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  “He works through a bearded assailant that Simon has identified,” Martinez said. “We have a possible link between this attacker and Enrique. And something more. It appears that the cartel run by El Noche is moving into Chihuahua state. They now almost control Juárez. We have two undercover agents inside his organization. They tell us that Ojinaga is to become their new center of operations into the United States.”

  Sofia felt her body grow cold. “If this is true and Enrique is indeed the culprit you seek . . .”

  “It means El Noche is tied to Enrique.” Pedro finished for her.

  “There are hints of a major undertaking about to take place here.” Martinez went on. “Something big enough to bring the cartel’s leader himself to our city.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  Harold looked from one woman to the other. “What are we going to do about it?”

  Martinez looked at Sofia. “I have an idea. But it requires your help.”

  “Of course.”

  As Martinez described her plan, Sofia gripped her arms across her middle. It was an action from her childhood, a means of keeping all her emotions and fears trapped inside. Her voice sounded small to her own ears. “I will do this thing.”

  Chapter 33

  The month after Enrique had been elected mayor of Ojinaga, he had transformed a windowless stockroom into a small conference room. The walls now held paintings from his personal collection. A lovely silk carpet adorned the floor. A rosewood table was surrounded by five swivel chairs. He used the main conference chamber for larger meetings. This room was reserved for private discussions, and was swept twice each day for listening devices.

  Enrique sat in his customary seat at the head of the table. “I have the professor’s apparatus.”

  The man on the other end of the phone had the most curious voice Enrique had ever heard. El Noche’s words sounded like wind through desert-dry cane, a parched rattle that never rose nor fell. “You are certain it works?”

  “As positive as I can be without turning it on. Which we cannot do for two reasons. First, each time it has been turned on, the apparatus has shorted out. My technician says it is the most complicated piece of equipment he has ever seen. He could not possibly repair it by tomorrow. But he has checked it thoroughly and assures me that every component is in place and functioning.”

  “And the Yanqui scientist?”

  It was the question Enrique had been dreading. “He is being taken care of.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Not yet. There have been . . . complications.”

  “Explain.”

  “The scientist is in solitary lockdown. Not even the prison guards are permitted into his chamber. My man Carlos, the one who allowed himself to be arrested, has vanished. I assume he is under control of the federals. Everything points to Agent Martinez.”

  There came the rattling hiss, the man’s one expression of rage. “I want you to erase that woman.”

  Despite himself, Enrique shivered and sweated both. “Of course. It will be done.”

  “And the Yanqui.”

  “As soon as he is released.” Enrique hesitated, then said, “Perhaps we should postpone.”

  “That is impossible. Things on the other side of the border are in place. There can be no delay. It is not permitted. Are we clear?”

  “Of course, I was simply—”

  But the man had already cut the connection. Enrique remained where he was, breathing heavily.

  When he emerged from the conference room, he was shocked to discover Pedro seated in the chair closest to the room’s entrance. Pedro almost never came to his office. Their meetings generally took place in the hallways, or outside a restaurant, or before Enrique entered some meeting. Pedro disliked being in the company of power.

  “Pedro! How long have you been out here?”

  The man looked beyond exhausted. He leaned his head against the wall, just beside the door leading into the conference room. His eyes flickered once, twice, then opened slowly. “Forgive me, Padron. It is these problems involving the orphanage. May I have a word?”

  His secretary said, “You are late for the council meeting.”

  “Two minutes, Padron. Please.”

  It was so rare for Pedro to ask for anything, Enrique found himself unable to do what was foremost in his mind, which was to determine whether the man had heard anything through the wall. “What is it?”

  “I need to take a few days off. Just until Harold is better. Someone must run things at the orphanage. I cannot do that and my job for the city.”

  “What about your sister?”

  “She tells me she is already too busy, between her work and campaigning with you. Your next few days are to be your last swing through Ojinaga, yes? Sofia says you have told her it is crucial that she appear at your side.”

  “Of course you must do what is required, though we will miss you.”

  “The doctor tells me Harold should be able to manage by next week.”

  Enrique remembered, “Harold was to speak at my campaign event this afternoon. Even if he does not speak, have him join me on the podium, yes?”

  Pedro shrugged. He fumbled with his hands in the manner of a peasant twisting his hat brim. Enrique detested such signs of submission. Pedro said, “I will pass on your message, Padron.”

  Agent Martinez did not come for Simon until after dark. He emerged from the station and walked down the street, drinking deep of the cool dry air.

  She drove him back to the orphanage. But instead of halting by the main gates, Martinez turned down the alley that ran behind the square. “Wait here.”

  A few minutes later, Pedro rapped on his window. “Come with me.”

  Pedro led him up a set of stairs and into an apartment. “This is Sofia’s. We will stay here tonight. She is sleeping in the orphanage guestroom.”

  The place held a sweet fragrance, an invisible presence that surrounded and comforted. “Can I take a shower?”

  “Of course. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “I will go to the restaurant down the street.”

