fleeing to Mexico with the uranium； Refugio had lost two men； been wounded himself and
allowed Masarek’s woman to escape。 He had kept the uranium； though； with Ana Oshiga’s help。
Ana； whose father had owned a flower shop in San Francisco before Pearl Harbor； a flower
shop now owned by Refugio’s cousins。
Then there was Kestrel； shrewd enough to steal the prize。 He had come into America wearing
the uniform of a Nisei captain – how he must have savored wearing the battalion patch whose
motto was “Remember Pearl Harbor。”
But even Kestrel had not foreseen hot uranium and a dead Refugio。 Ketrel must be getting
desperate。 With Refugio dead； there were no more Mexican contacts in America to abet the
Japanese。 Kestrel and Ana were isolated now； two Japanese adrift on a sea of Western faces。
Nor could they find others of their race to hide behind while they made new plans to smuggle
the uranium out of America。 From Seattle to San Diego； the Little Tokyos of America had been
closed down； boarded up； sold and abandoned。 By the hundreds and the thousands； the
Japanese had been transported to “relocation camps” well away from the Pacific Coast。
The camps！ That was where Kestrel would hide。 It was not only a sea of like faces； it was safe –
who but a Japanese would think of hiding in his enemy’s jail？ But there were many camps。 Which
one would Kestrel choose？ He would need some assurance that he would be welcome or at least
tolerated。
“Mullen。 Where is Takeo Oshiga now？” asked Finn。
“The registration forms were forwarded to Manzanar。 You know the place？ A relocation camp
on the other side of the Sierras。”
Finn did not know the place； but he soon would。 “Coughlan； call the people at Manzanar。 Tell
them to open the inbound gates。 Anybody wants in； let him in。”
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“And then tell them that I’ll personally execute the guard who lets anyone out。”
Manzanar； California
36 Hours 28 Minutes After Trinity
From the road； the car was invisible； concealed in a dry ravine。 A wind moaned over the desert；
leaving enigmatic patterns in the sand。 The car was quiet but for the rustle of newspaper when
Kestrel turned a page。 Beside him on the front seat was a pile of unread periodicals。
Kestrel folded up the section he had read and put it on the floor。 The noise startled Ana； who
had been dozing in the back seat。 She sat up。
“Is it time？”
“It’s only five o’clock；” said Kestrel； glancing at his watch。 “It won’t be dark for several hours。
Go back to sleep。”
“I can’t。 I keep thinking about Manzanar。”
“Don’t worry about getting into the camp；” said Kestrel。 “Manzanar won’t be well guarded。
Why should it be？ Where would an escaping Japanese go？” He waved a hand at the desolation
surrounding them。 “Only the gate has soldiers； and we won’t use the gate。”
Ana looked at the stack of newspapers and magazines on the front seat。 Kestrel had bought one
or two in each little hamlet he had driven through on the way down the east side of the Sierras。
“There’s nothing in those but propaganda；” said Ana。 “Lies and more lies about what a
generous victor America is。 All lies！”
Kestrel shook out the July 17th edition of the San Francisco Chronicle。 “American newspapers
are naive； malicious and often trivial； but they aren’t echoes of their government。 They tell more
about the war than my own government does； and tell it more accurately。”
“For example？”
“Your newspapers tell me Russia is more America’s enemy than her ally。 That would be useful to
Japan； if Russia weren’t also our enemy。” Kestrel turned the page。 “Russia is a sword with every
edge honed and no handle – whoever uses it risks cutting himself more deeply than his
opponent。”
“Where does the Chronicle say that？” Ana asked。
“Where are the pictures of smiling Russian soldiers playing poker with American GIs in Berlin？”
countered Kestrel； pointing to a feature story。
“Those are British soldiers；” said Ana； reading over his shoulder。
“Exactly。 Not a single Russian smiling for the camera。”
A wave of nausea rippled through him。 He breathed slowly； deeply； until it passed。 Sweat
suddenly covered his skin。 Another surge of nausea gripped him。 Deliberately； he folded the
newspaper and put it back on the pile beside him。
“Where are you going？” Ana asked as Kestrel opened the car door。
Her only answer was the sound of the wind scouring the land。 The car door closed； leaving her
alone with the taste of dust on her tongue。
Manzanar
38 Hours 37 Minutes After Trinity
The wind blew unhindered across the desert； sweeping up dust and grit； shaping and reshaping
the land with careless power。 Inside the squat； fieldstone guardhouse； the wind’s restless howl
was reduced to a low cry of anomie。
The private turned over another card； yawned； and stuck the card back into the deck。 He
rejected the next three cards； cheating at solitaire with bored indifference。 Occasionally he
looked at the utilitarian clock on the wall or leaned forward to get a better view of the dirt road
leading up to Manzanar。
The sound of the car’s approach was masked by the wind。 When the guard saw the dark green
sedan slide to a stop and glimpsed the blond woman at the wheel； he hurriedly gathered up the
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cards and straightened his uniform。
“Vanessa Lyons； BBC；” said the woman； coming up to him and holding out her credentials in a
slim white hand。
The guard took the credentials； gave them a cursory inspection and returned them to Vanessa。
“I’ll call Captain Anderson。 He’ll give you a tour of the facilities and answer whatever questions
