorehouse was more meaningful than this icon。 He would be glad to be free of a
culture that pickled their dead in the name of a bland; androgynous god。
Frowning; Kestrel looked around the room; measuring choices he no longer had。
Refugio was dying; his useful family network would die with him。
Ana was nervous; frightened; fragile。
The Russian spy with the British accent had somehow traced the uranium to this place。
It was doubtful that he could convince Refugio’s cousins to kill the Englishwoman and her
friends。 It was even more doubtful that the deaths would be kept secret。 Attention would be
drawn to the neighborhood and to him – official attention; the one thing he could not tolerate。
He had a chance to secure Japan’s future so long as he and his trail were invisible。 But one
misstep; one clear footprint revealing his presence; and his pursuers would fall upon him and
tear him apart。
“I must hide;” murmured Kestrel。 “But where?”
Ana was watching him; sorrow in her eyes。 He had never seen her so vulnerable。
“You’re going。” Ana’s voice was as empty as her eyes。
“We’re going;” corrected Kestrel。
“You’re going;” continued Ana as though he had not spoken。 “You’re going and I am not。”
Kestrel was momentarily disoriented; as though they were speaking separate languages based on
separate assumptions。 Then he understood what she did not want to put into words: he must flee
or die。 Either way; she would be left alone in a hostile land。 Even if he took her with him; he
would return eventually to Japan; then she would be alone。
“I won’t leave you; Ana;” Kestrel said; lying as he spoke; knowing he lied; and why。 “How could
I? I don’t even know where to go。 The submarine won’t be off the coast for five days。”
“Then we’ll go back to Mexicali and wait。 Refugio and Takagura will protect us。”
Kestrel hesitated; deciding how much of the truth Ana could bear。 “Refugio is dying。 When his
men realize that; we will be at their mercy。 We must have a place to go where we’ll be safe until
Takagura can make new arrangements to smuggle us south。 And we must go very soon。”
“Dying? Refugio?” whispered Ana。 Her eyes searched his face; and then she asked no more
questions。 “A place where Japanese are safe in America!” Her lips hardened into a bitter smile。
“The prison camps are the only place in America where Japanese aren’t noticed。”
Kestrel was startled by Ana’s insight; and appalled。 “What about the guards?”
“They are nothing。 The fences keep them out rather than keeping u
小提示:按 回车 [Enter] 键 返回书目,按 ← 键 返回上一页, 按 → 键 进入下一页。 赞一下 添加书签加入书架