Unlimited

by Davis Bunn

  “He’s talking of how corruption and greed once plagued our region, just like the cartel threatens us now.”

  “The guy was made for the spotlight,” Simon conceded.

  “Now he’s reminding everybody of what he’s done. Cleaning up the streets. Kissing all the babies.”

  Dr. Clara was seated on the stage next to the portly man. She cheered as loudly as anyone. When the applause quieted and Enrique started talking again, she glanced up at the balcony.

  Martinez said, “With the help of the good citizens of Ojinaga, Enrique is promising to bring the same reforms to all of Chihuahua state.”

  The applause grew louder still. Enrique launched into his next statement, then his gaze fastened on something outside Simon’s field of vision, and he faltered. Then the mayor remembered the cameras. He repositioned his smile as he gestured with both hands, waving someone forward.

  Harold emerged from the orphanage gates and climbed the church steps. Enrique spoke into the microphone.

  “He tells about the shooting,” Martinez said. “How such crimes must be stopped. He introduces the people’s great friend.”

  Harold began in his rough-hewn Spanish, which Martinez translated, “I’ll be brief and to the point. Corruption is a cancer that slowly but surely destroys. It can annihilate a community, jobs, stability, peace, pride, its very moral fiber.”

  The bandage that gripped his arm and clenched it to his chest magnified the force of his words. Simon felt himself drawn forward so powerfully, he gripped the chair in front of him just to keep himself from moving to the balcony.

  “Corruption has a death grip on our town. But I tell you there is a cure. It is called integrity and honesty. And for this cure to work, it must start at the top.” Harold turned and glared at Enrique. “Every individual who is tainted by this cancer must be forced from office. They have no place among us. That is why I am here. Use your vote. Make it happen.”

  He used his good hand to point at the church behind him. “We stand here in front of our beautiful parish church. Therefore I’d like to close with a prayer.” He waited for the people to bow their heads, then said, “God, we ask that You give us leaders who hold to Your standard. We ask that anyone in office who is infected by the cancer of corruption be cut down and stripped of power. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  Sofia forced herself to behave as though there was nowhere she would rather be than by Enrique’s side. She smiled and chatted gaily with any number of people. She allowed herself to be interviewed twice, once by a regional television news magazine, and then for the national nightly news. She was friendly with people she did not see. She felt Enrique’s eyes on her constantly. Measuring. Studying. Wondering.

  But it was not until he was leading her back to the SUV that he allowed a trace of his rage to emerge. “What was Harold doing?”

  “He is old. He has been shot. Who knows what was behind his words.”

  His gaze was as tight as his voice. “Was he accusing me?”

  “How could he? He has always admired you. He has . . .”

  “What? Say it, Sofia.”

  “Harold’s greatest concern is corruption. It is why he has admired you for so long.”

  “Then why did he not say that?”

  “I do not know, Enrique. You should ask him yourself.”

  The words emerged softly, almost a whisper. “I intend to.”

  Sofia repressed a tremor of very real fear. “Would you drop me by my office, please?”

  “You work too hard.” But he leaned forward and gave his driver the directions.

  They did not speak again until the SUV pulled up in front of her business. Enrique emerged from the vehicle with her, waited as she unlocked her door, then planted himself in her way. The brooding menace was still there in his gaze. “You know how I feel about you.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “It is time.”

  She did not respond.

  “I will have your answer.”

  She nodded and smiled the biggest lie of her life. “I am ready, Enrique.”

  “Yes?” He showed genuine surprise.

  “Not here. And first I must tell Harold. It is his right, as my guardian.” Her voice almost broke. “My abuelo.”

  “Very well. When?”

  “I have a very important meeting this afternoon and evening. I could meet you later tonight.”

  His face darkened. “Tonight is impossible. I, too, have commitments.”

  “I could join you later, if you—”

  “No, no. Tonight is . . . family.”

  “Tomorrow then.”

  He embraced her. Sofia not only endured it, but returned it. With all the force she had in her, she gripped this strong man and held tight. The repulsion moved through her in waves. She only held tighter still.

  Enrique released her and offered his brilliant smile. “I will not sleep a wink all night.”

  Sofia replied fervently, “That makes two of us.”

  Chapter 35

  Soon after the crowds dispersed, Pedro slipped into the apartment, followed by Martinez’s partner. Simon asked, “How is Harold?”

  “The talk wore him out and his wound started leaking again,” Pedro replied. “He has returned to bed and is resting comfortably.”

  The downstairs door opened and a light tread raced up the stairs. Sofia embraced each of them in turn, even Simon. It was the first time Simon actually touched her, other than when she had stitched his forehead. Her hug was very quick, a simple enveloping of her arms, there and gone in less than three seconds.

  It took far longer for Simon to stop vibrating from the impact of her closeness.

  Martinez issued orders in the bites of a practiced field officer. She insisted on everything being done face-to-face. One trusted ally to the next. Pedro left first. Then her partner. Martinez and Sofia spent a few more moments talking softly in Spanish. Simon could see that the federal agent was allowing her doubts and concerns to show. He did not need to ask what was being said. If they wanted him to know, they would tell him.

