我的美母教师 | 乡村精品合集 | 乡村活寡 | 乡村欲爱 | 乡村春潮 | 乡村花医 | 欲望乡村（未删） | 乡村艳福 | 乡村春事 | 人妻四部曲

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

accountants。　Taxis　carried　stockbrokers　and　lawyers。　Police　cars　came　and　went　without　a　single
glance　at　the　off…white　van。
“All　right。　This　time　cross　the　bridge。”
Page　66
“Bueno；”　yawned　Refugio；　his　tiredness　only　partially　feigned。
Except　for　a　single　stop　to　add　a　piece　of　black　electricians　tape　that　changed　the　truck’s　number
7　into　a　17；　Masarek　had　kept　Refugio　driving　throughout　the　dark　hours；　twisting　and　turning
and　doubling　while　Masarek　watched　the　mirrors　for　headlights　which　appeared　too　often　or
followed　too　long。
As　the　van　approached　the　bridge；　Refugio’s　hands　tightened　imperceptibly　on　the　wheel。　The
moment　was　coming　when　Masarek　must　die；　and　nothing　was　going　as　Refugio　had　planned。
Masarek　had　put　him　behind　the　wheel；　neutralizing　him。　As　soon　as　the　van　had　passed　through
the　gates　at　Hunters　Point；　Masarek　had　taken　Salvador’s　shotgun；　as　well　as　Lopez’s　and
Refugio’s　。45s。　There　had　been　no　time　to　protest。　Masarek　had　moved　quickly；　unexpectedly；
just　at　the　moment　of　victory。
Even　worse；　Masarek　had　found　the　knives　inside　their　sleeves。　He　had　even　found　the　little
chrome…plated　Beretta　in　Refugio’s　boot。　Masarek　had　not；　however；　found　Salvador’s　thin
razor　wire　with　the　little　hinged　bar　on　each　end。　It　looked　like　a　belt　buckle；　but　was　really　a
very　efficient　garrot。
Masarek’s　eyes　moved　restlessly；　his　head　tilted；　listening；　always　listening　for　the　scuff　of　death’s
footsteps　beneath　the　hiss　of　passing　traffic。　He　suspected　nothing　in　particular　and　everything　as
a　matter　of　principle。　Civilian　traffic　streamed　around　them。　Nowhere　were　there　signs　that　the
United　States　was　a　country　at　war；　and　that　San　Francisco　was　a　vulnerable　target。
“Children；”　said　Masarek。　“They’re　all　children。　They　think　that　war　is　temporary　and　their　lives
are　forever。　They　haven’t　learned　that　war　is　forever　and　life　only　a　flicker。　That’s　why　they’ll
lose；　and　then　they’ll　whine　and　wonder　why　we　broke　their　toys。”
The　Bay　Bridge　loomed　out　of　the　fog　ahead。　Cars　flowed　on　and　off　freely；　for　traffic　was　not
yet　at　its　morning　peak。　No　troops　guarded　the　approach　or　the　spans　rising　out　of　the　mercury
Bay。
Masarek　measured　the　Bay　Bridge　with　the　eye　of　an　engineer；　looking　for　vulnerable　spots　and
calculating　the　amount　of　explosives　needed　to　bring　it　down。　“They　make　it　easy　for　their
enemies；”　he　murmured。
“Maybe　they’re　just　playing　with　us；”　said　Refugio。　“Maybe　all　this　is　like　the　fat　worm　hiding　the
steel　hook。”
Masarek　smiled。　“Their　grandchildren　will　speak　Russian。”
Refugio　yawned　again；　then　removed　one　hand　from　the　wheel　to　rub　his　eyes。　Masarek　watched
the　hand；　but　his　gun　no　longer　moved　to　follow　Refugio’s　every　twitch。　Once　Masarek　had　put
their　weapons　under　his　feet；　he　had　relaxed　slightly。
Both　Salvador　and　Lopez　knew　that　any　move　toward　Masarek　would　result　in　Refugio’s　death。
As　Refugio　was　their　patron；　their　cousin；　their　half…sister’s　brother…in…law；　and　their　brains；　they
waited　for　his　signal。　When　it　came；　they　would　do　their　best　to　kill　Masarek　before　he　could　kill
Refugio。
Until　then；　they　sat　in　the　back　of　the　van　on　a　cold　floor　with　a　dead　man　and　two　odd　chunks
of　metal；　each　wrapped　in　separate　laundry　bags。　The　dead　man　stank　of　feces；　and　the　metal
slithered　about　with　every　movement　of　the　swaying　van。
“I’ll　have　to　change　lanes　soon；”　said　Refugio；　“unless　you　want　me　to　drive　past　the　waterfront
and　then　come　back。”
Masarek　leaned　over　to　check　Refugio’s　side　mirror。　At　first　Refugio　had　thought　that　such　a
move　would　give　him　a　chance　to　kill　Masarek；　but　every　time　Masarek　leaned；　the　pistol’s
bulbous　silencer　dug　intimately　into　Refugio’s　groin。　He　was　not　going　to　risk　his　manhood　for　a
chop　at　Masarek’s　neck。
Three　against　one　with　a　gun。　A　Mexican　stand…off　of　sorts。　Refugio　smiled　wryly。　In　all　such
contests；　the　victory　went　to　the　wary。
Masarek　leaned　back。　The　motion　removed　the　gun；　but　did　not　change　its　target。　“Get　off　the
