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