Unlimited (20 page)

“It would.” She wet her lips, tasting the dust and the chalk and the night. “But I wonder . . .”

“What?”

She rose from the table, amazed at herself. She had been about to confess the impossible to this man. How she wondered if this goal was worth giving up on the secret yearning for true love. “Good night, Simon. It's late, and we both need our rest.”

Pedro was waiting for her as she approached the front gates. He often hung around at the end of a long day, checking on things, talking with Harold, helping to bed down the children. He had always taken his strength from this place. It was his character to support others. He would make a perfect orphanage director. The children already loved him.

She tensed as Pedro fell into step beside her. She could hear all his unspoken questions. Why was she so interested in Simon? Did he represent a threat to Enrique in her heart? Was she ever going to accept Enrique's offer of marriage? What was she waiting for? What did she want? She knew all the questions. And had answers for none of them.

But she was wrong. Pedro surprised her by asking, “What happened between Simon and Vasquez?”

She stopped. “Why are you asking me that?”

Pedro turned and looked back at the classroom where the lone light cast the empty courtyard in a dusky glow. “I like him.”

The simple words made her eyes burn. “I like him too.”

“He carries burdens. That much is clear. And I think he has known his share of hard days. But he listens to Harold. He thinks.” Pedro shrugged. “I asked him to pray with me.”

“I did also. What did he say to you?”

“He thanked me.” Pedro's teeth flashed in the gloom. “It was the nicest turndown I have ever received.”

“He was reading Harold's book when I brought him dinner.”

“Then he is still asking questions, no?” Pedro's smile flashed in the night. “Harold believes Simon is moving in the right direction, and all he needs is a little more time.”

“Harold can predict when a man will give his life to Jesus?”

“I am thinking, with this one, maybe yes.”

The burning behind her eyes only grew worse. “What happened between Simon and Armando was very bad.”

He replied easily, “Who has not fallen short in the eyes of God and man?”

Sofia studied her brother. “You have been thinking about this.”

“What I have been thinking, sister, is that Harold is right. And for this I am happy that Simon will be staying here for a few more days.”

When Simon woke the next morning, the eastern horizon held the first faint wash of dawn. He lay and recalled the previous day and felt anew the strength of their invitation. Beckoning to him, enticing him. To join with them in renewing his life through the eternal.

When the morning bell rang, he left the classroom and joined the flow into the chapel. He did not see Sofia, which saddened him. It was silly to hope for anything between them, really. Her engagement to Enrique was only a matter of time. The two of them would make a beautiful couple and accomplish great things. Mexico needed them. Which only made his longing worse. As though he looked beyond Sofia to the man he was, and the changes he needed to make to deserve the love of someone like her.

Pedro and Harold joined him for a silent breakfast, then followed him back across the courtyard. As they entered the classroom, Simon said, “I have a problem. Actually, two. The first is with the components. Like I told you yesterday, some got fried in our little outing, and I can't afford to replace them.”

“We're looking at money coming in from the lanterns you helped us with.” Pedro pushed himself up onto the window ledge. “A church group in Texas has offered to buy the entire load. I'll drive the van up tomorrow.”

Harold settled into the chair behind the desk. “Let's see if the Ojinaga shop can meet your requirements and how much they cost. If we can handle it, we'll put it down as an investment.”

Beyond the easy camaraderie, Simon heard the message that he was accepted. One of them. He swallowed hard. “The second problem is with the science.”

Harold nodded. “With the control of power through the apparatus.”

“Right. I assumed the answer would be found in the connection of frequencies that Vasquez listed on his sheets. I mean, we all heard the harmonics before the power surge.”

“Like heaven sang for us.” Pedro nodded.

“But something tells me I'm looking at it all wrong. Like I need to rethink the whole frequency equation.”

“As though your question is right, but the perspective is wrong,” Harold suggested.

“Exactly.”

“Sometimes the direct approach is the wrong approach. Back at the beginning of the Apollo program, the number-one problem we faced was heat control. Most scientists assumed astronauts would either freeze in space and cook on reentry. Hull temperatures during the capsule's descent would exceed a thousand degrees. Hot enough to melt iron. Which meant we had to wait until some new technology was invented or a new material could be found, one that absorbed heat and would not melt.”

Harold stretched out his long legs. Holding no airs. Needing no spotlight. “I wasn't the smartest guy on the block. And I won't say God reached down and handed me the answer. But what I will say is this. My faith gave me the ability to take a step back. I was able to detach myself from the stresses and the problems and look at the situation from a different perspective.”

Pedro's smile resurfaced. “Now you sound like the professor.”

Simon had been thinking the same thing. It seemed as though Vasquez was standing in the corner, smiling in approval. For Vasquez, faith had been a significant part of everything.

Harold went on, “One day I was turning a chicken on a barbecue spit, when it hit me. If turning the bird on a spit can evenly distribute the heat, why can't we do the same thing with a spaceship? And that's exactly what we did.”

Pedro said, “They even named it after Harold.”

The two men shared a smile. “Not exactly.”

“They called it the barbecue roll,” Pedro said.

“What I'm saying is this. Sometimes the riddle is bigger than our limited knowledge. You've got to tune into the right frequency. And by that I mean prayer.”

Simon was still mulling that over when Juan bounced through the doorway. “The mayor is on Harold's phone for Pedro. He says it is urgent.”

Pedro was gone less than five minutes. When he returned, it was to inform Simon, “We must go. Enrique wishes to speak with us both. Immediately.”

