Velocity kv-3 Read online

  “For all we know,” DeSantos said, “he’s fine and lying low until it’s safe to resurface. He could’ve talked his way out of it.”

  “Anything’s possible,” Vail said. “Either way, I’m going to find him. And if something’s happened to him, I’m going to find whoever’s responsible. I can be a real bitch when I’m crossed.”

  “You understand he had to leave without you knowing. He couldn’t tell you.”

  “No, I don’t understand any of that. What I understand is that he lied to me. I kissed him good-bye in the morning and he told me he’d see me later that evening. But he had no intention of seeing me, did he?”

  DeSantos zipped past a car that was doing ten over the speed limit. She glanced at the speedometer. They were going 95 miles per hour.

  “We don’t know what happened. Maybe he expected to have dinner with you. But something might’ve broken on the case, and he had to leave. Don’t judge him until you know the facts.”

  “Bottom line. He was doing this and chose not to tell me. Omission of facts is the same as lying, Hector. He deceived me. How can I trust him the same way ever again? Trust is one of the most important things in a relationship.”

  “I’m married, Karen. I understand where you’re coming from. But until you give Robby a chance to explain, you’re not being fair. You’re taking this personally, not looking at it as a federal agent who has an in-depth knowledge of deep cover work.”

  “You don’t know what I’ve been through. A failed marriage. A spouse who went from loving husband to abusive drunk who refused to take his medication. I needed someone I could trust, someone I could lose myself in and not worry about whether or not he was lying to me.” She shook her head. “As far as I’m concerned, there are no excuses. When we find him, Hector, I’m going to kill him.”

  THEY ARRIVED AT THEIR MEET with the contact, whom DeSantos called “Sammy.” It wasn’t his real name, but it was safer this way for all involved.

  DeSantos pulled his Corvette up to the curb in front of Professors Gate at The George Washington University on 21st Street NW. He shoved the shift into park and popped open his door.

  “I don’t think we can leave it here,” Vail said.

  “Not a problem. If they start to write up a ticket, they’ll run my plate and everything’ll be fine.”

  Vail looked at him. “You’re not really serious.”

  DeSantos slipped on his wraparound sunglasses. “Really, I am.” He dropped the keys into his suit pocket. “You worry too much, Karen.”

  He walked through the decorative wrought iron arch, which was supported by two squat concrete tile columns. “GW” was prominently lettered in gold on black above the apex of the curve.

  “Why here?” Vail asked as she followed him along the red brick pathway.

  “Why not? It’s my alma mater. I donate every year when they call me, so I may as well get some use out of my donation.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the point.”

  “It’s not, but so what?” They walked past a black circular sculpture seated on a square cement emplacement within a slightly elevated grass strip: three circles intertwined within one another. They continued past it toward Kogan Plaza and stopped near a miniature concrete gazebo topped with a copper dome. A man in jeans and a navy sweatshirt leaned against one of its ionic columns, pulling on a cigarette.

  “Kogan Plaza,” DeSantos said, nodding at a brick-laid square ahead of them. “Bart Kogan’s a big donor to the school.”

  “You know him, of course.”

  “Matter of fact, I do. Friend of mine introduced me to him once, when he was in town. Had coffee. Nice guy.”

  DeSantos stopped short of the structure and took a seat on a weathered wooden bench to his left, positioned beneath a row of medium-height trees. Vail sat beside him.

  Vail tilted her head toward the gazebo. “That Sammy?”

  “It is,” DeSantos said. “He’ll be over in a minute.” He turned to Sammy, removed and replaced his sunglasses, then put his arm across the back of the bench behind Vail. “Let me do the talking, okay? He’ll be nervous enough with you here.”

  “He’s got a baseball hat on, sunglasses and a beard. I’m guessing the beard’s fake. Is he really worried I might ID him?”

  “A guy like this doesn’t take chances.” DeSantos pulled out a pack of Juicy Fruit. “And neither do I.” He flipped open the gum and removed a stick, then offered Vail a piece. She declined.

