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now she was warned； she would find Refugio； kill him and take back the uranium。
Vanessa nodded； choosing to act on the third possibility。 She must find Refugio quickly； before
he realized that what he had stolen could be sold back to the Americans for more money than
his greedy peasant mind could imagine。 The truck was her only lead。 Somehow she must trace
the truck。
Jornada del Muerto； New Mexico
5 Hours 14 Minutes After Trinity
Kestrel drove the narrow desert with fierce concentration。 Heat made his Indio makeup blur
and run； but there was no one close enough to notice。 Even so； he would have to pull off and
change his clothes。 A flimsy disguise was dangerous； and the need for this one was gone。
He sped toward El Paso and a public telephone that he could use to call Takagura again。 The
telephone call would be risky but necessary。 He must have a reply to the message he had sent。 If
new orders had been issued he must have those； too。
Perhaps Ana had called Takagura； reporting the success or failure of Refugio。
Kestrel noticed his speed and slowed down； watching for side roads。 In his haste he had already
become lost once in the maze of dirt tracks threading through the Jornada del Muerto。 He had
bumped around for a long time before he had found a road leading back to the main highway。
Now he needed somewhere to hide long enough to shed the Indio disguise。
He spotted a windmill and a dirt road； and swerved off the highway。 The dirt track dipped into
an arroyo deep enough to conceal his car。 On the lip of the arroyo； the windmill turned lazily；
filling a stock tank with water one deliberate revolution at a time。 Scattered cows chewed on
mesquite bushes； undisturbed by the dusty car that had coasted to a stop near the water tank。
Kestrel slid out of the car and watched the dirt track behind him。 Nothing moved but thin
spirals of dust rising into the sun。 He stripped and scrubbed himself in the tank until no trace
remained of his Indio disguise。 The water was clear and surprisingly cold。 The listless wind dried
him as he walked back to ？he car。 Kestrel watched the dust puff beneath his feet and the horizon
endlessly falling away beneath a hard blue sky。 He marveled at the land’s immensity and
austerity； its only inhabitants silver mirages twisting above the sand。
Kestrel stood unmoving in the pouring light； letting heat draw tension out of his body。 After a
few moments； he rolled the clothes he had worn and buried them in the arroyo。 The cattle stared
at him with languid eyes； then turned away； more interested in mesquite beans than in the
enigmatic motions of man。
Dust from Kestrel’s long drive across the desert had filtered into the car’s trunk； but the clothes
inside the metal…bound suitcase were still clean and neatly creased。 Beginning with cotton GI
underwear； Kestrel quickly pulled on the uniform of an American captain。 He tied the narrow
black tie in a knot that matched the one in his ID picture； tucked his shirttail in his tan pants；
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adjusted his belt； and unwrapped the shiny black shoes。 They were too wide。 He tied their laces
so tightly the leather overlapped。 He shined the toes on his sleeve in an American gesture he had
acquired from his college roommate。
Smiling； Kestrel buffed the toes one last time； reassured by the ease with which American
mannerisms returned to him。 He knew that passing for an American was a matter of body
language as much as English language。 He had lived eight years in America。 Its patterns were
embedded in him； ready to be used。
Today his life would depend upon using them。
Kestrel unzipped the worn leather shaving kit and pulled out the papers which established that
he was Captain Yokohama； decorated member of America’s Nisei Battalion； on emergency
leave to be at his father’s deathbed。 Kestrel studied the print on his papers beneath the merciless
desert light。 Considering the haste involved； the papers were quite good。
He folded the papers carefully into a worn GI wallet； hoping they would fool the Army Air
Corps at El Paso。 He got back into the car； feeling its heat engulf him。 He wondered if Refugio
had killed Masarek yet； and if Vanessa were tied and frightened on the hard floor of a flower
truck； and how Ana was accommodating herself to sudden violence。 He wondered what had
been stolen； and if it would turn out to be worth even an assassin’s life。
With a roar that scattered the cattle； Kestrel’s car raced out of the arroyo。
Hunters Point
3 Hours 35 Minutes After Trinity
