Unlimited

by Davis Bunn

  “Of course, Sofia. I am not a child.”

  “No, that is certainly true.” She straightened his jacket and smoothed his hair. “You look very handsome, Juan.”

  He beamed. “I am dressed like a prince.”

  “Indeed you are.” She rose to full height and said to the hovering agent, “We are ready.”

  Chapter 25

  “Jefe, with respect, I can take them all here on the road into Ojinaga. No one will—”

  “I know what you are capable of.” The boss’s voice was distorted by the whine of a massive engine. Carlos knew the jefe had waited for this call until the helicopter had landed and the people with whom he traveled had exited the metal bird. The decelerating rotor made a huge noise through the chopper’s open rear door, which meant the jefe’s words were inaudible to anyone but Carlos. He had used this technique many times before.

  “You do not see the big picture, Carlos. That is my job. Your job is to follow orders.”

  Carlos kept three cars between Pedro’s pickup and his SUV. Simon sat between Pedro and Harold. Carlos watched the orphanage director throw his head back and laugh. What could possibly be of such hilarity to people like this? Trapped inside a run-down orphanage, full of castoff kids. “You want me to be arrested.”

  “Listen to what I am saying. The assistant town manager saw you enter the house where the professor was killed. He has seen the bloody evidence. He knows the police lied about Vasquez suffering a heart attack.”

  The solution seemed as clear as the sun through his windscreen. “Then the town manager must die.”

  “Again you do not see the big picture.” Even when almost shouting, the boss showed a practiced patience. “Another death at this time would disrupt the entire process I am trying to put into place. Plus I have told you that the orphanage must remain safe.”

  “Jefe, I have been to prison. I do not wish to return.”

  “It is only for a few hours. A day or two at most. Long enough for the police to appear to be doing their job. Then I will personally see to your release.” When Carlos did not instantly agree, the tone sharpened. “I expect you to obey me, as usual.”

  The worms of fear gnawed at his gut. The boss was correct. Carlos had no choice. “I will do as you say, jefe.”

  “Of course you will. Now pay attention. This is how I want it to happen.”

  As Carlos listened, his gaze fastened upon the middle figure riding in the pickup. The American might think he was safe. He might assume his strength was enough. But it was only a matter of time. When the boss finished speaking, Carlos replied, “Tell me the Yanqui is mine.”

  “Did you not hear a word I have said? His end is precisely why you must be arrested. The American handed over the professor’s device to the guard at the front gates. He still has his own. The guard has inspected the classroom this American has been using as a lab. The device is not there, which means it is with them now. You are following him into town, yes? Most likely he is going to the electronics shop. You will go there, you will rob him, you will deliver the second device to my driver, and you will be arrested.”

  “Jefe, it would be so much simpler—”

  “We are not after simple. We are after clean.”

  Carlos thought again of what he had endured as a child in the adult prison. But he could not refuse this man anything. “Sí, jefe. I will obey.”

  “The American has finished dancing to my tune. It is time for him to take his last breath.”

  Sofia and Juan crossed a massive foyer with four floors of balconies rising to a glass roof. The rich and powerful of Juárez milled about. Waiters circulated with drinks and trays of food. A string quartet played in the far corner. The noise bounced off the polished stone floor and high ceiling, forming a chaotic din. A number of people recognized her and pointed her out to others. Sofia pretended not to notice. Would she ever grow accustomed to such moments?

  Sofia wore a Chanel suit, the only designer fashion she owned. She had found it at the discount mall outside Dallas when she had gone up to speak at a church. She did most of her shopping in such places. It made her infrequent journeys to America all the more special.

  The suit was a woven blend of silk and cotton and light as a feather. The color was somewhere between blue and gray and highlighted her hair and eyes. She knew she was beautiful in it. To say otherwise would be false modesty. Even so, as the eyes raked her and Juan, she felt as though all the secrets of her past lay exposed. As though she would never fully belong among these people, their easy wealth, and their sense of entitlement. As though they had already dismissed her as unworthy.

  The agent led them through guarded doors. They entered a second chamber only slightly smaller than the first. More people were gathered here, many of them recognizable from newspapers and magazines. One corner had been sectioned off and was rimmed now by television equipment and lights.

  Sofia had attended a number of such events since she started dating Enrique.

  At first she had assumed he was trying to show off for her, demonstrate how powerful he was becoming, how far she could go with him. And there was certainly a hint of this. Enrique liked to preen and show off for a beautiful woman. But Sofia soon realized he was also testing her. To see how she reacted to this dimension of his life and his world. And the answer was, she really didn’t care. She knew who she was. She had no desire for public acclaim. She knew it was a part of his life, so she accepted it. That was all.

  One night, after a reception where Enrique had been feted by the president himself, he had asked her, “How do you feel about this?”

  “I don’t know enough to have an opinion.”

  Clearly the handsome and wealthy gentleman was expecting a different response. “But . . . don’t you have feelings for me?”

  “Of course, Enrique. But there is a difference between feelings for you and all this . . .” She waved a hand back at everything they just left behind. “The responsibility. The attention. The public nature of your life.”

