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someone　coming　through　the　doorway　to　help　him。　Ana。　She　reached　for　the　half…covered　metal
sphere；　then　cried　out　when　Kestrel　slapped　away　her　hands。
“I　told　you　to　stay　out　of　here！”
Tears　grew　in　Ana’s　eyes。　“But　you　needed　help；”　she　said；　her　voice　breaking　between　reason
and　emotion。　“I　saw　Refugio　–　“
“Go　back　to　the　flower　shop。　Stay　there。　I’ll　be　through　in　a　few　minutes。”
Tears　gathered　in　her　lashes　and　slid　down　her　cheeks。
“Please；”　said　Kestrel；　kissing　her　eyelids。　“It　is　best　this　way。”　Reassured　by　Kestrel’s
gentleness。　Ana　left。　She　stopped　just　beyond　the　doorway。　Kestrel　did　not　notice。　He　had
already　turned　back　to　the　embalming　table。　Beneath　his　strong　hands；　uranium　and　foil　grew
into　an　ungainly　scarlet　jewel。
San　Francisco
27　Hours　15　Minutes　After　Trinity
A　knock　sounded　on　the　door。
“Who　is　it？”　called　Vanessa；　reaching　for　the　pistol　concealed　in　her　purse。
“A　student　of　history；”　answered　a　deep　voice。
“I；　too；　am　a　student　of　history。　Come　in。”
The　man　was　so　thick　and　muscular　that　he　almost　had　to　turn　sideways　to　enter　the　room。　He
was　young；　nearly　six　feet　tall。　His　head　seemed　to　be　joined　directly　to　his　huge　shoulders。　He
wore　a　merchant　seaman’s　rough　clothing　and　a　single　small　gold　loop　in　his　left　ear。
He　walked　by　Vanessa　without　speaking。　She　closed　the　door　but　did　not　look　away　from　him。
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He　saw　her　pistol；　but　acted　as　though　it　were　no　more　unusual　than　a　wedding　ring。
“Good　morning；　comrade；”　he　said；　smiling。
His　voice　was　surprisingly　gentle　and　unaccented；　despite　his　olive　skin　and　Mediterranean
appearance。
Vanessa　returned　the　smile　in　spite　of　herself。　After　Hecht’s　easily　shocked　innocence；　this　man
with　the　earring　was　reassuring。　Certainly　the　sight　of　a　gun　did　not　make　him　blanch。　A　young
Masarek；　perhaps。　She　lowered　her　gun。
“Welcome；　comrade。　What　shall　we　call　you　today？”
“Slaven？”　said　the　big　man。　He　laughed　and　swept　the　watch　cap　off　his　shaved　head。　“Yes；
Slaven　–　a　poor　working　man　who　helps　the　cause　any　way　he　can。”
Slaven’s　formality　had　a　mocking　quality；　but　it　was　himself　he　laughed　at；　not　her。
“Tell　me；　Slaven；”　murmured　Vanessa；　“can　you　shoot？”
“Yes。”
“Good。　What　work　do　you　do？”
“I’m　a　longshoreman；”　he　said。　“Sometimes。”
“A　trade　unionist？”
“Sometimes。”
“And　what　do　you　do　now？”
A　sound　came　from　the　hallway；　footsteps　approaching。　As　Slaven　moved　toward　the　door；　a
gun　appeared　in　his　huge　fist。　The　footsteps　passed　without　pausing。　Slaven　waited　until　they
could　be　heard　no　more。　Then；　before　he　replaced　his　gun；　he　flicked　open　its　cylinder；
inspected　the　cartridges　and　then　the　barrel。　He　handled　the　pistol　the　way　a　cook　would　handle
a　skillet　–　with　utter　familiarity。　“Sometimes　I’m　a　metal　worker。”
“Metal？　Steel　and　lead；　no　doubt。”
Slaven’s　only　answer　was　another　smile。
San　Francisco
27　Hours　21　Minutes　After　Trinity
“I　followed　the　gringo　down　the　street；　to　an　apartment　above　Velasquez’s　grocery　store；”　said
Julio　Rincón。
“Were　you　able　to　learn　anything　more？”　asked　Kestrel。　His　eyes　were　patient；　impenetrable。
Marco　smiled。　“I　talked　to　Velasquez。　He　told　me　that　he　rented　the　apartment　just　yesterday
afternoon　to　a　blond　woman　with　a　foreign　accent。”
Kestrel　glanced　at　Ana；　who　stood　watching；　concern　growing　on　her　face。
“Masarek’s　woman；”　said　Ana。　“It　must　be。”
Kestrel　nodded　absently；　his　mind　examining　the　dimensions　of　the　problem。　The　flower　shop
had　become　a　trap。　He　must　escape　it　before　the　woman　could　recruit　enough　help　to　take　back
the　uranium。　Refugio　was　no　help　to　him　now。　He　was　dying。　Once　dead；　the　Rincón　brothers
would　want　to　strike　a　new　deal　with　Kestrel；　and　the　Rincón　brothers　were　more　American　than
Mexican。　He　could　not　trust　them。
“Where　is　the　woman　now？”　asked　Kestrel。
“Velasquez　thinks　she　is　still　in　the　apartment。　I　have　one　of　the　children　watching　to　see　who
comes　and　goes。”
“Children？　This　isn’t　a　game　for　children！”
