Unlimited Page 19

  If only he’d been able to do the right thing. Just that one time. Instead of taking the easy way out. Again. And be gnawed at by guilt ever since. Until he arrived here. In a windowless Mexican holding cell. Until he almost welcomed whatever fate awaited him beyond that metal door.

  Finally the lock rattled and the door creaked open. A lone policeman stepped inside, wearing a white shirt and dark trousers. Simon recognized him as Enrique’s driver. The man was rapier thin, with a pencil moustache and the cold smile of a killer. He addressed Simon in rapid-fire Spanish.

  “Sorry, man. I don’t understand the lingo. But you already know that, don’t you.”

  The man responded by holding out his hands, wanting Simon to see how his knuckles were ridged with old scars. His eyes were terrifying. They had no bottom whatsoever.

  Simon swallowed hard. “This isn’t about getting answers, is it. You already know I don’t have any.”

  The man pulled a leather sap from his pocket and patted it against his palm. The sap made a sickening sound. He spoke a single word, a soft sibilant noise. He started forward, the sap still flicking back and forth.

  Then the door opened a second time.

  Clearly the man had not expected this. He turned and barked.

  Agent Martinez entered the room, her gold badge open and extended. She replied and jerked her head at the door.

  The policeman liked that even less. He snarled a response.

  Martinez called out. A man stepped into the doorway, a gold badge dangling from his belt. The second agent stepped up alongside Martinez and spoke. He was very quiet. He did not need to be loud to get his message across.

  Enrique’s driver burned Simon with his glare, then he slipped from the room and was gone. Martinez said something to the other agent, who nodded and followed the officer out. She walked over and unlocked Simon from the table. “I need you to come with me.”

  “Are we getting out of here?”

  “Not yet. But I will make sure you are safe.”

  “Dr. Clara said I should trust you.”

  “She is correct. I need to lock your hands behind you again. Stand up and turn around, please.”

  His legs were so shaky, he had to lean against the table. “That was Enrique’s driver.”

  “I am perfectly aware of who that man is.”

  “He’s gonna come for me the instant you take off.”

  “Which is why my partner is arranging for you to be placed in solitary. He will stay on duty all night outside your cell.”

  As she led him from the room, Simon said, “Those drugs they found in the lanterns were planted.”

  “Those drugs are not the point.”

  Simon stopped and looked at her. “That’s exactly what Vasquez would have said.”

  “Vasquez. Yes. The professor is certainly part of our puzzle.” Martinez gripped his arm and propelled him down the hall. “Come.”

  “He was murdered.”

  “Of course he was murdered. And that is also not the point.”

  Simon felt like his mind had grown wings, flying high and free, liberated by the fact that he was still able to draw an easy breath. “We need to figure out why somebody went to all that trouble. Murdering him. Trashing his place. Luring me down. Trapping me on the highway. And it’s all tied to Enrique, isn’t it.”

  “Very good, Simon. These are precisely the questions you should be asking.”

  “Enrique wants my device as well as the professor’s.”

  “He does not just want it. He has it. He packed up all your belongings and left the orphanage soon after you did.”

  “He wanted it enough to arrange for me to wind up here and send somebody to do me in.”

  “In fact, he sent two people. But that must wait a moment. First we must concentrate on the issue at hand.”

  Simon forced his mind to move beyond the manacles and the station and the beating that was not happening. “We need to know where Enrique took the devices.”

  “Another good question. And the answer is, that is why I did not arrive sooner.”

  “You followed him.”

  “From the orphanage to the technical school.” Martinez nodded.

  “He’s going to try and have somebody else make the machine work. Somebody he controls.”

  “That is what I am thinking. Enrique waited until now to order his thug to work you over.” She led him around a corner. “Which means he has made it work and doesn’t need you anymore.”

  “Impossible,” Simon declared flatly.

  Martinez pulled him to a halt and turned him to face her. “Explain.”

  “Vasquez and I have been working on this for nine months. I still don’t know how to control the surge problem. Nobody starting from scratch is going to solve that problem in a couple of hours.”

  Martinez’s response was cut off by her partner, who rounded the corner up ahead, called to her, and pointed at his watch. Martinez started them forward. “Then we are missing something.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Something vital. It is up to you to find out what Enrique intends.”

  She led him past the main guard station. Her partner spoke to the duty officer, who unlocked the steel door. Simon realized they were entering the jail proper and decided there was no need to protest. But either he trusted her or he was dead meat.

  Simon spotted Enrique’s driver. He lounged behind a counter staffed by several bored prison guards. He watched Simon with a flat, unblinking gaze.

  Martinez tugged on Simon’s arm. “I am going to take you to the main holding cell. This is where you would have been placed after the beating. I want you to take a look around and see if you recognize anyone.”

  “Mind if I ask why?”

  “Of course not. Trust goes two ways, no? It is unlikely that the officer would have killed you himself. There would be too much risk. To soften up a Yanqui drug runner is one thing. Murder, that is another.”

  Simon swallowed against the queasy feeling. “I told you I didn’t—”

  “And I have said, Señor Simon, that is not the issue.”

