Simon had to admit, the location Enrique had selected was perfect for everyone but him.
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.”