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The other guy turned around. “And this is not a request.”

Simon knew this was where it had been headed, ever since he had accepted their first packet of weed. He also knew he had no choice. “I can do that.”

“I know you can,” the man replied, turning back around. “No muss, no fuss. You open the door, you code the alarm. We go in, we leave. Simple.”

Later that night, Simon had done it. But it had not been simple.

The police held him overnight. They pushed hard enough to terrify him with the prospect of prison. They showed him photographs of the duo and tagged him as having met with them that night. In the bar. And in the alley. Revealing in the process that they had been keeping the bar under surveillance. Assuring him that somebody was going down hard.

They then asked if the professor had been in on this. Offering Simon his only out. Which he took. Without an instant's hesitation. And he'd been paying for it ever since.

Simon lowered his forehead to the cold metal table. He yearned for the power to turn back the clock. But he couldn't. He felt as though he had already spent a year trapped inside this dungeon. Not the one where he sat. The one he carried with him everywhere he went.

If only he'd been able to do the right thing. Just that one time. Instead of taking the easy way out. Again. And be gnawed at by guilt ever since. Until he arrived here. In a windowless Mexican holding cell. Until he almost welcomed whatever fate awaited him beyond that metal door.

Finally the lock rattled and the door creaked open. A lone policeman stepped inside, wearing a white shirt and dark trousers. Simon recognized him as Enrique's driver. The man was rapier thin, with a pencil moustache and the cold smile of a killer. He addressed Simon in rapid-fire Spanish.

“Sorry, man. I don't understand the lingo. But you already know that, don't you.”

The man responded by holding out his hands, wanting Simon to see how his knuckles were ridged with old scars. His eyes were terrifying. They had no bottom whatsoever.

Simon swallowed hard. “This isn't about getting answers, is it. You already know I don't have any.”

The man pulled a leather sap from his pocket and patted it against his palm. The sap made a sickening sound. He spoke a single word, a soft sibilant noise. He started forward, the sap still flicking back and forth.

Then the door opened a second time.

Clearly the man had not expected this. He turned and barked.

Agent Martinez entered the room, her gold badge open and extended. She replied and jerked her head at the door.

The policeman liked that even less. He snarled a response.

Martinez called out. A man stepped into the doorway, a gold badge dangling from his belt. The second agent stepped up alongside Martinez and spoke. He was very quiet. He did not need to be loud to get his message across.

Enrique's driver burned Simon with his glare, then he slipped from the room and was gone. Martinez said something to the other agent, who nodded and followed the officer out. She walked over and unlocked Simon from the table. “I need you to come with me.”

“Are we getting out of here?”

“Not yet. But I will make sure you are safe.”

“Dr. Clara said I should trust you.”

“She is correct. I need to lock your hands behind you again. Stand up and turn around, please.”

His legs were so shaky, he had to lean against the table. “That was Enrique's driver.”

“I am perfectly aware of who that man is.”

“He's gonna come for me the instant you take off.”

“Which is why my partner is arranging for you to be placed in solitary. He will stay on duty all night outside your cell.”

As she led him from the room, Simon said, “Those drugs they found in the lanterns were planted.”

“Those drugs are not the point.”

Simon stopped and looked at her. “That's exactly what Vasquez would have said.”

“Vasquez. Yes. The professor is certainly part of our puzzle.” Martinez gripped his arm and propelled him down the hall. “Come.”

“He was murdered.”

“Of course he was murdered. And that is also not the point.”

Simon felt like his mind had grown wings, flying high and free, liberated by the fact that he was still able to draw an easy breath. “We need to figure out why somebody went to all that trouble. Murdering him. Trashing his place. Luring me down. Trapping me on the highway. And it's all tied to Enrique, isn't it.”

“Very good, Simon. These are precisely the questions you should be asking.”

“Enrique wants my device as well as the professor's.”

“He does not just want it. He has it. He packed up all your belongings and left the orphanage soon after you did.”

“He wanted it enough to arrange for me to wind up here and send somebody to do me in.”

“In fact, he sent two people. But that must wait a moment. First we must concentrate on the issue at hand.”

Simon forced his mind to move beyond the manacles and the station and the beating that was not happening. “We need to know where Enrique took the devices.”

“Another good question. And the answer is, that is why I did not arrive sooner.”

“You followed him.”

“From the orphanage to the technical school.” Martinez nodded.

“He's going to try and have somebody else make the machine work. Somebody he controls.”

“That is what I am thinking. Enrique waited until now to order his thug to work you over.” She led him around a corner. “Which means he has made it work and doesn't need you anymore.”

“Impossible,” Simon declared flatly.

Martinez pulled him to a halt and turned him to face her. “Explain.”

“Vasquez and I have been working on this for nine months. I still don't know how to control the surge problem. Nobody starting from scratch is going to solve that problem in a couple of hours.”

Martinez's response was cut off by her partner, who rounded the corner up ahead, called to her, and pointed at his watch. Martinez started them forward. “Then we are missing something.”

“You got that right.”

“Something vital. It is up to you to find out what Enrique intends.”

