“Is Refugio dead？” asked Kestrel。
“No。” Ana turned her hand upside down； letting crushed petals fall to the floor。 “His leg； here；”
she said； touching the top of Kestrel’s thigh。 “Like a furrow plowed in raw meat。”
“Can he walk？”
“With help； yes。 He says it’s nothing。” Ana smiled。 “A long scab and a limp。 Except it hasn’t
stopped bleeding yet and he’s been very sick； throwing up and – “ She handed Kestrel a frond
of pale green fern。 “He’s been better in the last few hours； I think。”
Kestrel frowned。 It did not sound like a superficial leg wound。 “Is the bullet still in his leg？”
“No。 It’s a furrow；” repeated Ana。 She reached for the modeling clay used in complex flower
arrangements。 With her thumbnail she gouged a shallow trough across the clay。 “Like this。”
“Where is he？”
“I moved him next door； to his cousin’s funeral parlor。 There wasn’t enough privacy here。 Too
many people in and out。 And you told us to keep the businesses open； to act normally。”
Kestrel’s fingers paused； then he selected a flawless white rose and anchored it in the frog；
completing his work。 He had duplicated her flower arrangement； except that he substituted the
single white rose for her stalk of blood…colored gladiolus。 The result； like Kestrel himself； was
Page 102
strong and poised。
Ana led Kestrel to the interior door that connected the flower shop with the Reyes Funeral
Home。 As he put his hand on the door； he turned toward her。
“Memories can be as cruel as knives；” Kestrel said。 “Do not cut yourself more than you must；
Ana。 It was karma that brought you here。 When it is time； karma will take you away again。”
He was gone before Ana could find her voice to answer。
Kestrel was in a room without windows； without air。 In one corner was a shapeless； eerie blue
glow。 Kestrel had never seen a blue so pure； no tint of purple； no tone of green； nothing but a
flawless blue blush emanating from… what？
His hand fumbled for the wall switch。 Blue disappeared in a soundless explosion of white light
splintering off a porcelain table。 In the center of the table were two white； oddly shaped chunks
of metal； one of which was three times larger than xhe other。 The two pieces were less than a
hand’s width apart。
Swiftly； Kestrel’s fingers snapped off the light。 Blue suffused the area where the white metal
pieces had been。 Kestrel felt an instant of incredible elation。 He stood motionless； his hand on
the light switch； transfixed by the eerie blue light。 The binding power of the universe lay before
him； radiating energy as though alive。 And it was alive； the embryo of a deadly cloud eight miles
tall。 With that metal； he controlled the future of his country as surely as he controlled the light
switch on the wall。
But then a secondary realization drenched him like icy rain； making his skin contract in a reaction
as old as man。 He was looking at the radioactive heart of an atomic bomb； and that heart was
deadly to human flesh。
“Pretty； yes？” said a low voice。 “As blue as the eyes of God。”
Kestrel’s hand hit the switch again。 Light flooded the room； revealing what he had overlooked
the first time – Refugio； lying motionless on a gurney a few feet beyond the radioactive glow。
It took every bit of Kestrel’s discipline not to scream at Refugio’s lethal stupidity。 The Japanese
was a physicist before he was a spy； he knew that unshielded radioactive material could be as
deadly as curare。
“Yes；” he said； his voice ragged in spite of his control。 “They’re very pretty。 Where is their
box？”
“Box？”
“What they were packed in。”
“Oh；” Refugio’s voice was casual。 “That was too heavy。 Masarek told us to leave it。”
“Too heavy；” repeated Kestrel。 “Was it big？”
Refugio was lying on his back； his hands on his abdomen as though to hold back cramps。 The
bandage on his thigh was crimson。 His face was the color of old ivory。
“Not very。” Refugio pulled himself upright with a motion that sent the gurney wheeling closer to
the embalming table。 “About like this；” he said； sketching the canister with hands that shook。
“Lead？ Was it lead that made it so heavy？”
Refugio shrugged。 “Who knows？ It was very heavy； Se？or Kestrel。 Madonna！ Even Salvador
could not lift it。”
At the mention of Salvador’s name； Refugio’s expression changed。 “Salvador is dead。 So is
Lopez。” He sighed。 “Masarek； too。 He was hard to kill； that one。”
“The woman；” said Kestrel。 “Is she dead； too？”
“She killed Salvador。 I don’t know if he hurt her first。 I shot at her but it was foggy and my