  He smiled then. And perhaps it was the first time he had actually revealed the man beneath the mask. “It is precisely because of how you speak that I am falling for you, Sofia. Shall I tell you why?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You do not act thrilled by the power or the money or the public eye. You speak of responsibility. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”

  “It is natural for me.”

  “Yes. I see that is true.” And he kissed her then.

  Juan brought her back to the present by asking, “Are there always so many soldiers and police and other men with guns?”

  A voice behind Sofia said, “No. Not always. Today is special.”

  Sofia turned and discovered Agent Consuela Martinez, the woman serving with the antidrug force who had delivered Gabriella to the orphanage. Sofia shook her hand. “Forgive me for not saying hello. I didn’t see you.”

  “I have been in a meeting. We used this gathering to hold a conference.” She smiled at the young man standing beside Sofia. “Juan, do I remember that correctly? You certainly look grown up today.”

  He returned her smile, then went back to staring out the window. The view overlooked downtown Juárez, to the sparkling waters of the Rio Grande and the border fence. Martinez looked out with him and said, “I heard on the radio the wait to cross through the border today is almost six hours.”

  “Because of Enrique?”

  “Because of everything going on today, yes. How is the little one I brought you settling in?”

  “Gabriella still has nightmares,” Juan said.

  “Don’t we all,” Martinez replied.

  Sofia asked, “Why are there so many officials?”

  “Enrique has declared war against El Noche. You have heard of him?”

  “The name, of course. He runs a cartel, yes?”

&nb
sp; “His gang has been moving on Juárez. Enrique has promised to make a restoration of order to this city his first priority as governor.” Martinez hesitated.

  “You might as well tell us the rest,” Sofia said. “We will hear about it soon enough.”

  “An hour ago, El Noche responded that Enrique would not survive to take office. Frankly I am surprised he has not warned you of this.”

  “I turned my phone off before we left Ojinaga. I did not want to be bothered with work.” She fumbled in her purse, found her phone, and turned it on. “I have six messages from Enrique.”

  But before she could key her voice mail, Enrique emerged from a side room, his arm draped around an older gentleman. As soon as he spotted Sofia, he broke off the conversation and hurried over. “I have been trying to reach you for hours.” He frowned at the sight of the young man standing beside her. “Juan?”

  “Hello, sir.”

  He lowered his voice. “You have heard about El Noche?”

  “Agent Martinez just told us. We can leave immediately if you wish.”

  The federal agent offered, “I can arrange an escort.”

  “Thank you, but Sofia, you are now here, so stay.”

  “Perhaps it would be best—”

  “No, no, an hour one way or the other makes no difference.” He struggled to shape a smile. “And besides, there is someone who asked for you especially. Come.”

  Sofia accepted his outstretched hand and allowed herself to be swept into his world. All the eyes on the room were upon her now. The young orphan woman whom Enrique wished to marry. She saw the speculative looks and the calculating gazes. And she tried to tell herself their opinions did not matter.

  Her unease only strengthened when Sofia realized who awaited them.

  Enrique’s mother, Magda, was a woman born to rule. She had the polished exterior of an ancient marble statue. And she was just as cold. Her dark eyes held a brutal intelligence, a cold willingness to do whatever was required without an instant’s regret. She was a woman who could kill with a smile.

  “Sofia. How nice.”

  “Mrs. Morales. Enrique told me you were hoping to join him today.”

  “I try to attend as many of my son’s events as I can. It is part of the process, no? Supporting Enrique’s campaign however possible. No matter how difficult it may prove. That is part of what it means to be family. Don’t you agree?”

  Sofia knew she should not allow the woman to bait her. But she had never been one to silently accept the slights of others. “So difficult, yes. Wherever did your helicopter manage to land?”

  The eyes tightened, but the woman did not respond. Sofia duplicated the older woman’s tight slit of a smile. Enrique held his arms out wide, seeking to draw the two women together. “Turn this way, ladies. The photographers wish to take your picture.”

  “Should this not be limited to family, my son?”

  “Nonsense. Step closer, please, Sofia. And smile.”

  While the lights flashed in blinding sequence, Magda asked around her son, “Who’s the waif who accompanied you, my dear? Another of the sweet little lost ones?”

  “His name is Juan.” Sofia waited until Enrique waved the photographers away to bare her own knife. “What a charming frock you are wearing, Mrs. Morales. Did you sew it yourself?”

  Enrique clapped his hands. “Enough, the both of you. How can I hope to build peace on the streets of Juárez when I can’t do this in my own home?”

  Sofia felt instantly contrite. “You are right. I am sorry for my words, Mrs. Morales.”

  The woman’s gaze tightened further, as though she had never actually heard a heartfelt apology before. Enrique, however, gave her a one-armed embrace. “Thank you, my dear one. And now I am being directed to the eye of the hurricane.”

  Enrique allowed a nervous aide to lead him through the cameras and the lights onto the carpeted dais and into one of the swivel chairs. The newscaster, whose face was one of the most famous in Mexico, reached over and shook Enrique’s hand while the makeup lady worked on him. A producer called out the countdown seconds. “We are live in five, four, three . . .”

