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Franco pulled out a flashlight that he had taped until only a pencil of light shone out。 He swept
the light around； but there was no one and nothing he had not expected to see。
“Over there；” whispered Griego； pulling on Franco’s hand。
The flashlight wobbled； then fixed on an old wine…bottling machine。 Empty bottles； metal
pincers and bottle holders gleamed dully in the light。 A roll of scarlet foil and a roll of bright red
labels dangled overhead。 A half…filled case of burgundy sat at the end of the conveyor belt。
Franco went quickly to the conveyor belt。 With a muttered curse； he grabbed Griego by the
arm。
“Where’s the rest of it？” he snarled。
Griego cringed away from the fingers。 He gestured at the cartons of burgundy that had been
filled in the last few days。 “There！ On the bottles！”
Griego’s gestures knocked the half…filled carton of wine off the conveyor belt。 With a sound like
the end of the world； bottles exploded against the floor。 The reek of green wine rose from
curved shards of glass。
On the hill； the dog barked again； urgently。
Franco grabbed what he had come for and headed out of the bottling room。 Griego hesitated；
picked up a full case of burgundy and followed Franco’s flashlight。
The two men hurried awkwardly out of the winery； across the dirt farm…road and into the
concealment of chest…high rows of vines。 At a clumsy trot； Franco crossed the sandy vineyard to
another dirt road where his car was parked beneath a tree。
The dog’s bark continued sporadically； then faded into a silence disturbed only by the faint
sound of a car receding into the distance； leaving a thin wake of dust beneath the moon。
San Francisco
25 Hours 31 Minutes After Trinity
The restaurant on Market Street catered to the all…night crowd from the Tenderloin district。
Riley toyed with the limp strands of pasta coated with tomato sauce and olive oil。 He took a
tentative bite。 Finn ate hungrily。 Riley put down his fork。
“How the hell did I let you talk me into this？” said Riley。
“There was nothing else left to do。 The FBI is watching every known or suspected communist
agent； one of them has been approached by a blond woman with a British accent。 We put out
grab notices on Refugio and a Jap spy； and what did we get？”
“Eight Mexicans； three Chinese and a Korean。 Drunks。”
“We put four bodies through a FBI sieve。 What did we find out？”
“We found out they’re dead；” said Riley。
“The weapons and the laundry van and the laundry and – “
“Nothing！”
“As for the lead；” said Finn； ‘‘we now know that in the Bay Area； no new orders for lead have
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been processed in the last twenty…four hours。 Nobody has bought a pile of toy soldiers； religious
statues； frogs – “
“Frogs？” yelped Riley。 “What the hell do frogs have to do with this？”
“Flower holders；” explained Finn； then continued with his list。 “Old batteries； scrap； new
batteries – I forgot something。”
“Coffins；” said Riley after a moment。
“Yeah。 Coffins。 All the lead…lined luxury models sold recently are wrapped around dead
customers。” Finn stopped abruptly。 “In short； we seem to be fishing in the dark with a broken
hook。” He returned his attention to his food。
“The problem with fishing in the dark；” said Riley； “is that the damned hooks have a way of
ending up in the wrong places。 A man could hurt himself fishing in the dark。”
Frowning； Finn； picked up the empty wine bottle。 He turned it around in his hands； staring at it
as though the answer to his problem were concealed in the green glass curves。 He liked Riley。
Even worse； he felt responsible for the young agent。 Finn did not want to be responsible for any
life except his own。 But there Riley sat； too young； too kind。 Green on green； like the glass
turning between his hands。 Abruptly； Finn’s fingers closed around the neck of the bottle。 “You
ever take any physics in college？”
Riley’s face showed his surprise。 He nodded his head and waited。
“You know about radioactivity？”
“Some。”
“What we’re looking for is two pieces of white； radioactive metal。 Alone； each piece is hot； but
not dangerously so。 If you get the pieces too close； they can get hot enough to kill。”
Riley stared at the empty green bottle that was again rolling between Finn’s lean hands。 “What
exactly does that mean？”
“It means that the thieves really fucked up when they left behind the lead shipping canister。
They’re playing with fire。 Problem is； they can’t see the flames or feel the heat。 And neither can
we。”
Riley sighed。 “At least I understand now why you have a hundred agents scouring the Bay Area