leg…” Refugio shrugged again。 “I think the whore is alive。”
Kestrel drew a breath； feeling elation slide away。 Masarek was dead； but the blonde was still free。
She would be gathering other agents to her； planning a means of stealing back the uranium。 The
Russian spy network had the regenerative power of a gifted； mythic snake： so long as the head
remained intact； new bodies could be grown。
All he had was Ana and Refugio。
Page 103
“You’ve been sick；” said Kestrel。
“It’s the water；” said Refugio； laughing feebly at his joke。
“It’s more than water。 Can you walk？”
“Of course。”
“Prove it。 Take the smaller piece of metal and put it over there。”
Refugio looked from the uranium to the table Kestrel had indicated on the far side of the room。
“But why？”
“Do it。”
Refugio eased himself off the gurney。 Using the wheeled table as a rolling crutch； he approached
the embalming table。
Kestrel watched； knowing the Mexican was absorbing an enormous amount of radiation。 But
Kestrel suspected that it mattered no more than shooting bullets into a corpse。
The uranium rang； bell…like； when Refugio dropped it on the metal table at the far end of the
room。 Kestrel turned out the lights and stared intently。
“The pretty blue light；” said Refugio； “is gone。”
Kestrel stared silently； intently。 Both spheres had been heavily irradiated。 He could not guess at
the consequences。 After a few minutes； he still could not be sure whether it was radioactivity or
his imagination that imbued the separate metal chunks with a vague flicker of blue life。 He
blinked； then his hand swept up； bringing light back into the room。 “I’ll need containers。”
“There are the sacks we brought them in。”
“What？”
“The canvas laundry bags。”
Kestrel made a dismissing motion with his hand。 “I need something heavy； something that will
absorb atomic particles。”
“What？”
“Iron or steel；” said Kestrel。 “Lead would be best。”
“Why not gold as well？” said Refugio sarcastically。 “It’s heavy and it’s not so much more
difficult to get than lead。” The Mexican stared at Kestrel。 “Or had the se？or forgotten that Los
Estados Unidos is at war with Japan and such things as lead arc so hard to get that my cousin
wanted me to smuggle it here from Mexico？”
“Did you？”
“Too heavy；” sighed Refugio。 “Besides； my cousin soon discovered that not many Mexicans
here can afford a lead…lined coffin。 My cousin Raul even sold his flower holders for scrap when
the price went high enough。”
Kestrel swore silently。 “I must have lead！”
Refugio licked his dry lips。 “I have other cousins； se？or。 For a price； they will get you your
lead。”
“How？ Where？”
“That’s their problem； se？or。 Yours is to pay for it。”
Kestrel almost laughed。 Money was the least of his problems。 “Arrange it；” he said。
Sonoma County； California
19 Hours 15 Minutes After Trinity
It was dark； with only a thin moon…smile to aid the men creeping through the vineyard into the
Salerno Brothers winery。
“Chingón！” muttered Griego Rincón as he stumbled over a two…by…four abandoned in the
weeds in back of their winery。
“Shut up！” hissed Franco in Spanish。 “Pick up your feet； cabrón！ The house is not so far away
that you can curse at the moon！”
Griego looked at the house on a knoll more than a hundred meters away。 There were several
lights still on in the second story of the old mansion。 He walked with more care。 His cousin
Page 104
Refugio would not bail incompetent thieves out of jail。
Franco Rincón stood very quietly； listening to the night。 Other than a dog’s distant barking；
there was no sound。 Apparently no one at the house had heard Griego stumble and swear。
“Come on；” breathed Franco； jerking Griego’s sleeve in silent command。
The two men slipped into the dense moon…shadow of an old fieldstone winery。 They knew the
way； in daylight they worked at the winery。 Franco pulled a tire iron from his belt。 He put the
flattened end between the steel hasp and the heavy wooden door and yanked down hard。 The
hasp gave way with a squeal。
Again； Franco waited with his head up； nostrils flared like a wolf trying to scent enemies。 At the
house； a dog barked until there was a shout from the bedroom。 Silence returned like another
shade of black。 The heavy door opened soundlessly。 Griego had oiled it earlier in the day when
he was sweeping out the winery。 Inside； the sharp…sweet smell of fermentation settled around the
men。 The building was windowless； the darkness complete。
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 noth