  Simon turned the water hot enough to scald and remained there until the shower turned cold. He found more of the simple clothes laid out for him on the bed: T-shirt and drawstring pants. As Simon dressed, Pedro returned with two steaming plates. Over dinner Pedro described how Enrique had fooled them. Simon ate and listened, until exhaustion started rising up like waves.

  Pedro must have noticed for he said, “Go and sleep. I will clean up.”

  “You haven’t finished telling me everything.”

  “I could talk for days and not be finished. Sleep well, my friend.”

  Simon woke to the first pale light of dawn. He rose from the bed and padded through the living room. Pedro snored softly on the sofa. Simon eased open the balcony door and stepped outside. The air was bitingly cold, but he did not mind. The feeling of liberation, of a freedom far beyond having stepped outside the jail, was exquisite.

  Sofia’s Bible lay open on the little coffee table. He settled into the balcony’s lone chair and picked up the Book. He liked the sense of connection, both to her and to the God he hoped he might someday know as well as she did.

  The Book was open to John, the pages filled with her writing. Her script was surprisingly feminine, with carefully looped letters and little hearts drawn beside certain passages. He read several verses, tracing his hand over her notes. Then he raised his eyes to the dawn.

  The soft pearl tones beckoned to him. The peaks gleamed with a jewel-like luminescence. The razor edges held the power of divine artwork. It seemed to Simon as though he could read God’s script upon the distant stone.

  Simon heard Pedro shuffling around inside and knew it was time to move. But first he had to acknowledge t
he moment. It was fitting that his first solitary prayer be in response to the work and the life he had spent so long running from.

  It was just as Harold had said. To be successful, Simon had to accept that he could not do it alone. The challenge, the responsibility, the potential—it was all too much. Unless he accepted help from the divine hand.

  Simon bowed his head over the Book in his lap.

  Pedro returned after breakfast with a plate for Simon and the news that the police was no longer guarding the orphanage gates, and Harold wanted to speak with him. After eating, Simon followed Pedro across the empty plaza and through the portals. Simon sat by the open window and watched as Pedro helped Harold ease into the chair behind his desk. “You should stay in bed,” Sofia scolded.

  “Clara said I could get up. Besides which, I’ve got a speech to write.”

  Pedro stood over Harold as the orphanage director used his good hand to pull out pen and paper. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “You’ve known me all your life, son. The only way to stop corruption is to meet it head-on.”

  “But you’ve been injured.”

  “I’m feeling well enough to be impatient,” Harold insisted.

  Sofia huffed. “You’ve been impatient your entire life. One small bullet isn’t going to change that.”

  Juan arrived bearing steaming mugs of strong black tea. Simon hated how the kid would not meet his gaze. There was no greater conviction, he decided, than not living up to a good kid’s expectations.

  Harold must have noticed the silent exchange, for he said, “Juan, look at me. Son, we have all fallen short. You understand these words?”

  “Yes, Abuelo.”

  “Simon is our friend. We accept and we forgive. He is striving toward the light. We will help him onward.”

  Juan shot Simon a quick glance, lightning fast, but long enough to reveal a world of hurt. And hope. “Yes, Abuelo.”

  Simon felt the power behind the words crash upon him like a wave. They knew the best and the worst of who he was, they knew what he had done and what he was capable of, and they accepted him. He fought against the tide of emotions and listened as Pedro described what he had overheard Enrique say through the wall.

  Pedro concluded, “Enrique said he was certain the devices would do what they wanted. His technicians at the university spent all last night checking them out. He cannot test it because each time the device has been used, it has shorted out. But he is certain they will work.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sofia said. “Enrique has both devices, he does not dare test them, and yet he claims they are ready? That makes no sense.”

  Pedro shrugged. “That is what he said.”

  “Actually, it makes all the sense in the world,” Simon countered.

  Sofia said. “Either the device will work or it won’t.”

  “If what I’m thinking is correct, as far as Enrique is concerned, the device works perfectly.” Simon turned to Pedro. “Who was Enrique speaking to?”

  “I could not hear every word. But it sounded like . . .”

  “A bad man.”

  Pedro sighed. “Very bad.”

  “Would this bad man be interested in giving free power to the masses?”

  “Impossible,” Pedro replied flatly. “The cartels have invested heavily in the power company.”

  “They bribe corrupt members of our government,” Sofia confirmed. “They pad contracts and they falsify inspections.”

  “They would fight anyone giving free electricity like they do other drug cartels,” Harold said.

  “Tooth and nail,” Pedro agreed.

  Simon nodded. “Which means this was never about supplying cheap power to Mexico’s poor.”

  “But what else is there?” Sofia demanded.

  “The blackout,” Simon replied.

  Pedro frowned, and started to protest, then he noticed Harold’s smile. “You understand this?”

  “It’s brilliant.” He waved his good hand. “Tell them, son.”

  “The blackout didn’t just cut out power,” Simon said. “It shut down everything. Even the professor’s own laptop. Power, phones, everything went down.”