  He forced himself to steady up. “They planted a murderer in the pen?”

  She gave him a look of grim approval. “Let us go and see.”

  As soon as the long cell came into view, Simon exclaimed, “That’s him!”

  “Which one?”

  “The guy in the leather coat. He’s the one who attacked me on the road! And again at the professor’s house! And he shot Harold!”

  Martinez spoke to the guard, who reached for the prison roster.

  Enrique’s driver chose that moment to step forward and snarl a warning. The guard hesitated in the process of handing over the book. Martinez’s partner stepped between the driver and Martinez. It was impossible for Simon to tell which man possessed the more deadly gaze.

  Martinez turned so the guard could see the roster with her. The guard studied the pages, frowned, then spoke to another man seated at the desk in the back of the duty alcove. The second man shrugged. Enrique’s driver snarled once more. This time, Martinez’s partner snarled back.

  Martinez shut the roster and handed it back to the guard, who was now sweating and speaking rapidly. Martinez said, “It seems there is no record of this man. No name, no reason for his arrest. Nothing.”

  “Is that normal?”

  In reply, Martinez spoke to her partner. The man drew his gun and moved to where he could cover both the bearded man and Enrique’s driver. The bearded attacker bounded to his feet and began pacing the cell and shouting angrily. Martinez pulled Simon farther down the hall. She spoke to the perspiring guard, who jerked off another salute, snappy this time.

  Martinez positioned Simon by the side wall, placed herself between him and the cell door, and drew her own weapon. The hunter’
s rage echoed through the concrete chambers. He moved like a bearded tiger, bounding around the cage, lashing the air with his fists and his words.

  The prison guard returned with three others. One carried manacles attached to a leather belt. The other two men held Tasers at the ready. They yelled through the bars. Instantly the other prisoners shifted to the very back of the holding cell. The guards entered the cell and locked the door behind them. Martinez cocked her pistol and held it in two hands, her aim swinging back and forth. From Enrique’s driver to the prisoner.

  The bearded man’s rage grew fiercer still as they fitted him into the manacles. Two guards gripped the cuffed man and led him out of the cell and down the hall toward the entrance, followed by Martinez’s partner.

  Only when they were gone did Martinez speak with the remaining guard, who led them down the hall and unlocked a solid steel door. Martinez holstered her weapon and uncuffed Simon. “I will remain outside until my partner returns. Then I will transfer the man you see to a more-secure position.”

  “How long do I have to stay here?”

  “As long as it takes for me to arrange the necessary papers. But I will not sleep until it is done.”

  Simon could think of nothing to say except, “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” She started to swing the door shut, then said, “You understand, what I said about needing to work out the puzzle.”

  “Like you, I won’t sleep until it’s done.”

  She liked that enough to smile. “There is a chance that time is against us. Dr. Clara, she insists this is so. She says something very big is happening tomorrow. And your apparatus is important to this secret plan.”

  “And I’m telling you it won’t work.”

  “Answers, Señor Simon. We need them.” As she swung the door shut, her last word was, “Desperately.”

  Chapter 31

  The bunk was nothing more than a cement slab jutting from the wall. A scummy sink dripped constantly. Simon pulled the professor’s letter from his pocket, sat on the fetid mattress, reread the words, and felt the past come alive. Vasquez was there in the room with him. Simon could hear his voice speak the letter’s final words, “Seek and you shall find. Use the key to open your world. Find God and the true path to your full potential. I love you always.”

  Simon did not notice he was weeping until he heard the cell door being unlocked, and he found it difficult to bring the newcomer into focus. Harold entered. “Hello, son.”

  Simon rose slowly to his feet, moving like an old man. He accepted Harold’s one-armed embrace as Martinez entered and set down a metal chair. She waited until Harold released Simon, then said, “Ten minutes.”

  Simon helped Harold ease himself into the chair and said, “The drugs they found. I didn’t do it.”

  “I believe you, son. But that doesn’t matter. I’d still be here anyway. You want to tell me about it?”

  “About what?”

  “Whatever burden that you’re just aching to set down.”

  So he did. The secrets just poured out. The longer he spoke, the more Simon was convinced that Vasquez’s final hope would have been for Simon to stop running and face the hardest truth of all. Himself.

  When he went quiet and Harold asked if he wanted to pray, Simon knew he had been waiting for this all along. The chance to say, “Yes.”

  As Harold finished, Martinez rattled the lock and opened the door. She helped Harold rise, then carried the chair back outside. Harold said, “I’m here for you, son. And so is Jesus.” Harold pulled a small Bible from his jacket pocket. “This might be helpful.”

  Chapter 32

  Sofia sat on the veranda outside Harold’s office, her arm draped over Pedro’s shoulders. She ached with her brother. His pain was hers. As it had been all their lives.

  He moaned, “How could I have been so blind?”

  She huffed a laugh she did not feel. “You have stolen the words from my own mind.”

  “The signs were there all along.”

  “I hope you are wrong, brother. I would hate to think I willfully missed seeing the truth about Enrique.”

