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“Alamogordo。”　Kestrel　stopped；　measuring　the　sound　of　the　word　against　what　the　soldier　had
said。　The　“gordo”　sounded　right。　Magordo　could　correspond　to　“　–　mogordo。”　It　was　as　close
to　a　match　as　he　had　come；　but　he　was　not　entirely　satisfied。　His　glance　moved　on；　looking　for　a
closer　correspondence。
There　was　no　other　place　name　that　had　the　sound　of　“gord”　or　“gordo”　in　it。
Kestrel’s　glance　came　back　to　Alamogordo；　testing　the　place　against　what　the　soldier　had　said。　It
was　in　the　desert。　It　bordered　on　two　large　military　reservations；　one　of　which　was　almost
exclusively　used　as　a　firing　range。　From　the　map；　it　looked　to　be　a　desolate　stretch　of　land；
suitable　for　testing　dangerous　new　weapons。
“Is　that　it？”　said　Ana；　looking　at　the　area　under　Kestrel’s　hand。　“Jornada　del　Muerto；”　she
murmured。　“It　must　be　a　terrible　place　to　be　called　that。”
Kestrel　looked　at　the　map。　The　northwestern　area　of　the　reservation　was　labled　Jomado　del
Muerto。　“What　does　it　mean？”
“Journey　of　Death。”
Oddly；　Kestrel　smiled。　It　was　a　site　and　a　name　a　samurai　would　have　chosen　for　using　deadly
weapons。　But　the　military　reservation　covered　almost　3；000　square　miles。　Where　in　all　that
emptiness　would　the　test　be　held？　And　how　elaborate　would　the　preparations　be？　lne　soldier　had
mentioned　bunkers　and　wires　and　a　tower。　The　wires　could　be　used　to　hook　into　a　power
supply；　if　the　weapon　was　a　lethal　beam　of　light。　The　tower　could　be　used　either　for　observation
or　as　a　target。　Yet；　the　use　of　bunkers　suggested　a　concentrated　blast；　an　explosion　from　a　bomb
rather　than　a　death　ray。
Whatever　the　weapon；　construction　had　taken　place　recently；　and　that　meant　trucks　to　haul
materials　and　people；　and　roads　for　the　trucks　to　move　on。
“Those　young　soldiers；”　Kestrel　said；　looking　up　from　the　map；　“the　ones　who　said　they　had
been　building　a　road　through　hell　and　were　thirsty　enough　to　drink　the　Rio　Grande　dry…　were
they　working　out　of　Fort　Bliss？”
“No。　Socorro。”
“Odd。　They　were　soldiers；　not　scientists　or　technicians？”
“Yes；　but　they　probably　were　building　roads　for　the　Los　Alamos　people。　Everyone　is　told　to　say
Socorro；　never　Los　Alamos。”
Kestrel　looked　at　the　map　again。　Socorro　was　north…northwest　of　Alamogordo。　Between　the
two　towns　was　a　dirt　road　skirting　the　desolate　military　reservation。　If　the　soldiers　were　actually
working　from　Socorro；　building　roads　to　transport　people　and　equipment　for　the　Los　Alamos
test；　and　if　Rubia’s　soldier　had　told　the　truth　about　the　test　location　being　north　of　Alamogordo；
then　the　test　itself　would　probably　be　held　in　the　upper　third　of　the　military　reservation。
That　still　left　1；000　square　miles。
“Flat；”　murmured　Kestrel。　“He　said　it　was　the　‘flattest；　hottest　desert　this　side　of　hell。’”
The　contours　on　the　map　were　skimpy；　but　mountain　peaks　were　marked　on　the　range　that　ran
diagonally　through　the　reservation。　Either　Salinas　Peak　or　Oscura　Peak　would　give　a　good　view
of　the　remaining　flatlands。　Salinas　Peak　was　more　west　of　Alamogordo；　Oscura　Peak　was　more
north。　It　might　be　the　place　to　watch　the　test　from。
But　the　question　remained：　How　soon　was　“soon”？
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Juarez
60　Hours　Before　Trinity
Finn　drove　through　Juarez　automatically；　his　mind　still　absorbing　the　ramifications　of　what　he
had　learned　in　Los　Alamos。　Weapons　were　as　old　as　man。　People　had　been　shifting　and
reshifting　the　balance　of　power　ever　since　the　first　time　a　hairless　ape　grabbed　a　stone　and
crushed　his　enemy’s　skull。　All　the　weapons　that　had　come　since　that　moment　were　simply
refinements　of　the　original　idea　of　lenghtening　the　reach　and　efficiency　of　the　human　arm。　Yet　–
One　bomb。　One　plane。　One　hell　of　a　bang。
Finn’s　hands　tightened　on　the　wheel　as　he　guided　the　speeding　car。　He　recognized　that　bombing
cities　was　a　rational　military　tactic；　no　more　or　less　cruel　than　a　scorched　earth　strategy　which　left
the　enemy　starving；　civilian　and　soldier　alike。　As　a　means　of　avoiding　a　grueling；　gruesome；
inch…by…bloody…inch　invasion　of　Japan；　the　atomic　bomb　was　without　parallel。