  Sofia asked, “What difference does that make?”

  “What if this effect carried all the way to the border? What if it impacts everything that uses an electrical current? Radar, communication, surveillance, the works?”

  “The cartels could come and go at will,” Pedro said.

  “There have been three blackouts,” Simon reminded them. “The first time when Vasquez applied the four frequencies. The second time when he recorded the effect on his laptop. And the third time when we were up by the transformers.”

  Harold nodded slowly. “Our foes obviously learned from their allies in the border police about problems at the customs station.”

  “Nobody else put two and two together,” Simon agreed. “Not yet, anyway.”

  Agent Martinez stepped through the open doorway and added, “Which explains why they are so determined to make you vanish.”

  Consuela settled on the window ledge and listened with grim intent as they summarized their discussion. As he spoke, Simon saw what had before been supposition crystallize into a very real threat. Martinez confirmed this by saying, “Carlos, the man who attacked Simon and shot Harold, has been sprung from federal prison.”

  Simon felt the tension and fear slice through the room. “How is that possible?”

  “Welcome to Mexico,” Pedro said.

  Sofia asked, “Should we go ahead with our plans?”

  “Nothing has changed,” Harold insisted quietly.

  Martinez looked from face to face, waiting for further objections. But Sofia merely compressed her lips and frowned at the floor by her feet. She said, “Simon needs to relocate, in case they are still hunting for him.”

  “He can stay in my apartment,” Sofia offered.

  “I have contacted my allies on the other side of the border,” Consuela told him. “They are working on temporary papers. You should be able to travel north tomorrow.”

  Sofia’s head jerked up. She stared at him in mute appeal. Simon had no idea what to say, except, “All right.”

  Sofia wrapped her arms about her middle and went back to studying the floor by her feet. Pedro watched this exchange, and showed Simon a huge grin.

  Martinez motioned towards the entrance. “We should go.”

  “Just a second, there’s something more.” Simon turned to Juan. “Did Vasquez leave something for me?”

  The boy’s eyes went round. “He said I should speak of it only if you asked. And only if you gave me the right . . . I forget the word.”

  Simon offered, “The right code?”

  “Yes! That was it, the code!”

  Simon grinned at the abrupt return of the boy’s natural ebullience. “Was it 8:12?”

  Juan’s smile returned full force. “You wait right here!”

  Sofia demanded, “Where are you going?”

  Juan called over his shoulder, “Uncle Vasquez, he wrote a secret in my Bible!”

  Chapter 34

  Simon returned to Sofia’s apartment and worked on the information he had found in Juan’s Bible. In the plaza below, preparations were well underway for Enrique’s political rally. Workers strung bunting along the broad stairs rising from the plaza to the church. A podium was erected on the church patio and chairs set in careful rows beneath the trees. Simon worked at the narrow dining table, from where he could see everything and still remain hidden within the apartment’s shadows.

  Martinez watched him fill one page after another with calculations and asked, “The professor left you a key to making the device work?”

  “We’ll know when the device gets switched on. The professor never had a chance to test his calc
ulations. But from what I can work through on paper, I’d say yes. He’s found the answer.”

  Martinez glanced out the balcony doors as they tested the loudspeakers strung from the plaza’s trees. “Enrique holds the rally here to reach out to the poor and the working class. In this quarter everyone knows and respects Harold.”

  Simon heard the concern in her voice and asked, “Will he be safe?”

  “I’ve got my own people stationed around the plaza.”

  Beyond the balcony, workers rimmed the plaza with flags and banner-size posters of their mayor. By the time Simon put away his calculations, Enrique Morales smiled down from everywhere.

  Music blared from loudspeakers, and the people came from everywhere except the orphanage. The gates were open, but inside everything remained still. Tightly contained.

  The first VIPs arrived, shaking hands as they moved through the crowd. They climbed the stairs just as Enrique’s dark-windowed SUV pulled up below Sofia’s balcony. Simon remained well back from the open French doors, hidden inside the apartment shadows. Agent Martinez stood where the kitchen cabinets met the living room’s rear wall.

  Simon watched as a smiling Enrique waved to the crowd and waited while Sofia rose from the SUV. She appeared to have shrunk down inside herself. “I wish she wasn’t doing this.”

  “It is the right thing. We must try to keep Enrique from becoming spooked.” Martinez glanced at him. “I wonder why Sofia wanted you to see this.”

  “She probably wants me to see Harold at his best.”

  Martinez showed him a rare smile. “Sure. I bet that’s it.”

  Enrique and Sofia climbed the stairs to raucous applause. A portly man with a bright sash draped over his suit shouted into the microphone. Simon asked Martinez, “What’s he saying?”

  “Blah, blah. Politician speech. Same in every language.”

  The portly man shouted Enrique’s name and the crowd cheered once more. The television cameras panned the crowd, then swooped up to where Enrique held center stage. His voice boomed out, polished and enthusiastic. His smile was magnetic.