Steal The Sun(战争间谍)-第43章

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“The　event　you　described　can’t　be　repeated　for　several　months。”
“Why？”
“Our…　comrades…　have　removed　the　motive　power。”
“What？”
“If　you　remember；　a　necessary　component　of　the…　event…　is　exceedingly　rare。　Gathering　it
takes　much　time。”
Kestrel　rubbed　sweat　out　of　his　eyes　as　he　tried　to　make　sense　of　Takagura’s　elliptical
communication。　Somehow　the　Russians　had　defused　the　American　bombs。　But　how？
“I　don’t　understand；”　he　said。
“There　were　only　two　events　extant；”　said　Takagura　slowly。　“One　you　saw。　The　other　was
awaiting　shipment　to　Japan　when　our　comrades　removed　the　elemental　motive　power。”
Kestrel　heard　the　emphasis　on　the　world　“elemental”　and　realized　that　Takagura　was　referring　to
an　element　called　uranium。　Apparently　the　Americans　had　had　only　enough　uranium　for　two
atomic　bombs。　They　had　tested　one　this　morning　–　and　the　Russians　had　stolen　the　other！
An　incredible　suspicion　grew　in　Kestrel’s　mind。　Tiredness　fell　away　from　him　as　he　examined　the
idea。　Japan’s　“comrades”　–　Russian　–　had　stolen　the　uranium　heart　of　the　atomic　bomb。　It　was
almost　certain　that　the　Hunters　Point　theft　and　the　uranium　theft　were　one　and　the　same。　If　that
was　true；　then　it　was　also　true　that　at　this　moment　Japan；　not　Russia；　controlled　the　core　of　the
world’s　only　atomic　bomb　–　unless　Refugio　had　failed　or　betrayed　Takagura。
“Is　there　any　message　from　my　‘sister’？”　asked　Kestrel。　“Is　she　well？”
“Yes；　but　her　husband　and　her　brothers　aren’t。　Apparently　overseeing　the　delivery　of　her　baby
was　too　much　for　them。　Her　husband’s　brothers　left　abruptly。　Her　husband　is　still　with　her；　but
he　is…　ill。”
Ana　was　well；　but　Refugio　and　his　men　were　not。　Something　had　gone　wrong。　“The　baby？”
demanded　Kestrel。　“Is　the　baby　well？”
“Quite　well。　The　mother　wishes　to　know　if　you　will　see　her　there　or　will　you　wait　until　she
returns？”
Relief　swept　through　Kestrel。　The　uranium　was　safe；　with　Ana。　“I’ll　go　to　her　immediately。”
“Good。”　Dry　curiosity　crept　into　Takagura’s　tone。　“The　birth　of　your　first　nephew　seems　to
have　pleased　you　enormously…？”
“This　isn’t　my　first　nephew；”　corrected　Kestrel；　“but　my　second。　The　first　one　was　born　this
morning　just　before　dawn。”
Kestrel　hung　up　before　Takagura　could　reply。
The　cafe’s　screen　door　banged　loosely　as　he　left。　Although　it　was　not　yet　noon；　the　sun　was　a
white…hot　hammer。　Yet　Kestrel　did　not　notice　the　heat　in　his　exhilaration　at　the　news　of　what
Refugio　had　stolen。
The　physicist　in　him　was　impatient　to　see　the　U…235。　He　wanted　to　inspect　it；　feel　it；　to　determine
whether　it　was　brittle　or　malleable；　bright　or　rough；　white　or　dark　–　and　whether　it　required
special　handling。
The　strategist　in　Kestrel　ignored　the　physicist’s　excited　speculation。　The　physical　properties　of
an　exotic　isotope　were　far　less　important　than　the　isotope’s　value　as　a　political　weapon。
With　the　U…235　America　could　force　Japan　to　accept　unconditional　surrender。　Without　the
uranium；　there　was　no　choice　for　America　but　the　invasion　of　Japan。
With　the　U…235　stolen　from　America；　the　Russians　could　watch　their　Hated　America^　allies　and
their　putative　Japanese　friends　engage　in　bloody　combat　while　Russia　Consolidated　hcr　power
over　newly　conquered　European　territories。
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And　the　Japanese…　what　could　Japan　do　with　a　critical　mass　of　U…235？　At　the　very　least；　Japan
could　ready　itself　for　the　protracted　invasion　that　American　generals　called　Operation　Downfall；
an　invasion　the　Japanese　generals　saw　as　a　way　to　force　America　into　negotiated　surrender。
Japan’s　possession　of　the　uranium　would　convince　Japanese　militarists　that　the　atomic　bomb　was
a　reality；　that　a　new　world　had　been　born；　and　that　new　solutions　were　therefore　possible。　The
Americans　could　be　approached　now；　not　for　surrender；　but　for　a　conference　of　equals。　Japan
could　offer　the　uranium　in　exchange　for　an　honorable　end　to　the　war。
With　a　U…235；　it　might　be　possible　for　Japan　to　dictate　the　terms　of　her　own　“surrender。”
