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They　don’t　have　jurisdiction　in　local　crimes。　That　means　the　murders　aren’t　what　they　were　said
to　be　–　gang　war　over　a　few　betting　slips。”
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“Then　there　was　that　cold…eyed　son　of　a　bitch　out　at　the　crime　scene　this　morning；”　continued
Hecht。　“He　said　he’d　hamstring　my　other　leg　and　dump　me　on　a　Japanese　island　if　I　printed
anything　without　clearing　it　first　with　the　FBI。”
“Was　he　an　FBI　agent？”
“Huh…uh！　He　wore　jeans　and　boots。　Besides；　he　was　too　damned　mean　to　be　a　G…man。　Hoover
keeps　those　boys　on　their　party　manners　in　public。”
“Did　you　find　out　his　name？”
“Oakland　cops　said　it　was　Finn。”
“Finn　–　“　Vanessa　realized　she　had　almost　expected　to　hear　that　name。　Everytime　something
went　wrong　with　Russian　plans　to　penetrate　the　Manhattan　Project；　Finn’s　name　cropped　up。
She　had　been　briefed　about　him；　although　she　had　never　seen　him　in　Juarez。　He　was　reputed　to
be　smart；　ruthless　and　very　dangerous。　Even　Masarek　had　respected　him。
“Stay　away　from　the　laundry；”　she　said。　“Stay　away　from　your　newspaper。　Don’t　go　to　your
home。　If　Finn　is　organizing　the　search；　he’ll　learn　you　turned　up　here　after　he　warned　you　off　in
Oakland。”
Hecht　started　to　protest；　but　Vanessa　kept　on　talking。
“What’s　the　name　of　a　respectable　hotel？”　she　asked。
“Uh　–　the　Mayfair。　It’s　off　Union　Square。”
“Good。　Go　there。　Get　a　room　in　the　name　of　John　Brent。　Stay　there　and　do　nothing　until　I　call
you。”
“But　what　about　my　newspaper　story？”
“What　about　the　country　that　trained　you　in　return　for　your　help　in　a　crisis　like　this？”
Hecht　shifted　uncomfortably。　Vanessa　knew　that　he　had　not　expected　to　be　called　so　soon；　nor
to　have　to　give　up　so　much。
“Finn　would　only　cripple　you；”　she　said。　“If　you　don’t　obey　me；　I　will　kill　you。　But；”　lied
Vanessa；　“if　you　obey　me；　you　will　be　a　rich　man　and　a　hero　of　Russia。　Which　will　it　be；　Hecht？
Finn　or　me？”
“I’ll　be　in　the　Mayfair。”
San　Francisco
10　Hours　After　Trinity
The　Fragrant　Petal　was　in　a　section　of　San　Francisco　that　had　been　called　Little　Tokyo　until
1941。　Since　Pearl　Harbor；　Mexicans；　Koreans；　Chinese　and　a　few　whites　had　moved　in；　buying
homes　and　businesses　from　relocated　Japanese　at　a　price　barely　higher　than　outright
confiscation。
Even　so；　the　area　was　less　crowded　than　other　parts　of　the　city。　Many　businesses　were　boarded
up；　and　many　signs　offered　rooms　for　rent；　cheap。　There　were　more　Mexicans　on　the　street　than
Orientals；　and　enough　fair　skins　so　that　Vanessa　would　not　draw　too　much　attention。
She　drove　slowly　past　the　Fragrant　Petal。　It　was　a　flower　shop　rather　than　teahouse；　and　in　great
need　of　paint。　Though　the　sign　said　CLOSED；　she　thought　she　saw　someone　moving　behind　the
grimy　window。
Another　pass　by　the　shop　did　not　reveal　any　further　movement。　Vanessa　drove　on　slowly；
weighing　and　rejecting　options。
Masarek　was　dead。
Refugio　was　hiding。
The　FBI　was　searching　Ho’s　laundry；　which　meant　that　the　uranium　had　not　been　in　the　van。　She
must　assume　that　the　U…235　was　with　Refugio；　she　hoped　that　he　was　inside　the　Fragrant　Petal。
Slowly；　Vanessa　drove　by　the　flower　shop。　The　door　was　closed。　No　one　moved　behind　the
windows。　The　shop　looked　as　deserted　as　the　Reyes　Funeral　Home　that　was　next　door。　She
drove　down　the　block；　watching　the　shop　in　the　rearview　mirror。　No　one　appeared　in　the
window。
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She　wished　that　Masarek　were　alive。　Together　they　could　have　turned　the　shop　and　its　occupants
inside　out。　To…　gethcr　they　could　have　–　but　Masarek　was　dead　and　she　dared　not　contact　any
other　Russian　agents　in　the　Bay　Area　for　fear　that　they　were　under　surveillance。　She　must　protect
herself。　She　was　Russia’s　only　lead　to　the　uranium。　She　must　be　bold；　yes；　but　also　careful。
A　sign；　ROOM　FOR　RENT；　FURNISHED；　caught　her　eye。　The　room　was　on　the　second　floor
of　a　Victorian　building　across　and　down　the　street　from　the　Fragrant　Petal。　The　window　looked
like　it　would　give　a　clear　view　of　the　shop。
The　landlord　was　an　old　Mexican　with　a　heavy　accent；　a　light　handshake　and　a　pimp’s　smile。　The