  Sofia tried to pay attention, but she sensed Enrique’s mother moving up beside her and tensed for the next incoming barb.

  Enrique was by nature a lonely man. It was a trait Sofia felt most drawn to. He needed a woman who would truly care for him. No doubt Magda did in her own way. But Magda also used her son. She was invested in him. She was intensely shrewd and very focused upon building the family empire.

  Magda said softly, “At first I thought you were just another of my son’s little rebellions. I was wrong, of course. Much to my dismay.”

  Sofia gave no sign she even heard the woman. But she found it increasingly difficult to focus upon the two men under the lights.

  Magda went on. “He is right about many of your traits. You are intelligent. You are fierce. You are independent. You have managed to rise from nothing. But there is one thing my son fails to recognize. It is the attribute that makes you utterly wrong for him, and for us. Shall I tell you what that is?”

  Sofia kept her face turned toward the lights, though she no longer saw the men at all. Here it comes.

  “It is that Protestant song and dance of yours. What an utter waste of time.” The woman’s quiet words dripped with scorn. “You have fallen for the lure of unseen hope.”

  Sofia faced the woman. “That is the finest compliment anyone has ever given me.”

  “My son needs someone who understands that what you see is all that matters.”

  “I have nothing more to say to you. Except this.” Sofia stepped in close enough to feel the woman’s sharp intake of breath. “I will pray for you.”

  Sofia turned from the lights and the power and the wealth. She walked to where Juan and Martinez stood by the rear windows and announced, “We are leaving.”

  Chapter 26

  Ojinaga’s market area was located half a mile from the central square. The main streets contained offices for national utilities like the power company and the banks and the city’s more expensive shops. The narrow side streets held a variety of smaller shops and open stalls. The market sparkled like a desert rainbow. The boisterous, good-natured crowds defied the heat. At every intersection, street performers competed with beggars for attention.

  Pedro led Simon into the city’s main electronics store. The shop was a throwback to another era. Dishwashers and flat-screen televisions and computers and toys all competed for space. The wall separating the shop from what appeared to be a repair station was lined with shelves and drawers. As Pedro greeted the shopkeeper, Simon set out the seven components from his own device that were fried beyond repair. Pedro swept a hand over them and asked a question.

  The shopkeeper picked up one of the circuits and fitted a jeweler’s loupe into his eye. He spoke and Pedro translated, “He wishes to know what happened.”

  Simon kept his response to the bare minimum. “I overloaded the device.”

  The shopkeeper went through the components carefully, then confirmed he had all but one in stock. As he laid the fifth component on the counter, he asked another question that Pedro translated as, “What kind of device are you working on?”

  But while Pedro was still translating, the shopkeeper’s eyes widened, and fear rippled across his face. He jerked his hands into the air.

  Pedro and Simon turned together to find the bearded hunter standing in the doorway. He was smaller than Simon remembered. But the feral expression was the same. As were the glittering eyes. And the shapeless leather coat.

  The gun, however, was new.

  The hunter barked at Simon. Pedro translated, “He wants your case.”

  “Tell him the machine doesn’t work.”

  “Then you can give it to him, no?”

  Simon spotted Harold rushin
g up behind the attacker. The orphanage director dropped his briefcase and hefted a ceramic vase from the shop next door.

  The hunter screamed something, his voice rising to impossible heights. Pedro said, “Give him the bag.”

  “Sure thing.” Simon held it out.

  Harold dropped the vase on the attacker’s head. The man shouted and wheeled about. As he did so, the gun went off.

  The shot was impossibly loud. The narrow shop compounded the noise, turning it into an assault on Simon’s brain. Pedro, however, seemed unaffected. He grabbed the shopkeeper’s laptop and slammed it down on the attacker’s head.

  The bearded man went down hard.

  Simon’s relief at having survived was short lived. He saw Harold holding his shoulder, with blood seeping from between his fingers.

  The shopkeeper pressed an alarm, and a siren blared from above the entrance. The three of them stumbled out, Pedro and Simon supporting Harold between them.

  The entire plaza emptied in a flash of screaming panic. The streets became silent as the grave. Even the stallholders had vanished. The only motion he could see came from a lone car. It zoomed toward them and slammed on the brakes. As soon as Pedro saw who was behind the wheel, he groaned.

  Simon recognized the driver and a chill struck his bones. The car was driven by the woman who had led the council meeting. The one who had offered him a thousand dollars for the device. The woman in the photograph in the professor’s office. The one supposedly engaged to Vasquez. The one Pedro called a bruja. A witch.

  Dr. Clara pushed open the driver’s door and screamed across the car, “Get in!”

  Pedro did not move.

  She pointed behind them. “Your attacker is coming!”

  Simon glanced back and saw it was so. The bearded man was up on his knees, one hand clamped to the back of his head, the other scrabbling for the gun.

  As a police siren rose in the distance, the woman’s voice lashed at them. “You wish to risk your friend’s life? The police will come and lock him in a cell. He needs a doctor! Move!”