  As DeSantos folded the Juicy Fruit into his mouth, Sammy joined them on the bench, to DeSantos’s left. He did not look at them.

  He lowered his chin and said, “Your friend was working on an op known as Velocity. The op’s been active since 2006 and heated up this year when we caught a break. Things were moving nicely till one of our guys had an accident. Your friend filled that void.”

  “What was the op?” Vail asked.

  DeSantos turned to her and gave her a look.

  Tough shit, Hector. I’m here. I’m going to ask questions.

  Sammy tilted his head back, his aviator sunglasses reflecting the glary sky like a mirror. “It’s far-reaching. But bringing down a cartel’s one of the primary objectives.”

  “Which cartel?” Vail asked.

  Sammy’s mirrored glasses flicked over to Vail. It was evident he was not pleased with her intrusions. His gaze slid over to DeSantos. “Cortez.”

  “Cortez—” Vail said, then stopped herself. Holy shit. That’s the big leagues.

  Sammy craned his head around, searching the immediate area. “I’ve said enough.”

  DeSantos dipped his chin. “Appreciate it.”

  “Wait,” Vail said. “That’s it? How does César Guevara fit into this?”

  Sammy looked at DeSantos. His expression was as unreadable as stone. “See you around.”

  He rose from the bench and turned in the direction of the gazebo. Vail started to get up, but DeSantos clamped down on her arm with vise-like strength.

  “Let him go, Karen.”

  She pulled away—to no avail. “But he knows more than he told us.”

  “If he does, he’ll let me know. He said what he felt he could say in front of you. Let’s run with what he gave us.”

  DeSantos released his grip. Vail turned and watched Sammy dissolve into the moving mass of students. Vail put a hand to her forehead, then rose and began to pace. “This is worse than I thought, Hector. Carlos Cortez, Jesus Christ. Cortez is one of the most violent and aggressive cartels.”

  DeSantos looked off and, for the first time, Vail saw a look of concern on his face.

  49

  He’s not coming,” Brix said.

  Dixon twisted her wrist and consulted her watch for what felt like the fiftieth time. Sitting and waiting, when so much was at stake, was a difficult skill to master. She still hadn’t perfected it. Her knee was bouncing and she felt the need to scream—anything—to burn off the excess adrenaline.

  Brix stood up and brushed off his pants. “What do you want to do?”

  Dixon got to her feet and looked up at the sky. It was bright and warm. It would be unseasonably hot today. “He’s not home and he’s not at work. Let’s poke around and see if anyone knows what’s going on. He has a secretary. It’s 9:00 AM, start of normal business hours. Why isn’t she here?”

  Brix pulled his phone. “You got the number for Superior Mobile Bottling?” Dixon gave it to him, and he dialed. A moment later, he closed his handset. “They’re closed for annual maintenance. What do you think, bullshit?”

  “I don’t know. But let’s go talk with someone who might.”

  DIXON’S LAST VISIT to Wedded Bliss Vineyards seemed like weeks ago—but it was only a few days. She led Brix up to the glass structure built into the face of a mountain. Brix marveled and made all the appropriate gaping movements with his mouth.

  “Makes Silver Ridge look like a shack.”

  “You should be proud of your winery, Redd. I wanted to own a winery o
nce.”

  “Yeah? What happened?”

  “Money happened. It was expensive back ten years ago. Now it’s just plain ridiculous.”

  “It’s business. Supply and demand. Napa’s a very valuable brand. That means the value of the finite amount of land goes up. We were lucky our family got in when land was cheap.” He tilted his chin up toward the glass roof, beyond which lay the soil and roots of the mountain that towered above them. “But even if I’m not actively involved, I am proud of it. It’s ours. And we turn out high-quality wine.” He gestured at the pristinely lit glass structure around them. “But then you see a place like this, it feels like a different league.”