  “I so wanted his promises to be real.”

  “We all did. It is the myth of Mexican strength. Trust others to be powerful for us.” She stroked her brother’s back. He was so strong, this one. Sofia felt the love rise up inside her. “I am so proud of you.”

  “How can you say that? Especially now, when I’ve allowed myself to play the mayor’s fool?”

  She knew he did not want a response. Pedro was merely giving voice to his sorrow. He would recover, and soon. He had to. They all needed him to be strong.

  Dr. Clara was inside with Harold. Martinez stood by the front gates, talking on her radio. For once, Juan was not in his customary position, at the edge of everything, watching. Instead he had taken on the role of helping around the orphanage, filling in for Harold. He left the dining hall hand in hand with Gabriella.

  The little girl was coming along nicely, thanks to Juan and Harold and the other children. Sofia made a mental note that it would soon be time for her to speak with the child, introduce her to Harold’s teachings, one young woman to another.

  She sought some way to draw her brother out of his remorse and into the present. But the only words that came to mind were, “I can’t help but worry about Simon.”

  Pedro wiped his face. “Martinez assures us he is safe.”

  “I was talking about us.”

  Pedro straightened and looked at her. “Us, as in, Simon with the orphanage?” He showed a glimmer of a smile. “Or us, as in you and him?”

  She could not meet his gaze. “I, too, have been willfully blind. I tried to argue away the fact that I did not love Enrique. The idea of a partner who could help me fulfill my ambition to assist all our country’s orphans was too alluring.”

  “And Simon?”

  “Simon challenges everything I believe in. Even so, I have feelings for him. Genuine, deep, profound.” Her heart swelled around the confession. “These feelings challenge my plan to live in sacrifice. Simon knows nothing about sacrifice. He lives for nothing but himself.”

  Pedro’s voice strengthened. “He is changing. We have seen him change.”

  “But he is still Simon.”

  “He is also the loneliest man I have ever known. Now that Vasquez is gone, Simon has no one.”

  “Another orphan.” She found it hard to draw a full breath. “In this moment when no one else is there for him, I feel like . . .”

  “He needs you.”

  She studied her brother’s face. “Do you really think this?”

  His smile grew stronger. “My sister is asking me for advice? Has the world tilted on its axis?”

  She bit her lip but could not keep the words from emerging. “That is how it feels to me.”

  Dr. Clara opened the bedroom door and studied them for a moment. To Sofia it seemed that the doctor’s gaze held a haunted quality. “Harold is ready for you.”

  As Pedro crossed to the door and called to Martinez, Sofia asked, “How is he?”

  “Tired. But the wound is healing well.” Dr. Clara hesitated, then asked, “You know what I have been doing?”

  “Martinez told me some of it.” Sofia still had difficulty believing the doctor had been serving the antidrug group in secret. But she had been fooled by so much for so long. “I thought wrong of you. For that I apologize.”

  “I have done many wrong things.”

  “For all the right reasons, I’m sure.”

  “In the daylight, I can say those words and be satisfied.” Dr. Clara nodded a greeting as Agent Martinez entered the office. “But at night . . .”

  “The tainted life is harder to accept.” Harold’s voice came softly through the open door. “The justifications for all the wrong actions don’t ring true anymore
.”

  The four of them entered the bedroom together. Dr. Clara resumed her seat by Harold’s bed. “I just wanted to make the killings stop. I just wanted to help.”

  “And you did.”

  “But at what cost? Look at me. I am reviled. Hated. Called a witch to my face by the people I yearn to help. And in the dark hours I think they are right to say what they do.”

  “You have learned a crucial lesson,” Harold said. “Corruption is a virus. You cannot remain just a little bit infected. But you either fight it off, or it takes over.”

  “It is too late.”

  “I’m sorry, Clara. But that is just not true.” Harold’s gaze swiveled to where Sofia stood by the door.

  Sofia offered, “Perhaps you and I can discuss this?”

  The eyes that turned to her held a desperate hunger. “You will help me?”

  “We can start tonight, if you like.”

  “Now we need to turn our attention to the other matter.” Harold eased himself up slightly in the bed. “First, can you tell us how you knew?”

  “Suspected,” the doctor corrected.

  “If we had known for certain, if there had been evidence, we would have arrested Enrique Morales long ago,” Martinez said.

  Dr. Clara went on, “Investigating criminal activity is much like hunting for an illness. A doctor is trained to scrutinize any number of symptoms and find how they interlink. Gradually a pattern emerges, until a diagnosis was made.”

  Harold nodded. “And your conclusion was . . . ?”

  “The criminals never left. They simply became more hidden.”

  “That was the first point,” Martinez agreed. “And the second was, someone very powerful was behind this masquerade.”

  “It was only since Armando’s murder that we even considered that Enrique might indeed be the puppet master.”

  “We trusted him too much,” Pedro muttered.

  “We have every reason to,” Martinez replied. “He was masterful at burnishing his good image and using it to hide all manners of evil.”

  “What tipped you off?”

  “Many crimes have been linked to a man only known as Jefe,” Clara said.