  When he grew hungry, Simon foraged through Sofia’s kitchen and made a meal of dark bread and cheese and a salad of fresh greens. He ate standing at the counter, with Juan’s Bible open to the book of John. The verse Vasquez had referred to, John chapter 8 verse 12, was circled. The professor had intended this as his final message. The man had gone out as he had lived. By faith alone.

  Sofia walked over. “I often stand right here to eat, just as you do now.”

  “I love the way the mountains glow in the distance.”

  “As do I. Armando felt the same. He dearly loved those hills.” She looked at the page he studied and smiled. “I have to go.”

  “I know. Be safe.”

  She touched him once more, a gentle hand upon his arm. The look she offered was liquid and filled with a lifetime’s emotions. “Armando would be so proud of you.”

  Simon was still resonating from her touch when Martinez’s phone rang. She checked the readout and grimaced. “Today of all days we have cell-phone service.” She answered and spoke briefly, then cut off and said, “Something has come up. I must see to this personally.”

  “Go.”

  “You must not leave the apartment. It could be very dangerous for you out there.”

  “I understand.” Simon hesitated, then decided there was nothing to be gained by expressing his worries. That the hunters were out there. Waiting for him, as they had for Vasquez.

  They came for him the hour before sunset. A sense of inevitability accompanied the soft tread, the squeak of a rubber sole, the complaining creak of a loose board. Simon hoped it was Sofia or Pedro, but he knew it was not. Ever since Martinez had spoken about Carlos being sprung from prison. Ever since she had talked about them planning something at the border. Simon h
ad felt them closing in.

  Enrique stepped into the room. “I should have known I’d find you here. Where is Sofia?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Enrique turned toward the stairs and motioned. Carlos stepped into view. Same muscular bulk, same shapeless jacket, same maniacal smile. Only the eyes were different. They blazed now. The hatred he carried was a palpable force. It filled the room.

  “Perhaps I should let Carlos ask you the questions.”

  Simon indicated the lone plate and glass. “Sofia hasn’t been here since the afternoon. She didn’t say where she was going.”

  “Simple Simon,” Enrique sneered. “Able to fool everyone but me.”

  “And vice versa. I know you hacked Vasquez’s e-mail account and had me run off the road. You wanted the apparatus ever since you first realized that was what caused the blackout. Only Vasquez was faster. He knew you’d be coming, so he smashed it to bits. Which meant you had to get me down here.”

  “And you fixed it and tested it. Just as I planned.” Enrique motioned toward the stairs. “And now we must be going. Since you managed to survive the prison, I want you to work the apparatus for me.”

  “I thought you had your own techies for that.”

  “They are educated fools. They tell me the device could generate a lethal amount of focused energy.”

  “They got that right.”

  “They fear they have repaired it incorrectly. They fear my wrath. As should you.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Enrique appeared to enjoy the exchange. “Even a failed scientist like you should understand the alternatives. On the one hand, there is Carlos. Shall I have him bring Juan over and demonstrate his talents?”

  “No. I’ll do what you ask.”

  “Of course you will. And if you please me, life with me can be very agreeable. I have many ways to show you my appreciation.”

  “How about a passport?”

  “There is only one way you will leave my employment. And you require no papers for that.” Enrique jerked his head toward the exit. “Vámonos! We have a border to shut down.”

  Chapter 36

  “I should have known there was no emergency and the call was a ruse,” Martinez said. “I should have stayed with Simon.”

  Pedro sat in the rear seat of her fancy SUV, with the woven-leather seats and the chrome vents that glistened in the moonlight. They were parked on a hillside overlooking the city of Ojinaga. Waiting. He replied, “If you had stayed, you might be dead now.”

  Martinez gave a tight nod. “It was logical that Enrique would be looking for Simon. Especially if there is something big happening tonight that involves this machine of his.”

  Martinez’s partner occupied the front passenger seat. Pedro and Sofia sat behind them holding hands. They had often managed to survive the worst moments by sharing strength. Just like now.

  Sofia asked, “Have you informed the border agents?”

  “And tell them what, precisely? That there may be a mysterious ray gun that will shut down their entire system?”

  “It happened before.”

  “We have received no confirmation from the American side that the blackouts affected them. And from our own border guards we have only rumors. How could we specifically ask guards on either side without tipping our hand? Because the cartel has observers everywhere. I know this firsthand.”

  Two more SUVs were parked to either side of them. Three federal agents sat in the one to their right. Four in the one to their left. Hardly an army. Sofia asked, “Do we have enough support?”

  “Every one of these agents I can vouch for personally,” Martinez replied. “It is far better to move with a small force than risk alerting our foes.”

  Pedro nodded his agreement. “The question is, where do we go now?”

  Martinez snapped on her penlight, revealing the regional map unfolded on her lap. “You are sure there are six transformer stations?”

  “The same as last time you asked.”

  “All within range of the border.”

  “Again, I do not have any idea how far this device can reach. But close, yes.”

