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《Steal The Sun（战争间谍）》
作者: [美] A·E·Maxwell【完结】
10 July 1945 Washington, D.C.
144 Hours Before Trinity
(Synopsis of a Top Secret briefing paper from the Office of Strategic Services.)
Route to: President Harry S Truman
Secretary of War Harry L. Stimson
Joint Chief of Staff Admiral William D. Leahy
Major General Leslie Groves
The Russians control eastern Germany without recourse to American or British desires or
mandates. Furthermore, Russia has no intention of withdrawing from Germany at any time in
the future. Other East European countries (e.g. Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, etc.) are now and will
remain under Russia’s direct control. Eastern Europe has become Western Russia.
With Eastern Europe conquered, Russia is transferring arms and men to the southeastern
frontier, preparing for a massive sweep through China and then on to an invasion
of Japan in violation of the Russo-Japanese neutrality agreement. Intelligence reports leave
absolutely no doubt that Russia can and will conquer China, invade Japan, and demand at least a
division of Japan along the lines of Germany. As in Germany, Russia has no intention of
withdrawing her forces from occupied territories at any time in the future. For Russia, World
War II has become a war of conquest.
The United States is faced with three choices:
1. Defeat the Japanese before Russia can invade China.
2. Accept the fact that the U.S. will win a war and lose a world.
3. Declare war on Russia.
Option 3 is beyond the purview of this paper. Option 2 requires no action. Option 1 requires
that the Japanese be forced to surrender before Russian troops are committed to China. The
OSS estimates that Russia will invade China as soon as 13 August 1945 and no later than 13
October 1945.
Tokyo
133 Hours Before Trinity
(Excerpt of cable to Naotake Sato, Japanese Ambassador to the U.S.S.R. Decoded.)
HIS MAJESTY IS EXTREMELY ANXIOUS TO END THE WAR AS SOON AS
POSSIBLE… (BUT) IF THE U.S. AND GREAT BRITAIN INSIST ON UNCONDITIONAL
SURRENDER, JAPAN MUST FIGHT TO THE LAST. ONLY THEN WILL OUR HONOR
BE VINDICATED AND OUR NATIONAL EXISTENCE ASSURED… THE EMPEROR
THEREFORE WANTS TO NEGOTIATE FOR A QUICK END TO THE WAR USING
THE GOOD OFFICES OF THE RUSSIAN GOVERNMENT TO APPROACH THE
UNITED STATES. FOREIGN MINISTER SHIGENORI TOGO
Moscow
109 Hours Before Trinity
(Excerpt of cable to Foreign Minister Shigenori Togo. Decoded.)
… A PEACE SETTLEMENT BY NEGOTIATION WILL NOT BE SUPPORTED OR
ADVANCED BY THE SOVIET UNION. IF JAPAN TRULY WANTS TO END THE
WAR, WE HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO ACCEPT UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER
OR SOMETHING VERY LIKE IT. AMBASSADOR NAOTAKE SATO
Second General Army Headquarters
Hiroshima, Island of Kyushu
120 Hours Before Trinity
(Excerpt from Field Marshal Shunroku Hata’s private diary.)
The night is still. May tranquility gather around me as it does around the lotus bud.
The Emperor has given to me the task of saving Japan from the ignominy of utter defeat. In the
great, climactic battle to come, may I be worthy of my Emperor’s trust.
I do not believe Japan can defeat America.
I do not believe American can defeat Japan.
Therein lies our honor, and an honorable future for our children. The American invasion will
begin on Kyushu… and on Kyushu it will end. We will be as drops of water, clinging to the
invaders until they drown. Many of my people will die, for my people know that it is better to
die than to seek ignominious safety.
Although we lack arms and ammunition, we do not lack courage and honor. I have ordered that
every person in Hiroshima, man and child and woman alike, be taught how to make and use
gasoline bombs.
A little thing… glass and gasoline against tanks and airplanes. But drops of water are also little.
Negotiated peace is not defeat!
Juarez
108 Hours Before Trinity
The sounds and smells of the district called La Mariscal welled up around Finn as he crossed the
Paso del Norte Bridge connecting El Paso, Texas, to Juarez, Mexico. He moved quickly, using
the deceptive stride of a man accustomed to walking. Anyone following him would soon
become flushed, sweaty and obvious among the lazy throngs of people circulating through
Juarez’s late-afternoon heat.