Finn left the guards at the front gate and drove back toward the mess hall where last night’s
guards were eating。 The guards at the gate had been less concerned with checking his credentials
than with proving that they were not responsible for the breach in security。 Beneath their
government…issue starch was relief。 A sentry was dead； but they were alive。 Some new weapon
may be missing； but so what？ The war was as good as over。 It was only a matter of time。
Time； 2 million casualties and a new Russian world。
Finn felt his anger outstrip his control。 He reminded himself that the guards did not know what
had been lost； but that did not calm him。 A clock in the back of his head hammered relentlessly；
counting the minutes until 0530； July 18th。 He parked the car and stalked into the linoleum and
formica ugliness of a military mess hall。 The four guards he wanted were not hard to spot。 They
were the only men in the room except for a sailor trailing a worn broom between rows of tables。
The men did not immediately notice Finn。 They were in a corner of the long room； heads tilted
over cups of coffee； cigarets pressed between their knuckles。
Finn waited； sizing up the men as he had once sized up jungle trails。 By now the guards had told
and retold their stories； assuring themselves they were not at fault for the dead sailor and stolen
equipment。 He would have to shock them out of that assurance。
Three of the men were young； barely out of training。 The fourth was several years older； a chief
petty officer with the look of a man who knew where the action was。 Every base had a few men
like CPO Diver。 Their major battles were fought against fellow soldiers。
Finn’s eyes lingered on Diver。 He looked smart； he would never take a bet he could not lay off；
just as he never would trade punches with the local leg breaker。 All that remained for Finn was
to convince Diver that all bets were off； and Finn was the local leg breaker。 He walked up to the
table； put on a genial smile； stopped behind the CPO’s chair。
“Morning。 I was told you were on duty at the gate last night。 The front gate。”
“So what？” said Diver； without looking up。
“So I want some information；” said Finn； still smiling despite the anger building in him。 “What
moved on and then off base between midnight and 0600 that you didn’t inspect？”
“Nothing；” said Diver； before any of the other men could speak。 He crushed out his cigaret and
lit another before he half…turned to Finn。 “Not a damn thing。”
Finn’s smile widened。 “Bitch of a night； wasn’t it？ Rainr and wind and all。 Nights like that； a
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guardhouse gets to looking homey。 Hate to leave it just to look at a few – “
“We inspected all thirty…seven vehicles；” Diver said。
“Neither rain nor sleet； right？”
“Yeah；” said Diver indifferently。 “We’re regular mailmen。”
Diver turned back to the table； dismissing Finn。 Finn’s arm hooked around Diver’s throat。 In a
single motion Finn heaved Diver out of his chair and laid him out on the table like a side of beef。
Diver lunged forward； gagged and lay back again。 Before the three other guards could collect
themselves； Finn flipped his credentials between the coffee cups and ashtrays。 “Read those and
shut up。”
Finn’s right forearm lay against Diver’s slamming pulse and his resilient； elusive windpipe。 Finn
leaned down until blackness filled Diver’s world。
“Let’s try it again； minus the horseshit。 How many vehicles did you inspect？”
“About… half。”
“Which ones didn’t you inspect？” Finn’s rage showed in his voice and his eyes； but most of all in
his arm choking the man whose greed could cost millions of lives。
“Stop！” gasped Diver。
Finn lifted his arm a few inches； then slammed Diver back onto the table。 “You’re shit； Diver。 If
you’d done your job； that kid wouldn’t be dead。” That kid and all the other children； a world
lost。 “Which vehicles didn’t you inspect？”
“The staff cars；” said Diver。 As he swallowed； his Adam’s apple strained against Finn’s forearm。
“If we knew the officers； we didn’t look in the trunk。 Chrissake； no one expects us to！ It’s a
dumb – “
“What else？”
“Nothing。 We – “
Diver gagged。
“You’re wasting my time；” snarled Finn。 “What about the civilian stuff？”
Diver’s face was deep red。 Finn lifted the pressure very slightly。
“Nothing；” gasped Diver。
“What does that mean？”
Diver swallowed convulsively。 “I can’t – talk。”
“Sure you can；” Finn said。 “You just have to try a little harder。”
“A liquor truck – for Officers’ Club；” gasped Diver。 “Never inspect that。 Sealed。”
Finn waited； poised for the least flicker of evasion in Diver’s blue eyes。
“Mail truck；” continue