  Sofia tapped lightly on the window. A faint drumbeat of nerves. “What if Simon planned on this all along?”

  The leather of Martinez’s seat squeaked as she shifted around. “What are you saying?”

  “Vasquez claimed Simon was the smartest man he had ever met. He used a very specific word: intuitive. He said Simon had the ability to reach the unseen conclusion.” She turned to the agent. “What if he knew they were hunting him?”

  “What is the purpose behind letting himself be caught? If he is as smart as you claim, surely he would know what he risked.”

  Pedro saw the glistening trail cascade down his sister’s cheek as she said, “What if this was part of his plan as well? What if he saw this as penance for the wrongs he had done to Vasquez?”

  “Harold spoke to him of forgiveness,” Pedro protested. “And I did as well.”

  “But what if he needed an action, something that would give meaning to his sorrow and his guilt? What if he saw himself . . . ?” Her swallow was painful to Pedro’s ears. “As a sacrifice?”

  “But why?” Martinez demanded. “To what end?”

  “You said it yourself. We don’t know where to find them.” Sofia took in the night-clad vista with a shaky hand. “They could be anywhere. Maybe Simon thinks he can give us a sign.”

  Pedro turned his face to the window. “I will pray for a sign. From Simon. And from heaven.”

  Chapter 37

  Simon had to admit, the location Enrique had selected was perfect for everyone but him.

  The maquiladora did not have a transformer station. It had two. One serviced the new commercial zone. The brightly lit substation sat within a new fence supported by concrete stanchions. It joined the enclosure for the entire commercial zone.

  They then turned onto a lesser road, little more than an abandoned trail. It was covered by scrub, and the asphalt underneath had been reduced to rubble. They bounced along for a while, moving parallel to the industrial zone. No one spoke. Finally they came to a monolithic factory, a concrete tomb with empty windows. The smokestacks pointed like broken fingers toward the night sky. Not a single light gleamed.

  They parked at one end of the factory lot and walked around the main building. Beyond that was a tumbledown fence, and beyond this was a second substation. It looked like it had not been used in years. But there was still the soft hum of power. Simon assumed the city had left it hoping that someone would restart the factory.

  Enrique held a bulky satellite phone. When it buzzed, he listened, spoke tersely, then told Simon, “You have twenty minutes. Less.”

  “To do what?”

  Enrique handed him the canvas carryall that held the professor’s device. “Make the machine work, or die. Simple choices for Simple Simon.”

  Simon started for a dip in the fence. “I need more light.”

  Enrique turned and spoke to his driver. A few moments later, the SUV pulled up tight to where Simon squatted. The headlights bathed the array of transformers.

  Simon didn’t need twenty minutes. He could have completed his work in three. But there was nothing to be gained from telling anyone that. So he spent the time checking each of the connectors, jiggling the wires, and adjusting the feeds. He hadn’t written down the new frequencies because he didn’t need to. They were imbedded in his brain. Right alongside the image of Vasquez. The professor seemed to be standing just outside the reach of the headlights, smiling at him. Urging him on. Counting out the frequencies as he set them into the device’s controls.

  All the frequencies. The new ones he had obtained from Juan’s Bible. And the others.

  Simon knew Vasquez had intended for the new frequencies to replace the old ones. Hi
s final calculations had been aimed at distillation. Reducing the power to a manageable level. Maintaining control.

  But Simon was not after control. He wanted mayhem.

  Simon was alerted to a coming change when the driver spoke softly to Enrique and pointed into the night.

  Tires scrunched over the rough terrain. Enrique swung a flashlight over his head. A second SUV pulled up close to Enrique’s. Two thugs emerged from the vehicle, both in suit jackets that looked black in the headlights.

  The mayor of Ojinaga underwent a remarkable transformation. He bowed. He became visibly obsequious. Almost fearful. Then he pointed at Simon. For some reason, that simple gesture was enough for the man’s fear to transfer across the rubble and the broken fence and latch onto Simon.

  “Simple Simon,” Enrique called. “Come over here. Now.”

  When Simon hesitated, Carlos hustled toward him. Simon moved in order to keep a distance between them.

  A lone man was seated in the SUV’s backseat. As Simon approached, the thugs moved in tight to either side. Close enough to crush him at a word from the old man.

  The man possessed the strangest voice Simon had ever heard. If a cadaver was somehow granted the power of speech, it would have sounded like him. He spoke to Enrique, who bowed slightly as he responded. The old man turned toward Simon. “You are a gringo?”

  “From Boston,” Enrique offered, now speaking English as well.

  The old man turned slightly and looked at Enrique, who cringed and went silent. The old man said to Simon, “You are a scientist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you train?”

  “MIT.”

  “I have heard of this place.” He pointed with his chin toward the transformers. “You can make this machine work?”

  “I think . . . yes.”

  “The border region is a graveyard of those who tried to be helpful and failed. Do you understand?”

  Simon could not entirely mask his own tremors. “Yes.”

  “Over there you can see the border. It would be helpful if you can cut the power and stop all the electronics from working. If you fail . . . that would not be helpful. Are we clear?”