  “Up the stairs. Crystal’s waiting for us.”

  They walked into Crystal Dahlia’s all-glass office and dispensed with the pleasantries. Crystal grinned. “And how’s your friend. Agent Vail?”

  “Back in Virginia.”

  “Did she enjoy her stay out west?”

  Dixon and Brix shared a knowing look. Dixon said, “Not particularly.”

  “Oh,” Crystal said, her smile fading. “I’m sorry.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” Dixon said. “Circumstances beyond our control.”

  “So how is Silver Ridge, Lieutenant Brix?”

  Brix threw out both hands, palms up. “Who can complain? The economy sucks, sales are down a bit. But the wine is great. I’m told this will probably be a good year for the grapes if the weather goes as expected.”

  “I’m told the same thing.”

  “If you don’t mind,” Dixon said. “We’ve got some pressing business. No pun intended.” She waited a beat, then said, “Your board—the Georges Valley AVA.”

  “I told you, my presidency is almost over.”

  “Yes,” Dixon said. “But we need some information about Superior Mobile Bottling. César Guevara, in particular.”

  Crystal placed well-manicured red nails on her desk. “Our contracts VP has dealt with him more than I have.”

  “That’s Ian Wirth?”

  “Good memory. If you wait a few minutes, Ian will be here if you’d like to talk with him. I’m due to hand over my file as part of the transition to the new president.”

  Dixon checked her watch yet again. “A few minutes?”

  “Any minute now.” Crystal picked up her phone and dialed an extension. “When Mr. Wirth arrives, please send him up to my office . . . He has? Excellent.” She placed the receiver back in its cradle. “Ian just came in the front doors.”

  A moment later, Wirth was in Crystal’s office, taking a seat beside Dixon.

  “Ian, good to see you,” Crystal said, eyeing him with a lingering gaze.

  The look was not lost on Dixon, who recalled that Crystal was Wirth’s ex-wife.

  “Ms. Dixon, good to see you again,” Wirth said. He held out a hand to Brix. “Ian Wirth.”

  “Redmond Brix.” He stood and shook firmly, then retook his seat. “Good that you’re here. We’ve got some questions and Crystal thought you might be able to help us out. We know you were your board’s primary negotiator in its dealings with Superior Mobile Bottling. But how much did you interact with César Guevara?”

  Wirth smirked. “Quite a lot. I negotiated our last contract with him and had ongoing discussions with him about its potential renewal.”

  “And was he aware that you were one of the three on the board who was against him getting this contract?”

  Wirth leaned back in his seat. “If he was, he never let me know it. And I played my cards close to the vest. Besides, I was speaking and negotiating for the entire membership, not me, or Victoria, or Todd.”

  “I know you’re aware that the two others who opposed this contract are dead.”

  “Hold it a second.” This from Crystal, who was suddenly paying attention. “What are you saying?”

  “Victoria Cameron and Isaac Jenkins were the victims of a serial killer,” Brix said.

  “I heard something on the news—”

  Brix held up a hand to quash Crystal’s panic before it could work itself into a frazzle. “He’s been caught, and he’s no longer a threat.”

  “Yes, that’s what they said.” Crystal’s gaze shot from Brix to Dixon, and back. “But I thought Victoria had a stroke.”

  “We didn’t want word getting out until we had things under control,” Brix said. “The victims’ names still haven’t been released, so I’d appreciate if you’d keep that to yourselves until we’ve had a chance to meet with the families.”

  Dixon said to Wirth, “Did you ever have any indication that Superior was engaged in anything other than legal activities?”

  Wirth’s chin jutted back. “No. Should I have? I mean, our business with him was strictly related to bottling, and nothing else.”

  Dixon placed a hand on his forearm. “Ian, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about this. We’re not accusing you of anything. Like I said at lunch, we’re still investigating something that may or may not be related to John Mayfield.”

  Wirth’s shoulders relaxed a bit. Brix asked, “Was there ever a time when Superior closed down for annual maintenance?”