bridge。　Go　directly　to　the　waterfront。　I’ll　tell　you　where　to　stop。　Remember。　No　sudden　stops
Page　67
or　turns。”
“I’ll　remember；”　said　Refugio；　feeling　the　sweat　that　came　to　his　face　each　time　the　gun　poked　at
his　crotch。　“But　what　if　one　of　these　tired　little　shopgirls　crashes　into　a　third　little　clerk　and　I
have　to　stand　hard　on　the　brakes？”
“Then　you’re　dead。”
“You’re　an　unreasonable　man；”　said　Refugio；　but　he　said　it　in　Spanish。　Kestrel　had　warned　him
not　to　underestimate　Masarek　merely　because　the　Russian　took　orders　from　a　woman。　Refugio
wished　he　had　given　more　thought　to　Kestrel’s　words。
Refugio　waited　for　an　opening　before　changing　lanes　slowly；　cautiously。　It　galled　him　to　drive
like　a　timid　girl；　treating　red　lights　and　speed　zones　as　though　they　were　serious　matters　instead
of　markers　in　a　game　of　skill　and　nerve。　Nonetheless；　he　drove　like　an　American；　for　Masarek’s
gun　was　never　far　away。
The　fog　was　lighter　in　color　new；　more　dove　than　steel；　but　still　a　dense　exhalation　concealing
the　morning。　Cars　parked　a　half…block　away　were　invisible。　Nearby　cars　were　studded　with
moisture　that　gathered　and　ran　in　eccentric　streaks。
“Left；”　said　Masarek。　Then；　as　the　van　completed　the　turn；　“Right　at　the　next　corner。”
Refugio　drove　the　van　through　two　turns；　both　times　a　bit　fast；　testing　Masarek。　The　Russian
said　nothing。　He　was　intent　on　the　side　mirrors　and　the　cars　parked　along　the　street。
“Right　again。”
The　van　bumped　over　rough；　foggy　streets　which　paralleled　the　factories；　warehouses　and
storage　yards　of　the　waterfront。
“Almost　there？”　asked　Refugio；　stressing　the　word　“almost。”　He　wanted　to　look　over　his
shoulder　at　Salvador　but　did　not　dare。
Salvador　picked　up　the　verbal　cue。　He　grumbled　about　the　rough　ride　and　shifted　to　a　kneeling
position　as　though　to　ease　his　cramped　legs。　Masarek　glanced　back　at　him；　but　said　nothing。　The
movement　seemed　natural　enough。
Suddenly　the　van　swayed　as　Refugio　swerved　around　a　pothole　and　then　braked　sharply。
Salvador　sprawled　forward；　swearing　bitterly　in　Spanish。　The　canvas　bags　containing　the
uranium　skidded　toward　the　front　of　the　van；　touching　and　rebounding　off　one　another　in　an
invisible　flowering　of　energy。　Masarek’s　gun　wavered；　then　returned　to　Refugio’s　groin　with
enough　force　to　make　the　Mexican　wince。
“Be　careful！”
Salvador　pulled　himself　upright。　The　long…armed　Mexican　was　closer　to　the　front　of　the　truck
now；　kneeling　rather　than　sitting；　a　killer　in　blue　jeans　whose　fingers　ached　to　feel　the　slim　cold
bars　of　the　garrot　as　it　sliced　through　flesh。
Slowly；　casually；　his　thumb　hooked　into　his　belt　buckle；　ready　to　grab　and　twist；　freeing　the　razor
wire　in　a　single　ripping　motion。
Wanting　to　look　back；　knowing　he　must　not；　Refugio　drove　along　the　uneven　street。　The
moment　to　consummate　Kestrel’s　plan　was　drawing　closer　with　each　turn　of　the　tires；　but　he　did
not　know　which　car　concealed　Vanessa’s　polished　blond　hair。　Was　it　the　black　one　with　the
broken　window　or　the　faded　red　one　with　a　crumpled　fender？　Or　was　she　even　here？
Refugio　had　to　force　his　hands　to　relax　on　the　wheel。　Like　a　wild　animal；　Masarek　had　a　sixth
sense　for　danger；　sniffing　and　listening；　head　turning；　eyes　probing；　but　most　of　all　listening；
always　listening。
“Can　I　tell　my　men　what　we’re　looking　for？”　asked　Refugio；　willing　his　voice　to　be　casual。　“Even
from　back　there；　they　could　help　you。”
“One　word　of　Spanish　and　I’ll　blow　your　balls　off。”
Refugio　shrugged；　concealing　a　surge　of　rage。　He　had　planned　for　something　like　this　while
Vanessa　talked　on　the　phone　to　her　San　Francisco　spy　and　Masarek　watched　and　listened。
Always　listening；　that　one。　A　wild　animal。　Killing　him　would　not　be　a　sin；　not　like　killing　a　real
person。
Page　68
On　the　left　was　a　white　van　with　its　engine　compartment　open　and　a　single　red　rose　painted　on
its　side。　Refugio’s　hands　gripped　the　wheel；　his　knuckles　showing　pale　yellow。　Masarek　noticed
neither　the　sudden　tension　nor　the　parked　flower　truck；　for　he　had　just　spotted　Vanessa’s　car。
“There！”　he　exclaimed。
“Como？”　said　Refugio　with　a　guilty　start。
“The　dark　green　car。”
There　we