Free Unlimited by Davis Bunn Page A

came another soft cry, a wordless lament against a hot and uncaring world.
    Agent Martinez spoke to Enrique, gesturing back toward the girl’s dormitory. Even the mayor’s nod carried a sense of imperial smoothness, turning the gesture into a half bow. Simon could not understand what he said, but the man’s tone carried power. The agent softened enough to smile briefly.
    Then she noticed Simon and said something that turned the mayor around. Enrique waved him over. “Señor Simon, come and meet one of the good guys!”
    Simon had no interest in talking with the cops, any cop, north or south of the border. But he had no choice. He hated how he recoiled inside, as though guilty of some crime rather than being the victim this time. Old habits died hard.
    Agent Martinez had a cop’s gaze, hard and tight and measuring. She showed no expression as Enrique said, “Señor Simon Orwell, honored guest of our fair city, was brutally attacked yesterday. How is your wound, señor?”
    “Healing.”
    “The bullet missed our guest,” Enrique said cheerfully. “The rock ricochet did not.”
    “Guns are much less common in this country,” Martinez said. “Where did this happen, señor?”
    “I was run off the highway by the industrial zone and chased through the desert.”
    Enrique set a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Señor Orwell came to visit Professor Vasquez, formerly of MIT, perhaps you have heard of him?”
    Agent Martinez hesitated a fraction of a second, then said, “Perhaps. The name sounds familiar. What was your business with the professor?”
    “We’re working on a project to transform wasted power into usable electricity.” Simon stopped and amended, “Rather, we were.”
    “There was a discussion with our city council,” Enrique went on. “Or perhaps I should say, a misunderstanding. With Dr. Clara.”
    “Ah.” The agent nodded slowly. “Of her I have most certainly heard.”
    “Señor Orwell was on his way back to the border. A man pulled a board studded with nails across the highway. The attacker chased him into the maquiladora, where Señor Simon was rescued by my assistant town manager. Very fortunate, yes? They returned to his car this morning, only to discover it had been burned out.”
    “You were carrying drugs, señor? Or large amounts of cash?”
    “Do I look to you like a courier?”
    “What you look like, señor, is a man who has had other discussions with the police.”
    “Look, I was the one attacked here.”
    “Of course, señor. And my job as agent in the national task force is to determine whether drugs or drug money was involved.”
    “There were no drugs,” Enrique said smoothly. “There was no money.”
    “You are certain of this how?”
    “Because Señor Orwell came seeking a grant to continue his scientific research that he started with Professor Vasquez. The professor has recently died. We are told it was a heart attack.”
    The agent’s phone rang. She slipped it from her belt and checked the readout. “I must take this. If you will excuse me, Mayor Morales. I am sorry for your troubles, Señor Orwell. Good day.”
    Enrique’s gaze followed the agent back through the orphanage gates. “There are too few such people in Mexican law enforcement these days. Agent Martinez is a true friend of the people. She has had numerous death threats. Her family lives in Mexico City under an assumed name.”
    Simon watched the unmarked car pull away and did not respond.
    “Is it true what she said, that you have had other run-ins with the law?”
    Simon remained silent.
    “Excuse me. It is none of my business.” The hand dropped from Simon’s shoulder. “Only, it appears you will need to apply for a new passport. I can certainly expedite matters. But this will be more difficult if you have a record.”
    Simon said carefully, “I have no priors.”
    “Excellent. In that case, it will only be a matter of a few days. A week at most.”
    “A week?”
    “Perhaps less. You could,