Japan’s　self…respect　could　survive　defeat　intact；　ensuring　her　future　as　a　nation。
A　slow　cattle　truck　forced　Kestrel’s　attention　back　to　Texas。　He　passed　the　truck；　and　in　doing
so　nearly　missed　the　turnoff　to　the　Army　Air　Corps　base。　He　parked　the　car　in　a　dry；　almost
deserted　neighborhood；　grabbed　his　suitcase　and　ile　to　the　front　gate。
The　MP　on　duty　saluted　the　captain’s　bars　on　Kestrel’s　shoulders；　and　at　the　same　time
inspected　him　more　closely。　Orientals　were　not　unheard　of　on　the　base；　but　they　warranted　a
second　look。
“Can　I　help　you；　sir？”　asked　the　MP；　his　voice　clipped　and　correct。
Kestrel　returned　the　salute　crisply。　“I　left　a　troop　train　because　a　soldier　told　me　I　might　catch　a
faster　ride　here。　I’m　going　home。”
The　MP　inspected　Kestrel　again。　“Where’s　home？”　he　asked。
“California。　A　place　called　Manzanar。”　Dryly。　“Maybe　you’ve　heard　of　it。”
The　MP’s　face　shifted　slightly。　“A　Jap；　huh？”　he　said；　but　there　was　no　hostility　in　his　voice。
“Thought　all　of　you　were　still　in　Italy。”
“I　was；　until　the　Red　Cross　told　me　my　father　was　dying。　I’ve　been　on　the　road　ever　since。　It’s　all
here　in　the　compassionate　leave　papers。”
Kestrel　removed　a　sheaf　of　travel　orders　from　his　uniform　coat。　The　MP　waved　away　the
papers。
“That’s　not　necessary；”　said　the　MP。　“Remember；　you’re　in　Texas　now。　You　guys　from　the
454th　are　real　heroes　here　since　you　pulled　the　36th　out　of　that　hole　in　Italy。　Most　of　the　guys　in
the　36th　were　Texans。”　He　waved　his　hand　toward　a　quonset　hut　a　hundred　feet　inside　the　gate。
“Show　your　papers　to　the　officer　of　the　day。　His　office　is　right　over　there。　Good　luck；　sir。　I　hope
you’re　in　time　to　see　your　father。”
Kestrel　saluted。　“Thank　you；　Corporal。　I　hope　so　too。”
Inside　the　quonset　hut；　a　large　fan　circulated　hot　air　with　enough　force　to　slam　shut　the　plywood
door　behind　Kestrel。　A　bareheaded　private　in　a　rumpled　uniform　glanced　up　from　a　newspaper。
He　looked　at　the　captain’s　bars　on　Kestrel’s　uniform；　then　at　his　face；　then　at　his　bars　again。　The
private　half…rose；　half…saluted　and　called　over　his　shoulder。
“Lieutenant！　Company！”
A　crew…cut　head　appeared　over　a　partition。　The　lieutenant　was　scowling。　His　expression　changed
when　he　saw　Kestrel　standing　at　ease；　his　officer’s　insignia　shining　in　the　dim　light　of　the　hut。
There　was　the　sound　of　a　chair　scuffing　across　the　floor　and　hurried　footsteps。
The　officer　of　the　day　was　a　young；　very　short　first　lieutenant　whose　uniform　was　correct　in　every
detail。
“Lieutenant　Green；　sir；”　he　said；　stepping　forward。　“What　can　I　do　for　you？”
Kestrel　returned　the　salute　and　then　shook　hands；　remembering　to　add　enough　pressure　to
satisfy　American　standards　of　manhood。　“I　was　hoping　to　catch　a　ride　home　on　one　of　your
planes；”　he　said；　handing　over　the　forged　papers。
Lieutenant　Green　scanned　Kestrel’s　orders；　clicking　his　tongue　sympathetically　when　he　came　to
the　reasons　for　the　compassionate　leave。
“Captain；　it’s　never　been　my　pleasure　before　to　serve　an　Oriental　member　of　my　country’s
Army；　but　I　can　assure　you　it　will　be　my　pleasure　now。”　He　moved　to　one　side　so　that　he　could
see　the　Torch　of　Freedom　shoulder　patches　on　Kestrel’s　uniform：　“454th；　isn’t　it？”　he　asked。
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“Yes。”
“Then；　sir；　it　is　indeed　a　pleasure　to　serve　you。　Your　unit　is　one　of　the　most　famous　in　the　entire
Army；　white　or　Oriental。　Your　men　taught　the　world　what　courage　is。　You　proved　you　weren’t
yellow。”
Kestrel　was　amused　in　spite　of　himself　by　the　earnest　young　officer。　“But　we　are；　Lieutenant。”
The　lieutenant’s　eyes　widened。　“What　do　you　–　oh！　Uh；　that’s　not　what　I　meant　at　all；　sir！”
“I　know　exactly　what　you　meant；　Lieutenant。　All　men　are　the　same　color　in　a　foxhole。”
“Exactly；　sir。”
“About　that　plane　ride…？”
The　lieutenant　turned　to　the　private。　“Call　the　flight　line。　See　if　that　C…47　has　left　yet。　And　move
it；　Private！”
The　private　obeyed　with　a　lack　of　enthusiasm　that　was　just　short　of　insolence。　The　lieutenant
appeared　not　to　notice。
“Flight’s　taxiing　out　now；　sir；”　drawled　the　private　finally。
“Hold　the　plane！”　snapped　Lieutenant　Green。　“Tell　them　we　have　a　top…priority　o