room　was　dirty；　furnished　with　once…elegant　Oriental　pieces；　and　looked　as　though　it　had　been
decorated　by　a　blind　man。　But　the　room’s　view　of　the　street　was　even　better　than　Vanessa
expected。
“I’ll　take　it；”　Vanessa　said。
“When　do　you　want　to　move　in？”
“I’ll　pay　beginning　today；”　she　said；　“although　I’ll　only　need　the　room　occasionally。”
“Five　dollars　more　for　every　man　you　bring　to　your　room。”
Vanessa　nearly　laughed。　“That’s　far　too　much。　One　dollar。”
“Four。”
“Two。”
“Three…fifty；”　said　the　old　man；　settling　in　for　an　enjoyable　bargaining　session。
“One…fifty。”
Startled　by　the　unexpected　turn　of　bargaining；　the　Mexican　said　in　disbelief；　“But　that’s　less　than
your　second　offer！”
“Yes；”　agreed　Vanessa。　She　fanned　two　months’　rent　in　her　hand。　“And　if　you　don’t　take
one…fifty；　my　next　offer　will　be　even　less。”
The　landlord　reached　for　the　bills；　but　Vanessa　hung　on　to　them。　“One…fifty？”　she　said；　her　blue
eyes　wide　and　innocent。
“Yes；”　grumbled　the　man；　counting　the　money。　He　pulled　two　keys　from　his　pocket　and
slammed　them　on　a　table。　“The　telephone　is　downstairs。”
He　shut　the　door　behind　him　with　the　vigor　of　a　man　half　his　age。　Vanessa　slipped　the　deadbolt
and　went　to　the　bay　window。　It　was　covered　by　curtains　that　allowed　her　to　look　down　at　the
street　without　being　seen。　She　dragged　a　chair　over　and　began　watching　the　front　door　of　the
Fragrant　Petal。
San　Francisco
11　Hours　2　Minutes　After　Trinity
A　green　Plymouth　cab　pulled　up　a　block　away　from　the　Fragrant　Petal。
“You　sure　you　got　it　right　this　time；　buddy？”　asked　the　cabbie。
“Yes。”
Kestrel　had　made　the　cabbie　drive　around　the　block　several　times；　pretending　not　to　be　sure　of
the　location。　When　he　was　convinced　that　the　Fragrant　Petal　was　not　a　trap；　he　told　the　cabbie　to
pull　over。
“It　was　hard；”　said　Kestrel。　“So　many　changes　since　I　went　to　war。”
“Yeah。　Sure　thing。”
Kestrel　pulled　out　his　suitcase；　waited　for　the　cab　to　disappear　around　the　corner；　then　crossed
the　street　and　walked　briskly　toward　the　peeling　storefront　called　the　Fragrant　Petal。　Like　Ana；
he　deplored　the　shallow　translation。　Unlike　her；　he　did　not　denigrate　the　English　language。　It　was
a　fine　language　for　scientific　inquiry。
Inside　the　shop；　Ana　was　standing　at　her　father’s　former　worktable；　fashioning　sprays　and
wreaths。　Arranging　flowers　was　the　one　part　of　her　childhood　that　she　remembered　with
pleasure；　the　brilliant　colors　and　petal　textures　shifting　beneath　her　hands。　The　pungence　of
stems　and　greenery　had　not　changed；　nor　had　the　sweet　essence　of　petals。　Her　fingers；　however；
Page　101
had。　They　were　slow　where　they　once　had　been　quick；　awkward　where　they　once　had　been
skilled。
“Damn！”　she　muttered；　stabbing　an　errant　spray　of　scarlet　gladiolus　into　the　pottery　frog　at　the
bottom　of　the　vase。
The　thick　stem　bent；　the　flower　canted　out　at　an　awkward　angle。
“Damned　useless　thing！”　said　Ana　beneath　her　breath；　pulling　out　stems　until　the　frog　was　bare
once　more。　“The　flower　stems　are　limp　and　there　aren’t　even　any　lead　frogs。　How　can　anyone
make　anything？”
“It　would　require　patience；”　suggested　Kestrel　softly。
“Oh！”　The　pottery　frog　crashed　to　the　floor。　“Kestrel！”　she　cried。　“I　didn’t　hear　–　how　did　you
–　are　you　all　right？”
Kestrel　smiled　swiftly　and　touched　Ana’s　cheek　with　his　fingertips。　She　was　so　American；
impatient　and　transparent。　“My　name　is　Captain　Ikedo。　I’m　your　cousin　and　I’m　fine；”　said
Kestrel；　speaking　rapid　Japanese。　“But　you　call　me　Kestrel　because　as　a　boy　I　was　obsessed　with
sparrow　hawks。”
His　dark　glance　flicked　around　the　back　room　of　the　shop。　There　was　no　one　else　nearby。
Kestrel　removed　his　overseas　cap　and　loosened　the　knot　of　his　black　uniform　tie　as　if　these　were
things　he　did　every　day。　He　walked　over　and　stood　beside　Ana；　selected　a　new　pottery　frog　and
began　to　rebuild　the　flower　arrangement。
“Tell　me　what　happened；”　he　said；　his　voice　both　calm　and　commanding。
Ana　watched　his　fingers　–　deft；　gentle；　skilled　–　and　remembered　when　he　had　touched　her　as　he
now　touched　flowers。　His　hands　paused。　He　was　watching　her。