But　so　many　dead；　so　quickly；　lifetimes　measured　in　milliseconds。
And　would　there　be　others；　like　the　experimenter；　who　would　not　be　lucky　enough　to　die　in　the
first　raw　white　instant　of　power？
Finn　slowed　and　turned　on　to　a　street　leading　to　the　oldest　part　of　Juarez。　The　city　was　quiet；　its
life　hidden　from　the　afternoon　sun。　The　second　stories　of　most　buildings　overhung　the　sidewalk；
creating　tunnels　of　shade　for　the　few　pedestrians。　The　square　was　overhung　with　large；　soft…green
pepper　trees　that　cast　feathery　shadows　on　the　baked　clay　ground。　Water　tumbled　down　a　stone
and　tile　fountain。
The　car’s　tires　made　no　sound　as　Finn　turned　onto　the　sandy　unpaved　street　that　led　to　his
house。　He　stopped　the　Ford　in　front　of　an　old　adobe　with　a　faded　canvas　awning　protecting　its
one　large　window。　Finn　got　out　and　closed　the　door　quietly。
He　crossed　the　small　patch　of　sand　serving　as　a　front　lawn。　The　house　belonged　to　his　father’s
friend；　an　official　in　the　Mexican　government。　Finn　had　furnished　the　adobe　with　a　solid　oak
kitchen　table；　chairs；　and　a　leather…sprung　bed　with　a　mattress　filled　with　corn　shucks　and　a　few
sprigs　of　sage。　It　was　the　kind　of　bed　he　had　been　raised　on；　the　bed　that　he　had　dreamed　about
in　the　nightmare　hammocks　of　Burma。　The　bed　was　crisp；　dry；　and　smelled　of　the　desert。
The　only　other　furnishings　were　lamps；　a　telephone　and　a　stove。　On　a　rack　in　a　corner　of　the
single　room；　which　contained　the　bed　and　the　kitchen；　were　a　12…gauge　pump　shotgun；　an　M…l
carbine　with　a　canvas　shoulder　strap；　and　a　long…barreled　Remington。　Opposite　the　rack；　three
swords　hung　on　the　bare　adobe　wall。　Two　of　the　swords　were　Japanese；　the　short　and　the　long
sword　of　a　samurai。　The　third　sword　was　Mexican；　a　ceremonial　saber　inlaid　with　silver　and
gold。
Even　in　the　diffuse　light　that　entered　through　the　small　panel　windows　set　in　the　thick　adobe
walls；　the　swords　shone　with　bright；　hard　light。　The　Japanese　swords　combined　elegance　and
balance　with　efficiency；　the　Mexican　sword　combined　pride　and　wealth　with　a　killing　edge。　It　had
been　carried　into　battle　against　gringo　invaders　by　a　Mexican　Creole　general　who　had　died　at　the
hands　of　Finn’s　great…grandfather。　The　sword’s　handle　was　bound　in　gilt…braided　cord　after　the
manner　of　its　time。
Pride　and　violence；　the　twin　obsessions　of　the　cultures　that　had　forged　the　swords。　And　now　a
new　culture；　a　new　weapon；　a　weapon　that　was　made　not　of　steel　but　of　an　unbelievably　rare
element；　a　metal　that　could　end　a　war　and　begin　a　world。
Finn　stood　just　inside　the　door；　letting　the　coolness　of　the　house　wash　over　him。　Before　he　could
close　the　door；　the　telephone　rang　imperiously　and　Ghost；　his　cat；　streaked　into　the　room。　He
shut　the　door　and　answered　the　phone　with　a　quickness　that　echoed　the　cat’s。
“Bueno；”　he　said。
Finn　recognized　the　voice　at　the　other　end　of　the　line；　a　woman’s　voice；　cool　and　precise；
professionally　remote。　Sarah　Campos　was　the　chief　operator　at　the　phone　exchange　in　El　Paso。
All　calls　from　Juarez　to　the　United　States；　and　vice　versa；　went　through　her　switchboard。　She；
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like　Finn；　was　paid　by　the　American　government。
“You　will　want　to　know　about　new　voices？”　she　asked。
“Yes。”
Finn　waited；　so　focused　on　Sarah’s　call　that　he　barely　noticed　the　cat　stropping　itself　on　his
boots。
“There　were　two。　Yesterday。　Both　British。　One　was　the　man　I　told　you　about　before；　the　one
who　calls　from　that　little　town　close　to　the　cottonwoods。”
“Yes。”　Socorro　was　the　town　closest　to　Los　Alamos。　Finn　had　mentioned　the　anonymous　caller
to　Groves；　suspecting　that　the　man　might　be　one　of　the　British　scientists　working　in　Los　Alamos。
“Did　you　recognize　the　second　man？”
“It　was　a　woman。　She　was　calling　from　the　Mexican　side；　a　public　phone　booth。”
“What　did　they　say？”
“Not　much　that　I　could　understand。　They　spoke　English　at　first；　then　they　switched　to　another
language；　very　hard　and　deep　in　their　throats。　I　think　it　was　German。　It　sure　wasn’t　Chinese　or
Japanese。　The　woman　spoke　the　language　very　well。　The　man　had　problems。　He　used　English；
too。　It　sounded　like　they　were　planning