Unlimited (24 page)

“There is. Perhaps. Yes.”

“With the orphanage?”

“Not that I am aware. Well, that is not entirely true.”

“Your hesitation is scaring me.”

“I spend much of my days being afraid.” Consuela cast her a long look. “I would like to ask that you trust me.”

“I do.”

“Just like that?”

“We have known each other for how long, two years? In that time you have delivered almost twenty children to the orphanage. I see your care and concern for the little ones. I wonder at how you can remain a good person and see the things you must. Of course I trust you.” Sofia fought against the constriction in her chest. “Now tell me what is so bad you are afraid to share the news. Please.”

“It is not the news that is the concern. It is the need to ask related questions. Possibly.”

“You need to ask me something difficult.”

“I do. Yes.”

“It doesn't have to do with the orphanage, your questions.”

“No.”

She saw the formal way Consuela sat, the cautious blankness to her gaze. It could only mean one thing. “You want to ask me about Enrique.”

Consuela responded with a fraction of a nod. “Before I do this thing, I wish to share with you a confidence. By telling you this, I place two lives in your hands. My own and another.”

“Are you certain you must?”

“No. But I think I should.”

Sofia braced herself. “Very well. I am ready.”

“I am escorting you and Juan back to Ojinaga because it offers me a cover, an excuse that I can display publicly. I have a confidential source in Ojinaga. A highly placed secret informant. It is why I was transferred from Mexico City to the state police. So that I could handle this source. She sought me out, you see. Apparently she knew my father.”

“What does all this have to do with me?”

“She has been feeding me information for some time, this source. Occasionally there have been items that have made no sense. Until today, I have discounted the evidence. But it does not mean she is untrustworthy, this source. She could have been intentionally misled. It happens.”

“This information, it has to do with Enrique?”

“Perhaps.” Consuela's words grew very slow, as though each required great effort. “I have been very reluctant to even consider such a thing. But lately . . .”

Sofia straightened in her chair. “Ask your questions.”

Instead Martinez glanced over her shoulder and shook her head. Sofia heard her partner offer Juan an ice from the sweet shop across the plaza. Martinez waited until they moved away. “Harold has been shot.”

“What?”

“There was an attempt to rob Simon in the central square. Or so the police have claimed. And the report could of course be true. But Ojinaga does not normally attract the sort of violent person who would hold up a tourist in the middle of the day in the town's central market.”

Her head was spinning. “Harold was shot? Or Simon?”

“Harold. Simon was with your brother in the electronics shop. A man came in demanding Simon's carryall. Harold hit him with a vase. A gun went off. Harold was grazed. He is fine.”

“I must go to him. He is in the hospital?”

“No. My . . . source felt it was not safe. She took him back to the orphanage.”

“I don't understand. Your source happened to be there?”

“This was no coincidence. She has been following them ever since she received word that certain people in power were showing a keen interest in Simon Orwell.”

“Wait, please. If Harold is not in the hospital, how can your source be certain he is all right?”

Martinez leaned across the table. “My source is Dr. Clara.”

“
No
. The bruja? Impossible.”

“I assure you, it is so. And she is no witch. She is a doctor who became sickened by seeing so many young men die a senseless death. So she came to me and asked how she could help stop the violence. We trained her. Then slowly, slowly, she let it be known to the dark forces in our society that her loyalty was for sale. For six years now she has been the cartel's trusted ally in the Ojinaga city council.”

Sofia felt her head swirling from multiple shocks. “What does this have to do with Enrique?”

“Most of the border regions have been placed under the watch of the military and my own task force. It is becoming hard for the cartels to operate profitably. We have heard they want to move into Ojinaga. But do so in total secrecy. Which means they must have a hidden protector.”

“No,” Sofia protested weakly.

“When Dr. Clara first suggested it was your fiancé, we of course discounted the possibility. But there have been hints recently. Fragments of evidence. Nothing definite, but taken all together they suggest that this may indeed be true.”

She felt all her own doubts, all her hesitations, all her unanswered yearnings coalesce into one great lump at the core of her being. Sofia forced herself to say, “Ask your questions.”

Martinez's face appeared carved from golden stone. “I would be grateful if you would tell me everything you possibly can about Enrique Morales.”

Dr. Clara pulled up tight to the orphanage gates. “Get him inside.”

As Simon and Pedro helped Harold from the car, the police officer on guard duty started toward them. Dr. Clara crossed the road and spoke with him. Pedro held Harold by his good side. Simon walked on his other side, maintaining pressure on the compress bandage. Dr. Clara caught up with them as they passed the chapel. They hurried across the courtyard and into Harold's office. Simon heard the kids talking in the classrooms and hoped no one saw them.

Dr. Clara helped ease Harold into the office's one chair. “I don't have my equipment. Does the orphanage have a clinic?”

“First aid only,” Pedro replied. “My sister carries a medical kit. But she is away.”

“In Juárez. I know.” Dr. Clara eased away the blood-soaked shirt. “Two bits of good news. First, the bleeding has almost stopped. Second, the bullet only creased the top of your shoulder. There should be no permanent damage. How do you feel?”

“Like I've been shot.” Harold's tongue sounded overly thick for his mouth.

“Don't pass out on me.”

Pedro demanded, “Who are you to be giving orders around here?”

She narrowed her gaze. “The one person who might save Simon's life.”

Even Harold focused on that news. “What do you mean by that?”

