Unlimited (16 page)

Which meant it was time to act first and ask later. Simon's favorite way of moving forward. “I need the thickest electrical cable this place has.”

“There is some in the garage.”

“Great. And a knife and a pair of pliers and some big alligator clips, you know the kind?”

“Like when the van does not start, yes?”

“Perfect.”

Juan was a kid made to be excited. “Come with me, Señor Simon!”

According to Harold, the orphanage had once belonged to the wealthiest landowners in the village. They had shared the buildings lining the courtyard with household servants and trusted staff. The garage had originally held a blacksmith's shop and stables for a dozen horses. The forge and anvil were still there, in the far corner of the huge space, beneath a leaf-strewn skylight. The garages and work space were empty now, save for the dilapidated church van, an ancient Model T that Harold had acquired with the house, and several dozen boxes holding more components of the solar lanterns that did not work. Yet.

Five minutes later, Simon was unfurling a dusty cable, his hands protected by a pair of work gloves. The gloves' canvas was cracked and stiff, but they helped in laying out the cable. Simon slung the cable over his shoulders and scaled the rear wall, next to the orphanage's mains. With Juan feeding the cable, he transitioned to the telephone pole and climbed up to the transformer.

Simon had studied electrical engineering because it had come naturally to him. The logical step-by-step order was easy for him to memorize. He could do most of the schematics while half asleep. Or hungover. Which he had been, more often than not.

Vasquez, on the other hand, was a particle physicist. Vasquez and he had linked up Simon's second year. Vasquez had seen something in him. Twice he had even broached the subject of Simon staying on to do graduate research under his supervision.

And look how Simon had repaid the man.

Simon tested the leads and was rewarded with a sizeable spark. He made a note to thank the kid for the gloves and saving him from some nasty burns. He fitted on the clips. “Juan.”

“Señor Simon!”

“Go try a switch.”

The kid vanished and was soon back, dancing in place. “There is light everywhere!”

“Then we're good to go.” He could come back later with some rope to hold it all in place. Simon slipped back onto the clay tiles lining the wall, then bounced down to the ground. “High-five.”

As they slapped palms, Harold emerged from his rooms in the admin wing. He spotted them, studied the situation for a moment, then walked over. Juan instantly froze, his shoulders shrinking down and caving inward, the perfect picture of a guilty teen. Simon's grin faded, despite how he had a hundred arguments, all of them excellent.

But Harold did not say anything. He stood there with his arms crossed, studying the cable connected to the mains and snaking up the rear wall and connecting to the transformer. Then he gripped the cable and pulled hard. The clips popped off with a crack and a spark and fell to his feet. “We do not steal.”

“You've got a kitchen full of rotting . . .” Simon stopped. There was something in Harold's gaze that faded his words to nothing. Simon could have handled anger and condemnation. But Harold was not angry. He was disappointed.

Harold said again, “We do not steal.” He then squatted down beside Juan, bringing himself to eye level. “This is how it begins. The one small act, done for all the right reasons. The act that opens the floodgates. We do not lie. We do not steal. Do you understand?”

Juan hesitated, then nodded. “I am sorry, Dr. Harold.”

Harold rose to full height. “Go ring the bell for chapel.”

When the kid scampered away, Simon said, “I just wanted to help.”

“My one goal in life is to give these kids a strong moral foundation and to help them realize they are valuable in God's eyes. I have to shout against the world to be heard.” Harold pointed through the open gates. “Out there, they are seen as nothing. More throwaway kids, destined for the gangs and jail and an early grave. In here, I arm them with the gospel and with an awareness of their own potential.”

There was no criticism in his words. No condemnation of what Simon had tried to do. Even so, he felt ashamed. More than that. Simon felt as though he stood before a mirror, one that revealed the person behind the deed. The dark corners, the cynical attitude, the easy swagger that led him from one quick high to the next.

“I don't hide it from the kids that we're facing a hard time. I try to shelter them and hold this place together, but what is most important is that they see how the fundamentals of a good life remain in place, no matter what happens. Even if the orphanage has to shut down, even if I go bankrupt, even if they get shipped off to . . .” Harold stopped and massaged the point over his heart. “I hope and pray they'll carry these lessons with them for the rest of their days. To identify their gifts and reach for the stars. To accept that the Scriptures lay out a path for them to follow, in realizing their full worth.”

Harold stood there a moment, as though seeking to imbed the words more deeply through silence. Then he turned and walked away.

As he slipped into the last pew, Simon saw this was not the first time they had lost power. Not by a long shot. A number of the older kids, Juan included, moved around the front, lighting candles and placing them in little stone holders. Juan refused to meet his eye. Simon could understand that. He knew now that he had taken the kid in the wrong direction. It shamed him as well. When Pedro slipped into the pew beside him, Simon could not even bring himself to return the man's greeting.

Harold led the kids in song, then prayed, and spoke, and prayed again. Simon listened, but he really didn't absorb anything. He was too intently focused on the kids, and on Harold. The kids didn't merely obey him. They loved the old man. They trusted him. They listened with their entire being. They followed his direction. And he led them to God.

Harold had been a successful businessman. He had stamped his mark in the competitive world of international industry. He had been a NASA scientist. He had done so much, but Simon knew this was what the man considered his greatest triumph. This was where his entire life had been leading. To this moment. Standing in front of a group of castoff kids in an orphanage on the brink of closure. Teaching them the right way to live.