for lead。 You figure the thieves will have to use it as a shield or wrapper to absorb the radiation
from the stolen stuff – whatever that is。”
“Uranium；” said Finn。 “Pure uranium…235。”
“How many micrograms were stolen？”
“Try kilograms。 Close to ten。”
Riley’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly。 He licked his lips and tried again。 “I didn’t know
there was that much U…235 on the whole planet。 How did we ever get that much all in one
place？”
“I don’t know。 It cost around one billion bucks； if that gives you a clue。”
Riley sat without moving； chewing on the information like under…cooked sphagetti。 “Well；” he
said at last； “thank God all the lead in northern California is accounted for。”
“Wrong；” said Finn flatly。 “All the lead in all the places we’ve thought to look is accounted for。”
Finn paused； staring at the wine bottle rolling between his palms。 Then he put down the bottle
and fingered the thick metal foil that covered the neck。 The foil peeled off easily。 He rolled a
long strip of it between his fingers。 It made a hard； heavy ball the size of a pea。 “Lead；” breathed
Riley。 “By God； lead！”
“How many wineries are there in northern California？”
“Can’t be more than fifty；” said Riley。 Then； hastily； “Pray to God no more than fifty。”
“That’s twenty…five apiece；” said Finn； standing up
and throwing money on the table。 “Any more than that and they’re all yours； Riley。”
San Francisco
26 Hours 38 Minutes After Trinity
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Vanessa twitched aside the white curtain； a gesture that had become almost automatic。 The long
night had given her too much time to think； and her thoughts had been as gloomy as San
Francisco’s fog。
Failure was a death sentence for her。 At some unknown； but not far distant moment； Beria
would decide that the chance that Vanessa would recover the uranium was smaller than the
chance that Stalin would discover her secret assignment。 At that moment； an NKVD assassin
would be given Vanessa’s name。
She looked through the glass as she had all night。 No lights had shown in the Fragrant Petal； no
cars had parked nearby； no one had gone into the shop since the Japanese soldier yesterday
afternoon。 She had not seen him come out。
The appearance of a Nisei officer at a flower shop owned by the cousin of the man who had
betrayed her and killed Masarek was too remarkable to be taken for mere coincidence。 She had
immediately tried to find reinforcements but the two numbers she had called were answered by
people who gave her coded warnings instead of recognition signals。 A third call； to a safe house
in Los Angeles； had been properly answered。 She was told that the FBI was openly watching
every known or suspected agent in the Bay Area。
One of the Los Angeles agents was on his way to San Francisco to help her； but until he arrived；
Hecht was all she had。 The thought both angered and depressed her。
A light knock on the door brought her out of the chair。 With her silenced pistol in one hand； she
opened the door a crack； then admitted Hecht。
“Are you armed？” said Vanessa before he could speak。
“Armed？” asked Hecht； his voice rising。 “You mean a gun？” He looked confused and tired； as
though he had not slept well。
“This is an armed struggle； comrade；” said Vanessa。 “Surely even you understand that much。
You’re a communist； aren’t you？”
“Of course；” replied Hecht。 “I’ve read all of Marx and Lenin and Stalin。” The litany of names
seemed to comfort him。 His voice became more calm。 “It’s just that we’re not used to the armed
struggle here in the United States。 We’re not as advanced morally as our Soviet comrades。”
There was no derision in his voice； only self…pity。
“Pistols don’t recognize advancement in revolution or morality。 Are you armed？”
Hecht shook his head。 “I don’t even know how to use a gun。”
For an instant； Vanessa pitied Hecht almost as much as she despised him。 There were many
American communists like him； naive idealists playing at revolution。 They hated； but only
weakly。 Few of them had the toughness of mind or body to bring down a government。
But Hecht was all she had to work with right now。 She would use him until a real agent arrived；
and then she would kill him。
“ple；” she said。 “You will go buy a wreath for your father’s
funeral。”
Sonoma County
26 Hours 59 Minutes After Trinity
The Sonoma County sheriffs office was nearly as old as the middle…aged deputy who was typing
up a burglary report。 The typewriter he used stuck with monotonous regularity； impeding a
process already slowed by the deputy’s lack of skill and inter