“Later. First we need to cauterize this wound. Pedro, go to the kitchen and bring me a container of cayenne pepper.”

But Pedro did not budge. “How do you know my sister is away?”

“That, too, must wait. Also I need a needle and thread. Surely your clinic has that, yes?” When Pedro still did not move, she snapped, “Go!”

Pedro rolled his eyes. “Make sure she doesn't poison him.”

Simon asked, “Save me from what?”

Dr. Clara looked at him then. Really looked. Her face was flat, her features very squared off and tight. She reminded Simon of photographs he had seen of Incan Indians, an ancient race with very distinct features, very unreadable. She said, “You need to listen very carefully.”

“This is coming from the woman who cheated me and lied with every breath, am I getting this right?”

Harold turned toward him then. “Simon.”

“What?”

“You must finish the device.”

Simon was reluctant to break away from the woman's flat gaze. “Shouldn't we talk about that later?”

“You need to listen to him,” Dr. Clara said. “It all comes down to the apparatus.”

“Which you tried to steal for a thousand bucks!”

Pedro rushed back into the room. “I have the pepper. And there was a surgical sewing kit in the clinic.”

“Any antibiotics? Pain medication?”

“Just this bottle of Tylenol. Everything else is with Sofia.”

“Then this will have to do.” She lifted the pepper tin. “Hold still.”

She dumped a liberal portion into the wound. Harold's roar shook the wall behind Simon. Dr. Clara chided, “The children.”

Pedro hissed, “You are a witch doctor!”

“I am a specialist of modern medicine. But I have also studied ancient Mexican techniques. Cayenne pepper will clot a wound in ten seconds. It possesses antibacterial and antifungal properties. It also numbs the surrounding tissue. Watch.” She threaded the curved needle and inserted it into Harold's shoulder. “Do you feel anything?”

“Everything hurts.”

“But you cannot feel this needle, am I correct?” She swiftly inserted five stitches, then tied and snipped off the thread. “You'll be fine. Just drink lots of water. And rest.”

“My head is pounding.”

She shook out two Tylenol, poured a glass of water, then helped Harold drink. She said to Simon, “I need to give you something. Armando left you a letter.”

Pedro was shocked. “Why would he leave such a message with you?”

“Armando and I were engaged to be married. He knew about other work I have been involved in. But that discussion will also have to wait.” She reached into her purse. “Armando was very hurt by what you did. But he never stopped loving you. The closer he came to solving the problems with his machine, the more certain he became that he was being tracked. He feared for his life, but he refused to give up on his dream. So he reached out to you one final time.”

“Praying you would finish his work.” Harold's voice sounded weak but solid. “He told me this the last time we met. He prayed you would make his goals your own.”

Clara handed Simon a wrinkled envelope. “He asked me to give you this.”

Pedro started to ask something when the phone in Harold's office rang. The sound startled them all. He crossed to the desk in the adjoining room, spoke briefly, then returned to say, “The church in America wants to make sure I am bringing the solar lanterns. They have an event planned for tonight.”

Harold said, “Of course you're going.”

“I can't go while you are like this.”

“We need the money. Go.”

“But . . .” Pedro was halted by the sound of several vehicles pulling up in front of the gates. He ducked out, then returned to say, “More police have arrived.”

Harold struggled to rise. “I'll go talk to them.”

“You will stay exactly where you are. I'll speak with them myself. But it won't do any good.”

Pedro demanded, “What is happening?”

“I am not yet fully certain. One thing I do know. Simon, you can trust no one outside these gates. Do you hear me? A smile can conceal great menace. Say nothing to anyone except me or Agent Martinez. And say nothing to anyone about this conversation. To the outside world, I must remain your enemy. Both our lives depend upon this.”

“Your words are nonsense,” Pedro complained. “Why were you after us in the city? How did you know about Sofia? Why are the police following you?”

“Your questions are valid, but you must hold them until later. Simon, are you ready?”

“For what?”

Dr. Clara's face shone with grim foreboding. “For a Mexican prison.”

Pedro went out and spoke with the police who had gathered around the orphanage gates. He returned to Harold's office. He and Clara spoke in Spanish. She gave off terse replies, saying little in response to his questions. Twice she spoke his sister's name. Pedro returned to Harold's office, dialed, and cut the connection. He spoke two words in English, “Voice mail.”

“Go speak to the children while they're still in class,” Clara urged.

“What should I say?”

“Harold is unwell. But he will soon be fine. That is enough.”

Pedro glanced at Simon. “And about the police?”

“They will be leaving soon.”

When Pedro departed, Simon said, “A few answers would be nice.”

“A little information will do you no good, and there is not time for more.” She indicated the unopened letter. “Armando is waiting.”

But Simon put the letter in his pocket. “I'm having trouble accepting you're not the enemy.”

“Much in Mexico these days is not as it first appears.”

“That's not much of an answer.”

“Simon, I will tell you everything. But not now.” She showed him an ancient's gaze. “I can't ask you to trust me. But I must ask you to be patient.”

Pedro entered the office. “If I am to arrive at the Presidio church in time, I must be leaving.”

“Go,” Clara ordered. “You can do nothing here.”

Pedro eyed the doctor with suspicion. “And Harold?”

She glanced through the bedroom's open doorway. “He is resting. Go.”

Pedro crossed the courtyard and climbed into the van and drove out. The police halted him, had a long conversation, then inspected the boxes in the rear. Simon watched through the office window. He was fairly certain they had been making sure he was not hiding in the van's rear hold.