The entire scenario changed for Simon in the space of about three breaths.
The ground-level lightning gathered and magnified. The effects were heightened by the utter absence of any other illumination. The humming resonated at every level of the audible range and far beyond, both high- and low-end vibratory patterns. Simon knew because his entire body felt like a tuning fork. Even his bones rang to the symphony of rising power.
The electricity gathered around the apparatus until the device itself became invisible. To Simon it looked as though the machine had entered a shimmering chrysalis. The effect grew in strength, both the brilliance of the light and the sound.
Then it became painful. Both auditory and visual effects reached the point where they began to sear the senses.
Enrique shrieked, “Make it stop.”
Simon sensed the mayor was waving a pistol in his general direction. But it did not matter. Nothing did, except observing. Being the scientist. The professional analyst who designed a controlled experiment and carefully assessed the results.
Which, Simon had to admit, were totally awesome.
The lightning gathered until the ground between the transformers and the device was carpeted in power. The tapestry of energy was no longer content to remain where it was. It began to rise, a swirling pillar of blue and purple and gold lightning, an inverse whirlpool, forming a column that rose and grew and intensified.
The pillar of fire rose to join with the sky.
Simon lifted his hands to heaven. “For Vasquez!”
The police did not come with sirens. They came screaming.
If Simon’s life had not been on the line, he would have found it hilarious.
They bounded and leapt over the rough terrain. Pedro pedaled out front, yelling louder than any of them. Which was nuts. The guy didn’t even have a weapon. Maybe that was why he shouted until his voice broke. It was the only thing he had to throw.
Some of the cops had clearly not been on a bike in a long while. They puffed and they wiggled, struggling to find enough air to get up the rise, much less take aim.
Then the pillar of fire vanished. A blinding force one moment, nothing the next. The humming stopped as well.
Two seconds later, the power returned. The headlights snapped on. Radios crackled. The border crossing came back to life. In the distance rose the faint whoop-whoop of an automatic alarm.
The first gunshot came from overhead.
A stone by Simon’s left leg pinged. Martinez’s partner proved a modern-day gunslinger. He spun his bike through a tight wheelie and drew his weapon, all in one smooth motion, and fired a single shot.
Carlos yelled hoarsely and dropped from the ladder.
One of the thugs fired his weapon. Both of El Noche’s guards were instantly trapped in a hail of bullets.
The old man snarled something that did not need translation as Martinez dragged him from the car. Then Simon’s attention was caught by a flittering shadow. He was up and racing before he was fully aware that the shadow belonged to Enrique.
Simon tackled him at the point where the earth met the pavement. They fell in a heap. Enrique rolled and came up with a stone in his hand. He rasped, “Good-bye, Simon.”
Then out of the shadows raced another figure. One transformed from a soft-eyed town manager to a snarling foe.
Enrique did not stand a chance.