The difference between these orphans and Simon's early years could not be denied. His clearest memory of his own parents was how they had shouted at one another. And the way his mother smelled when she leaned over him at night, the gin and the cigarettes on her breath and her clothes. His dad had been perpetually angry and often drunk. Simon had lived with his grandmother for a while, but she wasn't well, and he'd become a ward of the state. He'd lived in foster homes, some good, others truly awful.

But school had been a breeze, and he looked old for his age, so at fifteen he used a fake ID to land a job waiting tables. He aced the SATs and got accepted to MIT, earning a scholarship that he almost lost a half-dozen times, going up before the disciplinary board so often he knew all of their names. Getting kicked out had been a foregone conclusion. It was amazing he'd lasted to his senior year.

Only Armando Vasquez had refused to give up on him.

Which was when the shame threatened to choke off his air. The burning in his lungs was matched by the coal-like fire behind his eyes. Simon bent over his knees and fought for control.

He felt a hand come to rest upon his shoulder and knew it was Pedro. Which only made control harder to come by.

When he straightened, he realized that the chapel was empty. It surprised him, how he hadn't even noticed their departure. The air was clogged with the smell of old wax and smoke rising from a dozen extinguished candles.

Pedro asked, “You are okay?”

Simon swallowed hard. “Sure.”

“Do you wish to pray?”

“I don't . . . Thanks. But . . .”

Pedro gave a slow nod, as though Simon's battered words were completely clear. “The power has returned. Come. Breakfast is waiting.”

After breakfast Simon returned to the classroom and opened the duffel bag. He had been avoiding this because of what he assumed he would find. A sensitive apparatus designed for laboratory conditions was never intended to survive a car wreck, much less a race across desert terrain and being dumped in a drainage ditch. Almost none of the connectors had survived. Three of the motherboards were shattered. The tuning crystals appeared to be cracked.

Expecting to find this did not ease Simon's disappointment. He dumped the contents on the table and started sorting through the debris. It was unlikely he could get the thing to work until after his return to Cambridge. But he could at least assess the damage and try to figure out how to apply Vasquez's final research.

“Señor Simon?” Juan stood in the doorway, half in the room and half ready to bolt.

“Come on in. It's okay.” Simon hated seeing him like that, his enthusiasm dampened, his gaze dull. “Look, Harold was right and I was wrong, okay? And you're a great kid.”

The boy's grin was blinding. “Can I help?”

“Not with this. But hey, if you can grab a few others, we can set up an assembly for the lanterns.”

“And make Dr. Harold proud, yes?”

“You betcha.”

Which was how Sofia and Enrique found them, three hours later. Simon heard them long before he saw them. The kids banged open some door and came rushing out in a great torrential flood of noise and laughter and skinny brown limbs. They danced around Enrique as he lifted his hands, the conquering hero, the leader with the perfect smile and the beautiful woman who stood slightly apart.

To his eye, Sofia looked confused. Disturbed. Not by Enrique, maybe. Simon was not certain she saw the mayor at all. Her gaze drifted around and finally settled upon Simon standing in the classroom doorway. She lifted two fingers and gave him a little wave. Simon thought she looked sad.

Enrique was too busy doling out handfuls of candy to notice. Then Harold walked over and solemnly shook the mayor's hand, Simon assumed for getting the power back on. Enrique played at being modest, waving it away and bowing his head slightly, the practiced humility of a man who lived for such moments. Simon turned and went back inside.

From his place at the assembly table, Juan asked, “Señor Simon, can I go have candy too?”

“Knock yourself out.” Simon returned to dissecting the apparatus. It was not the happiest of jobs, but he did not mind. A lot of lab work involved breaking down equipment, replicating experiments, and rebuilding demolished hopes. Seeing if the results obtained were merely a random event or genuinely the product of good science. He had done such tasks many times before.

Which meant he was totally lost in his work when Enrique stepped in. “Señor Simon, I have some good news, some better news, and some ashes for you.”

Simon stopped what he was doing and gave the mayor an audience. Which was what Enrique wanted, of course. Someone to watch and admire as he paraded in and deposited a pair of sacks on the table beside Simon's work. “This was recovered from evidence obtained at Professor Vasquez's home.”

Simon watched him unload the professor's device, which appeared to be in worse shape than his own. “How did you get your hands on it?”

“I have my sources. Both here and in Juárez, which is where I obtained your passport application.” He unfolded the document and set it on the table as well. “Fill that in and we will get the process started this afternoon.”

Sofia leaned on the doorway opposite Juan's perch. “Harold keeps a camera in his office for the children's official documents.”

“This is great, thanks.”

“And we have managed to locate your passport. Unfortunately it will not do us any good.” Enrique set the charred remnants of Simon's passport on the table. “The police found this in the remains of your burning car.”

“No sign of the guy who attacked me?”

“Not yet. But the police, they have been notified that he is still on the prowl. Since yesterday the police have stationed officers outside the orphanage. We must be vigilant in protecting these children.”

Enrique was a finely balanced man of perhaps five foot ten, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a slender waist. His dark eyes were liquid and expressive. He wore fawn-colored slacks, pale brown loafers, alligator belt, striped dress shirt with gold cuff links, and a slender watch with a band of woven gold.

Despite the power and the looks and the woman and the station, the man appeared nervous to Simon. He took a small step back, another to the side, then returned to his station by the front table. He tapped the table with one finger, combed the hair from his forehead, touched the knot of his tie, flashed a smile at Sofia, then winked at Juan.

Simon said, “Thank you for your help.”