Finn paused in the shadow of an old building. As he lit a cigaret, he checked the street he had
just walked down. No one stopped suddenly to admire a dusty store window. No one seemed
too hot or too breathless. No one seemed to notice him or to avoid noticing him.
Even so, Finn leaned against the building, his pale hazel eyes watching the crowds. Deeply
tanned, wearing jeans and a white shirt, a western hat pulled down over his dark hair, Finn
looked unremarkable for the time and place. Only his watchfulness set him apart from the
Mexicans strolling along the street.
Finn waited. To all appearances he was a man enjoying the daily miracle of sunset, when the
desert’s scorching July air was transformed into wine. And Finn did enjoy the moment, despite
his searching glances. He loved the desert borderlands, the sand and endless sky, people
wrapped in heat and secrets, smugglers and spies, corruptors and innocents, thieves and
assassins and fools all pasted together in an uneasy collage that sometimes came unstuck
violently, without warning. He loved those moments too, when staying alive was a puzzle that
had to be solved instant by instant.
With a last look at his back trail, Finn flipped his cigaret into the street and walked on. He
passed bars and greasy cafés. The walkway was lined by whores, but they ignored him after a
single glance. Their calculated come-ons were reserved for crewcut innocents from the Army
and Air Force bases on the American side of the river.
Many of the prostitutes were after information as much as pesos. In Juarez, information was the
only currency that was not devalued at the moment of exchange. Finn knew which whores sold
information because he was in the business of buying it. So were many other people in Juarez.
Like Switzerland, Mexico had discovered that neutrality was a negotiable asset.
The Third Reich had been present in Mexico since Hitler’s ascendency. When war consumed
Europe, Mexico City – like Lisbon, Marrakech and Istanbul – had become a magnet attracting
the iron detritus of political change.
Mexico City became home to a volatile mixture of Germans, Russians, Japanese, Chinese,
Koreans, Turks, Greeks, British, French and many others whose only loyalty was to violent
ideologies of the left or right.
From the beginning of World War II, Nazis had moved freely throughout Mexico, celebrating
their host country’s “neutrality” by setting up spy posts along the border. Towns like Juarez, San
Luis del Rio Colorado, Mexicali and Tijuana became secure staging areas for sabotage and
infiltration in the secret Army, Navy and Air Force bases that stretched from Texas to
California.
The Japanese were ahead of the Germans, having been in Mexico for nearly a century. Unlike the
Germans, however, the Japanese had difficulty infiltrating their nationals into the U.S.; after
Pearl Harbor, a Japanese face was an invitation to mayhem. The Emperor had to be content
with a pervasive information-cum-spy network that centered around the import-export
businesses owned by overseas Japanese. The network was greatly enhanced by the Nisei and Isei
who fled American internment, preferring instead the social internment of Mexico’s Oriental
ghettos.
The war had split Finn’s life almost as neatly as it had the lives of the Japanese. Desert born and
raised, the son of a Customs patrolman, Finn had been recruited by the Office of Strategic
Services before the war began. He was among the first overseas agents fielded by the United
States. For more than a year he had fought a secret war in the jungles of Burma, tracking and
testing the Japanese, learning their language and their secrets. Then came Pearl Harbor. His
fluency in the Mexican language and culture made him more valuable to the U.S. in the desert
than in the jungle. He returned to the borderlands of northern Mexico, organizing and
overseeing a network of American agents whose job was to limit the damage caused by Mexico’s
rampant neutrality.
The first three years of Finn’s assignment had been spent paring down the German network. As
the Third Reich weakened, both in Europe and in Mexico, the number of Russian spies grew;
neither the British nor the Americans nor even the Japanese made comparable gains. As the war
in Europe wound down, the international community of spies gradually shifted its center from
Mexico City to Juarez, a border town only three hours south of the top secret American
installation called Los Alamos.
The focus of Finn’s assignment had changed in the past year. He had been told that there was a
secret that could reshape man’s future, that the secret was in Los Alamos, and that it was his job
to make certain that the secret stayed there.
He had not been told what the secret was.
He had resented the new assignment. He had resented turning over his carefully built Mexico
City network to a stranger. He had resented being himself turned over to an arrogant desk
general named Groves, a man who had sent Finn to Okinawa to write reports on the American
invasion that any man with two eyes and a pen could have written. But most of all, Finn resented
knowing less about what he guarded than the Russian spies knew.