She led him past the main guard station. Her partner spoke to the duty officer, who unlocked the steel door. Simon realized they were entering the jail proper and decided there was no need to protest. But either he trusted her or he was dead meat.

Simon spotted Enrique's driver. He lounged behind a counter staffed by several bored prison guards. He watched Simon with a flat, unblinking gaze.

Martinez tugged on Simon's arm. “I am going to take you to the main holding cell. This is where you would have been placed after the beating. I want you to take a look around and see if you recognize anyone.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

“Of course not. Trust goes two ways, no? It is unlikely that the officer would have killed you himself. There would be too much risk. To soften up a Yanqui drug runner is one thing. Murder, that is another.”

Simon swallowed against the queasy feeling. “I told you I didn't—”

“And I have said, Señor Simon, that is not the issue.”

He forced himself to steady up. “They planted a murderer in the pen?”

She gave him a look of grim approval. “Let us go and see.”

As soon as the long cell came into view, Simon exclaimed, “That's him!”

“Which one?”

“The guy in the leather coat. He's the one who attacked me on the road! And again at the professor's house! And he shot Harold!”

Martinez spoke to the guard, who reached for the prison roster.

Enrique's driver chose that moment to step forward and snarl a warning. The guard hesitated in the process of handing over the book. Martinez's partner stepped between the driver and Martinez. It was impossible for Simon to tell which man possessed the more deadly gaze.

Martinez turned so the guard could see the roster with her. The guard studied the pages, frowned, then spoke to another man seated at the desk in the back of the duty alcove. The second man shrugged. Enrique's driver snarled once more. This time, Martinez's partner snarled back.

Martinez shut the roster and handed it back to the guard, who was now sweating and speaking rapidly. Martinez said, “It seems there is no record of this man. No name, no reason for his arrest. Nothing.”

“Is that normal?”

In reply, Martinez spoke to her partner. The man drew his gun and moved to where he could cover both the bearded man and Enrique's driver. The bearded attacker bounded to his feet and began pacing the cell and shouting angrily. Martinez pulled Simon farther down the hall. She spoke to the perspiring guard, who jerked off another salute, snappy this time.

Martinez positioned Simon by the side wall, placed herself between him and the cell door, and drew her own weapon. The hunter's rage echoed through the concrete chambers. He moved like a bearded tiger, bounding around the cage, lashing the air with his fists and his words.

The prison guard returned with three others. One carried manacles attached to a leather belt. The other two men held Tasers at the ready. They yelled through the bars. Instantly the other prisoners shifted to the very back of the holding cell. The guards entered the cell and locked the door behind them. Martinez cocked her pistol and held it in two hands, her aim swinging back and forth. From Enrique's driver to the prisoner.

The bearded man's rage grew fiercer still as they fitted him into the manacles. Two guards gripped the cuffed man and led him out of the cell and down the hall toward the entrance, followed by Martinez's partner.

Only when they were gone did Martinez speak with the remaining guard, who led them down the hall and unlocked a solid steel door. Martinez holstered her weapon and uncuffed Simon. “I will remain outside until my partner returns. Then I will transfer the man you see to a more-secure position.”

“How long do I have to stay here?”

“As long as it takes for me to arrange the necessary papers. But I will not sleep until it is done.”

Simon could think of nothing to say except, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” She started to swing the door shut, then said, “You understand, what I said about needing to work out the puzzle.”

“Like you, I won't sleep until it's done.”

She liked that enough to smile. “There is a chance that time is against us. Dr. Clara, she insists this is so. She says something very big is happening tomorrow. And your apparatus is important to this secret plan.”

“And I'm telling you it won't work.”

“Answers, Señor Simon. We need them.” As she swung the door shut, her last word was, “Desperately.”

The bunk was nothing more than a cement slab jutting from the wall. A scummy sink dripped constantly. Simon pulled the professor's letter from his pocket, sat on the fetid mattress, reread the words, and felt the past come alive. Vasquez was there in the room with him. Simon could hear his voice speak the letter's final words, “Seek and you shall find. Use the key to open your world. Find God and the true path to your full potential. I love you always.”

Simon did not notice he was weeping until he heard the cell door being unlocked, and he found it difficult to bring the newcomer into focus. Harold entered. “Hello, son.”

Simon rose slowly to his feet, moving like an old man. He accepted Harold's one-armed embrace as Martinez entered and set down a metal chair. She waited until Harold released Simon, then said, “Ten minutes.”

Simon helped Harold ease himself into the chair and said, “The drugs they found. I didn't do it.”

“I believe you, son. But that doesn't matter. I'd still be here anyway. You want to tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“Whatever burden that you're just aching to set down.”

So he did. The secrets just poured out. The longer he spoke, the more Simon was convinced that Vasquez's final hope would have been for Simon to stop running and face the hardest truth of all. Himself.

When he went quiet and Harold asked if he wanted to pray, Simon knew he had been waiting for this all along. The chance to say, “Yes.”

As Harold finished, Martinez rattled the lock and opened the door. She helped Harold rise, then carried the chair back outside. Harold said, “I'm here for you, son. And so is Jesus.” Harold pulled a small Bible from his jacket pocket. “This might be helpful.”