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passenger before the wire dropped；” said Finn。 He pointed to a veneer of blood on the driver’s
side that clearly showed the imprint of a seated man。 There was a bright streak where a bullet
had stripped paint off the driver’s door。 “Went through the thigh； probably。”
“Nope。 None of the DBs had leg wounds。 Every other damn thing but that。 I checked。”
“Then the driver limped away；” said Finn reasonably。
“Doubt it。 None of the guards saw him。 And guys were looking； believe me。” Jones jerked his
thumb over his shoulder at the two gray…haired factory guards who were still talking to the
uniformed officers。 “This was the most exciting thing they’d ever seen。”
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Finn stared at Jones in disbelief。 “Between them； those two guys are about one hundred and
thirty。 On a foggy night； I could steal their goddamn factory piece by piece and they wouldn’t
see a thing。 Put out an APB for a male with a leg wound。”
As Jones walked off； Finn opened a large bag and began sorting through the weapons。 There
were knives； handguns and beneath them a sawed…off shotgun with silver inlays in the stock。 Finn
pulled it out of the bag。
“Salvador；” murdered Finn。 “ Refugio。”
“Gesundheit；” said Riley。
Finn looked up； almost smiled。 “Salvador Leon is a Mexicali thug with a reputation for murder。
He carries an escopeta like this and works for a crook called Refugio。”
“Can’t be too many like it。” said Riley； looking at the gaudy gun。 “Looks like whore’s
Christmas。”
This time Finn smiled。 “It kills just as dead as the plain models。” Finn sniffed the barrel。 “Hasn’t
been fired today。”
Riley peered into the bag and removed a pistol with a silencer attached。 “That explains it。”
Finn looked up。 “Explains what？”
“The guards only heard a few shots； but from what the cops said； a lot of lead must have been
flying。”
“Of course；” said Finn matter…of…factly。 “That’s why no one at Hunters Point heard the sentry
die。”
Riley put down the gun and went toward the back doors of the van。 As he reached for the
handles； Finn spoke。
“Don’t。”
Finn’s voice was flat； yet somehow urgent。 Responding to the tone as much as to the command
itself； Riley let go of the handles and stepped back quickly。
“What’s wrong？” complained Riley。 “You said there’s nothing in there but blood。”
“Stay away from the back end of the truck；” Finn said。 “Do your sightseeing from the front； and
don’t be too long about it。”
With a motion that was becoming second nature； Finn turned on the radiation counter and
walked around to the back of the truck。 The clicks increased in volume and frequency as he
approached the point where Riley stood。 Hastily； Riley stepped aside。 The clicks did not
diminish with his absence。 By the time Finn was at the back doors； he had had to recalibrate
twice。 The radiation was still within safety limits； but Finn knew when he opened the door the
counter would scream。
He moved the counter slowly across the back of the van。 The radiation was highest at the center
of the bumper； where blood had dripped from the van floor onto the chrome； as though the
surviving thief had set down the two pieces of metal； slid out of the truck； and then pulled the
uranium after him。
Finn was accustomed to the counter now。 He found it helpful； so long as he remembered to rely
on it and not the eyes to trace the invisible patterns of radiation that he knew were present。 He
concentrated； building a mental picture of what had happened on the foggy street where men
had fought and died over a stolen sun。
Sitting on his heels； Finn swept the probe just above the surface of the street。 He was rewarded
by a crackle of sound； as though the uranium had been set on the ground for an instant。 The
radiation was not as potent as that in the truck。
The probe quartered the street alongside the van； but no matter how sensitive the setting； there
was no response until Finn came to the place where Salvador’s body had rested。 That response
was relatively weak。
Finn walked slowly； avoiding the shards of glass from windows shot out of parked cars。 The
counter barely clicked； registering less than normal radiation。 The sandy sediment that lined the
gutters and filled the potholes did not set off the counter。
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Suddenly； Finn bent over and fished in the gutter between a parked car and the curb。
“Find something？” said Riley。
Finn tossed a shell casing to Riley； ent of his hand。
“Check the gun with the silencer。”
In a moment； Riley called out。 “Nope。 It’s a 9 millimeter。 Must be a 。38 somewhere。”
“Yeah。 Pretty big gun for a woman； though。”
“What woman？” demanded Riley。
“None of the dead men was small enough to make that print；” said Finn pointing at the muddy
street； “except the Chinese driver； and he was already dead。 Masarek was traveling with a
woman。 An Englishwoman called Vanessa Lyons。”
Riley looked； and then bent down and looked again。 There in the gritty mud was a small
footprint。
“Are you really an Indian scout？” said Riley； halfway between sarcasm and awe。
“She probably crouched half in and half out of the gutter；” said Finn； “laid the 。38 across the
hood； and fired。” He stood in the empty parking space and squinted along an imaginary line
leading to the van。 “Not a bad shot。 She nailed the van’s side mirror。 Probably covered her
escape。”
Riley looked at the empty parking place and shrugged。 “Whatever you say。”
“Only one problem with my theory；” Finn continued； walking up the street。 “The tread patterns
don’t match。”
Riley looked first at the tread impressions in the gutter； then at the potholes in the street next to
the van。 The damp soil in the potholes had taken clear impressions of the tires that last rolled
over the holes。 The tread pattern next to the curb did not match that in the potholes。
“Footprints don’t match； either；” said Finn。
Superimposed on a pothole treadmark were two footprints； side by side。 The footprint on the
left was half the size of the footprint on the right。 The pattern on the soles was also different。
