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