Finn crossed the dusty street in midblock and bought a tamale from one of the pushcarts that
creaked along the streets of La Mariscal. He ate the tamale without flinching from its peppery
heat. As he ate, he watched his back trail. No one ducked or turned away from his glance. No
one reversed direction. His caution was its own and only reward.
He crossed the street once more, heading toward a ramshackle building whose only decoration
was a sly parrot painted on a sign over the door. The building had once been a series of small,
interconnected stores. They had burned, leaving behind little more than a waist-high maze of
thick adobe walls. Some of the walls had been razed, some had been left, and the whole had
been roofed over like a huge barn. The result was the Green Parrot, centerpiece of Juarez’s
thriving underworld, an international circus of beggars and bankers, thieves and peons and spies.
Without looking into the smoky interior, Finn walked past the cantina’s front entrance, down a
piss-stained alley and through a small side door into the building. Inside, the Green Parrot was
more like a battlefield than a business. One skirmish line formed at the bar which took up a
block-long wall. There, bar girls fought for the right to take drinks to favored patrons. Both
ends of the huge room, as well as the wall opposite the bar, were chopped up into separate
adobe-fenced enclaves where pimps, pickpockets and whores engaged in single combat with
their chosen prey. Smoke twisted above the charcoal fiefdoms of warlord-cooks whose food
was so spicy it would devastate an unprepared enemy.
In one area of the cantina, the battle was focused like light through a curved lens. A crowd of
shouting, sweating, shoving men gathered around a shallow pit. Two Yaqui Indians crouched
there, coarse hair bound back by scarlet bandanas. Each man hissed and grunted ritually,
arousing the fighting cock he held in his scarred hands.
One man stood apart, overseeing the crowd, the cocks, and the collecting of bets. If the chaotic
battles of the Green Parrot had a generalissimo, it was Refugio Reyes y Rincón. He was big,
muscular, and had thick, oddly graceful eyebrows. Beneath a veneer of smiling indulgence, his
power bulged as surely as muscle beneath fat. At his signal, the handlers redoubled their efforts
over the birds.
The two cocks ignored the yelling crowd, the hisses and grip of their handlers. The cocks were
fixed on one another, trading glares with obsidian eyes, flaring their gaudy feather ruffs. Their
steel-tipped spurs promised death.
The handlers hoisted the cocks up high, further enraging the birds. The crowd howled. Bets were
made in many languages and laid in many currencies in the instants before the cocks were
released. No one noticed as Finn moved through the fringes of the crowd. No one but the cook
looked up when Finn sat at an empty table near a charcoal grill.
The square Indio woman bent over her grill, poked a sizzling chunk of meat, and settled back
again on her heels. Her black eyes were hooded and blank. She stared beyond Finn, where
bettors seethed around the deadly cocks. After a time she turned back to her cooking.
Finn relaxed and tipped his chair until it leaned against the wall. If he had been followed, the
cook would have signaled him. He was free to concentrate on one of his many enemies, the
broad-shouldered Mexican who ran the cockfight as ruthlessly as he ran his network of whores,
thieves and smugglers.
It was not Rufugio’s ordinary criminal pursuits that interested Finn, however; it was the man’s
extensive connections with Mexico’s Oriental communities – particularly the Japanese. In
peacetime, Refugio and Takagura Omi had run the most successful smuggling operation in
northern Mexico, using Takagura’s high Japanese connections to import legal and illegal goods,
and Rufugio’s low Mexican connections to distribute the goods from Culiacan to San Francisco.
War had changed the nature of the smuggling trade. Information, not opium, brought the
highest prices. If a secret could be bought, Refugio had it to sell.
The handlers lowered the birds, then raised them high again. The sounds of the crowd
overwhelmed the cocks’ screeches.
“Begin!” shouted Refugio.
Scarred hands threw the birds high. They slashed at each other with spurs of steel.
Partially screened by a low adobe wall that divided him from the mainstream of the cantina’s
activities, Finn searched the tables for a new face, a man called Masarek, who was an assassin
sent by the Russian NKVD. Finn had been especially wary of the Russians since the night he had
followed a team of NKVD saboteurs from Juarez to a point just below Los Alamos. When
there could be no doubt of their destination, Finn struck. He hid their bodies beneath a thin
