Unlimited (30 page)

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. His 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?”

“Very.”

“Good.” The old man waved him on. “So go and be helpful.”

Sofia stood beside Pedro on the tallest rise overlooking the border region. The highway was a long ribbon of slowly moving headlights. Four miles away, the border crossing and the Rio Grande bridge formed a brilliant island of light. Beyond that shone the Texas town of Presidio.

Sofia asked, “Anything?”

Pedro dropped his borrowed binoculars to glare at her. “You think I would hide such a thing? Forget to mention it to you?”

“I am only asking.”

“You will be the first to know. Believe me.”

The agents were stretched out along the rise, all of them studying the terrain. One of the agents spoke softly to Martinez, who replied loud enough for them to hear. “So far, we have nothing.”

Sofia said to her brother, “Pray harder.”

Simon remained by the apparatus, pretending to make further adjustments while watching as Carlos scaled a rickety ladder attached to the factory's nearest smokestack.

Holding himself in place with one arm, Carlos pulled out a pair of binoculars and scouted the distance. From his position by the transformers, Simon thought he caught a flash from beyond the Rio Grande. There and gone in an instant. In confirmation, Carlos leaned down and waved.

Enrique said, “Make it work. Now.”

“Okeydokey.”

Enrique glared at him, clearly displeased with anything other than a man who shared his fear. “I don't need to tell you what is at stake. Especially for you.”

Pedro exclaimed, “Did you see that?”

Martinez whirled around. “See what?”

“Something by the border. No, it's gone.”

“Our side or theirs?”

“At about ten o'clock. Their side.”

“You're sure?”

“It was beyond the river.” Pedro dropped the glasses. “Maybe I was mistaken.”

“No, no. I don't think so.”

“It could have been anything. Headlights. A reflection.”

“To the west of the American town there is nothing but desert. A light flashing on and off would most likely be a signal.”

“Saying what?”

Martinez lifted her binoculars. “Keep looking.”

Simon flipped the switch.

The device took longer than he expected to warm up. Or perhaps it was how his heart beat at triple time.

Enrique shifted impatiently. “Count your breaths, my friend. If you fail, they are numbered.”

Simon leaned closer still, craning to hear the hum of power.

“I'm sure one of El Noche's men can loan me a gun. If you fail, I will personally . . .”

Enrique stopped because the headlights flickered. All of them. In a unified vibratory pattern.

Simon heard it then. Unmistakable. “Here we go.”

The man in the vehicle spoke. Simon knew it was El Noche. No one else sounded that way. Words emerged like the rattle of old bones.

One of the thugs whistled sharply. A single note.

Carlos looked down. The thug waved his hand.

Carlos turned and flashed a light at the border.

Enrique demanded, “How long?”

“It's happening.”

“I need to know
precisely
.”

Simon had to say something. He could feel the man's latent rage, the natural desire to reach out and strike someone, anyone, him. “Almost there.”

Which he hoped fervently was true.

Pedro hissed, “Something's happening.”

Martinez and her partner moved in unison. “Where?”

Pedro dropped his glasses and pointed at the border. “The lights at the station just flickered. And on the bridge.”

“That's not . . .” Martinez's eyes widened. “I see it too! But how is that possible? They have their own generator.”

“I told you. Simon's device affects all power in the region. Everything from laptops to car batteries.”

Sofia moved like a tigress protecting her young. “Will you two stop talking about what does not matter?
Look for Simon
!”

The machine's humming noise continued to rise as it fed off the transformer system. The headlights brightened immensely. They became so intense, they hurt Simon's eyes. One of the thugs rasped out a curse. The old man still seated in the vehicle shielded his eyes.

Then the secondary effect took hold.

The cars went black. As did all the flashlights. And the phones. Everything.

The only illumination came from a faint trace of lightning that flickered at ground level. Encircling the device at its heart.

Carlos yelled from the ladder and pointed.

In the distance, the lights along the border fence began going out.

“It works! It works!” Enrique was almost dancing.

The massive island of lights to either side of the border bridge went dark. The old man in the car laughed.

“Now you will see why your device could not be permitted to fail,” Enrique said. “The night winds are almost always from the south. Feel? Strong enough to carry a dark balloon. There, see? It rises from the earth!”

And it did. A massive silhouette carved from the stars, big as a floating castle. It drifted steadily northward, silent and massive. Simon asked, “How much?”

“The cargo?” Enrique's laugh carried a manic edge. “Six tons!”

And then the night took a ragged turn for the worse.

All of Martinez's agents were staring and pointing. The night was totally dark, as though some massive beast had eaten away every vestige of civilization. The river ran silver and smooth. A dog barked. Then another. But nothing moved. The highway was silent. The border bridge was simply a dark line drawn across the Rio Grande.

Then one of the officers shouted and pointed into the distance. A monolith rose into the night sky. It was the largest hot-air balloon Pedro had ever seen. The giant ball cut a swath from the stars. It had to be a good three miles away, perhaps as much as five.

Martinez nudged him. “Keep looking.”

Pedro lifted his binoculars. Searching the darkness between them and the border. Hunting. Hunting hard.

Still, it was Sofia who first noticed it. “I see something.”

Then Martinez said, “I see it too.”

“But it's so faint.”

“What difference does it make? A light is a light.”

Martinez and her partner called softly. The other agents moved swiftly. They had come prepared. There was no telling what they had thought of Martinez's instructions to bring mountain bikes. But they had done as she had ordered. They opened the rear gates and pulled out six bicycles. There was soft argument between them. Martinez pointed at Pedro, insisting that he come along.

Sofia said, “The light! It's growing!”

Martinez looked over. “We must hurry.”

Her partner squinted into the distance. “What is it I see?”

“Later!” She hoisted herself onto the saddle. “Move out!”