“Either a woman or a small man on the left；” said Finn； “and a man on the right。” He measured
the distance from the van。 “I’ll bet the man was injured。 The woman parked next to the van；
helped him into her truck and drove off。”
“Truck？ I thought she was driving a car；” said Riley； waving his hand toward the empty curb。
“And why was she shooting at him earlier？”
“There were two women。 The one doing the shooting drove a car。 That；” said Finn； pointing to
the clear tread in the pothole； “was left by a truck – wide tire； diamond tread – driven by the
second woman。 See how deep her shoe went？ As deep as his； so he was leaning on her pretty
hard。 She loaded him into her truck and got the hell out of here before those blind guards saw
anything but their cataracts。”
Riley shrugged again。 “Yeah。 Right。”
“You don’t follow it；” said Finn。 “Fine。 Take my word for it。” He stared at the footprints；
wondering aloud if it had been Refugio who was shot。
Riley held up both hands； surrendering。 “o’s grandson？” he said。
“How’d you know about my granddaddy？” Riley stood； watching Finn and wondering if he was
joking。
Finn moved off； checking distances； treads； footprints and angles； trying to decipher the pattern
that was there。 Three people。 One man； probably hurt； and two different women – one shooting
and one helping the man。 Was it a case of thieves stealing from each other？ If so； who were the
betrayers and who were the betrayed？
Refugio could have double…crossed Masarek or vice versa。 Masarek’s blonde was probably one
of the women； but where did the other woman come from？ The only woman who worked for
Refugio were whores； and it was doubtful that Refugio would use a whore for anything more
demanding than sex。
And Kestrel – was he involved； despite being a thousand miles away； watching the sun rise twice
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over a place called Trinity？
Questions and facts circled in Finn’s mind。 Four dead men – two Mexicans； one Chinese and
one Caucasian had died on the waterfront this morning。 Until he identified the bodies； he would
not know which players were alive and which were out of the deadly game of hide…and…seek that
had begun at Hunters Point。 Until he used the radiation counter on the bodies； he would not
know who had warmed himself in the forbidden fires of an earthbound sun。
“Riley。”
Riley； crouched over the footprints and treadmarks； looked up almost guiltily。 “Yes？”
“Let’s go。 I have an idea。”
El Paso； Texas
5 Hours 35 Minutes After Trinity
The subtle echo of distance told Kestrel that his telephone call had gone through。 He wiped
away the sweat that gathered at his hairline and looked around the greasy little café again。 Only
an old wino was close enough to hear what he was saying。 There was a click； a subdued crackle
of static； then Takagura Omi’s precise Japanese inflections came over the line。 Though both
Kestrel and Takagura spoke Japanese； they still spoke circumspectly。
“I have two letters from home for you；” began Takagura the moment he recognized Kestrel’s
voice。 “Your honored father regretfully informs you that he cannot accept your suggestion。
What you described is impossible at the time and place you described it。 Even the most hopeful
estimates agree that the event you described could not take place for at least three years。 Your
father suggests that as it is 1945 rather than 1948； you may have been only a mile away from what
you saw； rather than ten。”
Takagura paused； giving Kestrel time to digest the unpalatable message。 The Emperor – or his
militarist advisors – did not believe that America had made an atomic bomb in less than three
years。 Because the bomb was an impossibility； therefore； Japan had no need to surrender
unconditionally。
It was insane。
“Were you quite sure of the reception and translation of the message？”
“Yes；” said Takagura。 “I am most scrupulous in these matters。”
Kestrel held the receiver and wondered desperately how he could convince the militant leaders
of his country that Japan had lost the war just before dawn on a desolate stretch of New Mexican
desert。 A feeling of despair unfolded inside him like a black flower。 He knew that if he had not
seen the explosion himself； he would not believe it had ever occurred。 He had read the same
scientific estimates that they had； the confident statements that the uranium isotope was so
difficult to collect that it would be 1948 before the Americans gathered enough for even a small
bomb。
Obviously his superiors had rejected the reality of America’s atomic capability。 Unfortunately；
what Japan believed or did not believe did not lessen the force of the atomic bomb by a single
erg。
Suddenly he felt deeply tired。 “The second letter？” he asked indifferently。 “What did it say？”
“I’ll read it； although I want you to know I don’t approve of its source；” Takagura said。
Kestrel knew then that the second message came from Minowara； his patron in the Japanese war
cabinet and the leader of the moderate faction that was despised by militants like Takagura。
“Your honored brother agrees with your description of the events；” said Takagura。 “Our
comrades from the enormous mainland confirmed your description in every detail。” Takagura’s
voice was dry； precise。 “Even so； your brother does not agree with your conclusion that your…
family… must lose all face in an unnecessary abasement that will last as long as there are Japanese
to feel shame。”
Kestrel pressed the phone against his ear as though by hearing better he could change the
meaning of what he heard。 His “brother” Minowara believed that Kestrel had indeed seen the
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atomic bomb exploded； because the Russians had confirmed it。 Despite that； Minowara still
maintained that unconditional surrender was “unnecessary。” That was even more irrational a
position than the militants’ refusal to believe an atomic bomb existed。
“Does he say why abasement is unnecessary？” asked Kestrel； his voice raw with the effort of
concealing his anger and exhaustion。
“The event you described can’t be repeated for several months。”
“Why？”
“Our… comrades… have removed the motive power。