As they were leaving, Harold said, “Just one thing. I heard from my friend at NASA, the hedge fund investor. He'll be down this way in three days and wants to see the device for himself.”

Simon stifled a groan. “The machine doesn't work.”

It was Pedro who replied, “Tell him yes.”

“You were there,” Simon protested. “You saw the disaster.”

“What I saw was an unfinished miracle. And so should he.”

“I don't know . . .”

“I do.” Pedro turned to the sunlight and the waiting day. “Now we must hurry.”

Simon remained silent through the drive, his mind flitting from one unresolved issue to another. Pedro left Ojinaga and headed south along the desert highway, then turned through wooden gates and drove along a washboard road. The restaurant was built within an old ranch, bordered by a dilapidated barn and feeding troughs and a wind-driven well with squeaky fan blades. Longhorn cattle grazed the surrounding scrubland, drifting through the midday heat. A massive helicopter stood gleaming in the rear corral, utterly at odds with its environment.

The restaurant's interior was polished and rustic at the same time. The lighting was muted and the windows heavily draped. The walls and floors were varnished the color of frozen honey. A surprising number of people were dining and talking and having a good time. The air was rich with the fragrances of wood smoke and steaks.

Enrique was seated at the back of the restaurant. The walls between what had probably once been the living and dining areas had been torn out. The two rooms were divided by struts the thickness of tree trunks. Enrique's table could have held six. He sat there, alone, while three people stood in front of him talking softly. He ate with gusto, his knife and fork clattering as he listened to the trio. Simon stopped at the entry to the second room because that was where Pedro halted. Waiting to be recognized.

Enrique spoke a few words, and the trio bowed from the waist and turned and walked past Simon, their eyes downcast, their faces blank. Enrique called to Pedro, who motioned for Simon to remain where he was. The assistant town manager approached the table and stood where the trio had been, his hands clasped before him, the patient supplicant. Enrique spoke for a time, then dismissed Pedro with the hand holding the knife. Pedro walked past Simon without meeting his gaze and slipped from the room.

“Simon! How good to see you. Please, join me.” Enrique used a foot to push out a chair. “Are you hungry, my friend? This place has the best cuts of beef in all Chihuahua state. My favorite is aged Kobe beef. Imported from Japan.”

The smell left him famished. But the way Enrique had dismissed Pedro galled him. “Thanks. I'm good.”

A man stood in the corner between the window and the support beams, as though he intended to disappear in plain sight. Simon recognized him as the driver who had brought Enrique to the orphanage. He wore dark pants and white shirt and steel-toed boots. Aviator glasses dangled from his shirt pocket. He watched Simon with unblinking intensity.

Enrique gestured at his plate with his knife. “Are you certain you will not join me? The orphanage food cannot be a culinary delight. No? Well, then, why I asked to speak with you. Am I correct in understanding that you took Sofia with you to the power station?”

“She wanted to come.”

“This, my friend, cannot be permitted. She is, after all, the fiancée of a candidate running for office. The press would have a field day with such an item.”

Simon had the feeling that Enrique was waiting for him to correct that statement, and point out that Sofia had not yet agreed to marry. “It won't happen again.”

“Splendid!” Enrique beamed. “I knew I could count on you. After all, you will be leaving us soon, no? Returning to your life north of the border? And we will be left here in Mexico.”

Simon took that as his dismissal and rose to his feet. “I guess I'll be getting back to Pedro.”

“There is just one more thing.”
Enrique made a production of lining up his fork and knife, dabbing his lips with the napkin, then folding it and settling it beside his plate. “I understand the blackout that struck most of Ojinaga was your fault?”

“Far as I can tell. I'm really sorry about that.”

“So this device of yours, it is dangerous, no?”

“Control of the power is the next problem to address,” Simon replied. “It's supposed to create light, not darkness.”

“And yet the city experienced a similar blackout the night that your professor died.” Enrique waved that aside. “I have been approached by an investor who is interested in purchasing your device. He agrees with you that the problem could be corrected. And it could make you some fast money.”

“Vasquez left his share of the discovery to the orphanage,” Simon pointed out. “Harold has to be involved in these decisions.”

“Harold is a charming old man, no?” Enrique seemed to find that amusing. “Then I will bring up the issue when we next meet. After all, we both want the same thing. In the meantime, I must have it back.”

“Excuse me?”

“You will cease work on the device and return it to the city. I have been contacted by the state prosecutor. The professor's death is still under investigation. His device is evidence.”

Simon noticed how the driver pushed himself off the wall, as though readying himself for combat. The man was small and slender, yet he carried himself with an air of tightly controlled menace.

Simon turned back to Enrique. “You're the boss.”

“Excellent! My driver will stop by this afternoon.” Enrique's smile was brilliant. “We must not keep the city waiting, no?”

When Simon emerged from the restaurant, Pedro stood beneath the front awning's shade, watching a steer sharpen his horns on a fence railing. The horns were three feet across. The bull stopped scoring the fence long enough to look at Simon. Then he snorted and went back to digging another furrow in the scarred fence.

Pedro asked, “What did Enrique want?”

“He said the professor's device is evidence and the city wants it back. I had the impression the man's got a totally different goal in mind.” Pedro winced and Simon regretted having spoken. The mayor was, after all, this man's ally. “Maybe I'm just blowing smoke.”

“This is Mexico,” Pedro slowly replied. “You mess with the bull, you risk meeting the horns.”