you have。” The private spoke carefully； like someone reciting from memory。 “It will be the
captain’s pleasure to entertain you at dinner at 1900。”
“I really wouldn’t want to put you to that much trouble；” began Vanessa earnestly。
“Our pleasure； ma’am；” said the private in fervent tones。 “It’s a welcome break in the routine。”
Vanessa looked at the empty land； the cramped stone guardhouse； and the windblown sand。
Ugly rows of barracks sat back from a wire fence clotted with tumbleweeds and miscellaneous
debris。 She could well imagine the boredom of the men assigned to guard a well…behaved group
of Japanese in the middle of desolation。
“It’s necessary for my research that I go without an escort；” Vanessa said。
“Of course； ma’am。 After dinner； you’ll be on your own。 The Japs here are very polite。 You
shouldn’t have any trouble after the captain introduces you around。”
Vanessa agreed to the inevitable。 She smiled warmly。 “Would you be so kind as to call Captain
Anderson right away； then。 I’m very anxious to look around。”
“Yes； ma’am！”
The private turned away too quickly to see Vanessa’s beguiling smile condense into a hard line。
Outside of Manzanar
39 Hours 21 Minutes After Trinity
Darkness gathered like a tide； pooling in nameless ravines； spilling out across sand and
sagebrush； lapping at the awesome Sierras。 Kestrel ations of
light with a poet’s eyes； knowing that each day’s end was a beauty never before revealed。
“Wait here；” he told Ana； “until I come back for you。”
Ana watched him walk around to the back of the car。 The raised trunk lid cut off her view。 She
heard the rattle of the rusty tin pails。 There were two distinct thumps as the heavy metal balls hit
the bottom of the pails。 The trunk lid closed； revealing Kestrel again。
Although color had been drained from the land； some light remained。 Ana saw Kestrel turn
away from the car； carrying one pail in his right hand。 He scrambled out of the ravine which hid
the car。 For a moment he was silhouetted against the blue…black sky； then he vanished。
Ana hesitated for only an instant before she got out of the car as silently as she could and
followed Kestrel。 She was worried by the change that had come over him since he had first
opened the trunk in the high Sierra pass。 Since that moment he had seemed to recede from her
like a dream； becoming more distant as the afternoon light had thickened into sunset。
Ana knew he was ill。 She wanted to help him； but did not know how。 He could be so remote；
folded in upon himself like the immaculate curves of a lotus bud； aware only of his own silent
center。
Yet when he had sensed her growing fear； he had gathered her into his arms； held her within his
silence like a precious memory。 She could not sit now and watch him walk alone into the night。
Sand and rocks turned beneath Ana’s feet。 Brittle brush caught the folds of the dress that was
bright red by day； black in the twilight。 Cautiously； she peered up over the edge of the ravine。
Thirty feet away； Kestrel waited； his face a distinct paleness against the dusk。 He was looking
toward her。 She realized that he had heard her follow him。 She shrank back； not wanting to face
his anger。 His footsteps approached； then stopped at the edge of the arroyo。
“I just wanted to help…” Ana’s voice thinned into silence。
Wordlessly； Kestrel set down the heavy pail。
“You’ve been so far away；” said Ana。 “I was afraid you would’t come back。”
Just as the silence became unbearable to Ana； Kestrel reached out to her； pulled her against him。
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His skin was cool； chilled by night closing swiftly around him。
Ana held on to him with surprising strength； understanding only that at this moment he needed
her warmth。 He kissed her very gently； and just as gently released her。
“If you must follow me；” he said； “you can bring the other bucket。”
“I’m sorry。 I’ll go back。 I’ll wait for you。”
“No； it’s better this way。 Bring the bucket。”
She turned away。
“Wait；” said Kestrel。 “In this you must obey me。 When you carry that bucket； do not come close
to the other bucket。 The buckets must not touch。”
“Yes。”
She scrambled back to the car； snatched up the handle of the pail and returned。 Kestrel had
climbed out of the ravine。 He pulled her up its crumbling side with an ease that belied sickness。
Thirty feet away from him； the other tin pail glowed faintly in the twilight。
“Wait here；” said Kestrel。 “When I pick up my pail； follow me。 When I walk； you walk。 When I
stop； you stop。 Don’t talk。 Sound carries far in this land。”
Ana followed Kestrel across a subtle rise in the desert floor。 The land looked flat； but was not。 It
was like an enormous rumpled sheet draped across the foot of the Sierras。
With each step the desert and the night closed more fully around her。 Her eyes continued to
adjust； finding illumination where she thought there was none。 Kestrel set down his pail and
walked back to Ana。
“Manzanar is just ahead；” he murmured。 “I’m going to bury the buckets before we go in。 When
we get through the fence； I’ll hide until you find your family。”
Kestrel dug in the sandy soil near the base of a clump of sagebrush； using one of the pails as a
shovel。 Each time the metal lip of the pail scraped over hidden rocks； Ana held her breath。
The*1 sounds seemed loud in the desert’s vast silence； as vivid as lightning at midnight。 Kestrel；
knowing that some noise was unavoidable； kept on digging。
He lowered the larger piece of uranium into the hole he had made。 Quickly； he shoved in a layer
of loose soil； tipped the bucket on its side in the hole； and filled bot