Julio　shrugged。　“He’s　only　watching。　I　told　him　to　stay　out　of　sight。”
“Did　he　see　anything？　Is　she　alone？”
“The　man　who　bought　the　flowers　stayed　there。　Another　man　came；　too。　He　is　very　big；　very
strong。　A　mean　one；　se？or。”
Kestrel　dismissed　Julio　with　a　quick　nod　and　turned　away。　The　mourning　room　in　which　he
stood　was　small；　draped　ceiling　to　floor　with　dark　velvet。　The　heavy　folds　of　cloth　absorbed
sound　and　light；　leaving　nothing。　On　one　wall　was　a　massively　framed　portrait　of　a　languid
Page　112
Cristo；　a　pale　effeminate　face　on　a　black　velvet　background。
Kestrel　looked　away　from　the　picture；　repelled　by　its　shallowness。　Even　the　dusty　god’s　eye　in
the　Mexicali　whorehouse　was　more　meaningful　than　this　icon。　He　would　be　glad　to　be　free　of　a
culture　that　pickled　their　dead　in　the　name　of　a　bland；　androgynous　god。
Frowning；　Kestrel　looked　around　the　room；　measuring　choices　he　no　longer　had。
Refugio　was　dying；　his　useful　family　network　would　die　with　him。
Ana　was　nervous；　frightened；　fragile。
The　Russian　spy　with　the　British　accent　had　somehow　traced　the　uranium　to　this　place。
It　was　doubtful　that　he　could　convince　Refugio’s　cousins　to　kill　the　Englishwoman　and　her
friends。　It　was　even　more　doubtful　that　the　deaths　would　be　kept　secret。　Attention　would　be
drawn　to　the　neighborhood　and　to　him　–　official　attention；　the　one　thing　he　could　not　tolerate。
He　had　a　chance　to　secure　Japan’s　future　so　long　as　he　and　his　trail　were　invisible。　But　one
misstep；　one　clear　footprint　revealing　his　presence；　and　his　pursuers　would　fall　upon　him　and
tear　him　apart。
“I　must　hide；”　murmured　Kestrel。　“But　where？”
Ana　was　watching　him；　sorrow　in　her　eyes。　He　had　never　seen　her　so　vulnerable。
“You’re　going。”　Ana’s　voice　was　as　empty　as　her　eyes。
“We’re　going；”　corrected　Kestrel。
“You’re　going；”　continued　Ana　as　though　he　had　not　spoken。　“You’re　going　and　I　am　not。”
Kestrel　was　momentarily　disoriented；　as　though　they　were　speaking　separate　languages　based　on
separate　assumptions。　Then　he　understood　what　she　did　not　want　to　put　into　words：　he　must　flee
or　die。　Either　way；　she　would　be　left　alone　in　a　hostile　land。　Even　if　he　took　her　with　him；　he
would　return　eventually　to　Japan；　then　she　would　be　alone。
“I　won’t　leave　you；　Ana；”　Kestrel　said；　lying　as　he　spoke；　knowing　he　lied；　and　why。　“How　could
I？　I　don’t　even　know　where　to　go。　The　submarine　won’t　be　off　the　coast　for　five　days。”
“Then　we’ll　go　back　to　Mexicali　and　wait。　Refugio　and　Takagura　will　protect　us。”
Kestrel　hesitated；　deciding　how　much　of　the　truth　Ana　could　bear。　“Refugio　is　dying。　When　his
men　realize　that；　we　will　be　at　their　mercy。　We　must　have　a　place　to　go　where　we’ll　be　safe　until
Takagura　can　make　new　arrangements　to　smuggle　us　south。　And　we　must　go　very　soon。”
“Dying？　Refugio？”　whispered　Ana。　Her　eyes　searched　his　face；　and　then　she　asked　no　more
questions。　“A　place　where　Japanese　are　safe　in　America！”　Her　lips　hardened　into　a　bitter　smile。
“The　prison　camps　are　the　only　place　in　America　where　Japanese　aren’t　noticed。”
Kestrel　was　startled　by　Ana’s　insight；　and　appalled。　“What　about　the　guards？”
“They　are　nothing。　The　fences　keep　them　out　rather　than　keeping　us　in。　At　least；　my　father　said
it’s　like　that　at　Manzanar。　And　Masataka　Oshiga　is　there。　He　is　my　father’s　uncle　and　Takagura’s
friend。”
“Is　he　a　loyal　Japanese？”
Ana　hesitated。　“He　believes　in　the　Japanese　people；　no　matter　what　country　they　live　in。　He
helped　me　when　I　refused　to　go　to　Manzanar；　but　he　also　helped　my　brother　go　to　war　in　Italy。
He’s　very　powerful　because　he　hasn’t　taken　sides。”
“Does　he　know　Takagura　is　America’s　enemy？”
“Yes。　But　Takagura　still　trusts　him。”
Kestrel　frowned。　“Do　you　know　how　to　get　to　Manzanar？”
Ana　began　to　laugh；　but　the　sound　disturbed　her　so　much　she　stopped。　“Yes。　It’s　so　easy。　The
camp　is　on　the　dry　side　of　the　Sierras。　A　desert　where　only　the　wind　is　free。”
Kestrel　waited　for　a　moment；　weighing　all　that　she　had　said　and　implied。　He　was　as　still　as　a
stone　at　the　bottom　of　a　midnight　pond。　Then；　“Bring　Julio　to　me。　I　have　orders　for　him　from
Refugio。”
“You　said