  “Annual maintenance. You mean on his rigs?”

  “On anything,” Dixon said.

  Wirth thought a moment. “Nothing I’m aware of. But our business with them is seasonal, so it’s conceivable he went off line. I’d have no idea.” Wirth sucked on his top lip. “But he did periodically make trips out of the country. There were a couple times when our appointments got rescheduled because he had to leave unexpectedly for a week or ten days at a time.”

  Dixon said, “So there may be a perfectly reasonable explanation for him being gone.”

  “Maybe,” Brix said in a low voice. “I’m not so sure.”

  A thought wormed its way into Dixon’s head, but she didn’t want to discuss it until she and Brix were in private.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about Guevara?” Brix asked.

  Wirth did not hesitate. “He’s a shrewd businessman. He understands his product and what it saves his customers. At the same time, he does what it takes to get our business. And I have to admit, even though I was resisting the renewal of his contract, it wasn’t because they didn’t do a fine job. There were other forces at play.”

  Dixon smirked. There were, indeed, other forces at play—more than Ian Wirth knew. “Has he ever been to your home, know where you live?”

  “No, why?”

  “So he wouldn’t have a need for your home address.”

  Wirth eyed her cautiously. “No.”

  Dixon slipped a hand inside her pocket and pulled out Robby’s photo. “Ever seen this man?”

  Wirth studied the picture, then shook his head. “Should I have?”

  Dixon tucked away the photo. “I honestly don’t think so.” She rose and extended a hand to Crystal. “Once again, Ms. Dahlia, a pleasure. Thanks for all your help. “Ian, thank you. We’ll call you if we have any other questions.”

  She hurried out of the winery, anxious to share her thoughts with Brix.

  AS SOON AS DIXON hit the front door, she said, “Add it up, Redd.”

  Brix glanced back over his shoulder at the glass structure embedded in the mountainside. “Already have. Guevara’s involved with a drug cartel. He owns several rigs that can easily be attached to large trailers and used for long haul transport.”

  “I think we’ve got enough for a search warrant.”

  “If we get the right judge. Let’s work on it, see how far we can get. Whether Guevara’s there or not, it’ll get us in the front door so we can take a closer look around.”

  “If we’re going to find Robby, I don’t think that’ll help us. We need Guevara. And we need to find him without going down the usual roads because I doubt they’ll lead anywhere. APBs and subpoenas on his credit card transactions will be useless. He’s too sophisticated for that. But somehow we need to find out what he knows.”

  Brix sighed. “You know wha
t my brother would say?”

  Dixon shrugged.

  “He’d say, ‘Good luck with that.’”

  “Yeah,” Dixon said. “But here’s the thing. Luck hasn’t once factored into this investigation. I don’t think it’s something we can count on.”

  50

  DeSantos gunned the Corvette. Vail, once again, grabbed for something to hold onto. The repeated whiplash was starting to get to her.

  Four minutes earlier, DeSantos had received a call from ASAC Yardley telling him that Antonio Sebastiani de Medina had surfaced and was being debriefed at the DEA’s facility at Quantico.

  Vail showed her creds and was admitted to the base. DeSantos zipped along the road past the FBI Academy and five minutes later pulled into the parking lot of the DEA’s decade-old training academy complex.

  Inside, after being informed that they were on the premises, Peter Yardley walked out into the hallway. “He showed up at the front gate. No ID, no money, and he hadn’t eaten in two days. Apparently he babbled enough credible information that the guard got me on the line.”

  “Can we see him?” Vail asked.

  “He’s had a rough go of it. Normally, I’d say we should give him some time. But—”

  “We don’t have that luxury,” Vail said firmly.

  Yardley frowned. “No, we don’t. Follow me.” He led Vail and DeSantos down a long corridor. The building still had a new construction feel to it, even after a decade of use. Multicolored blue, red, and gray industrial carpet led up to glass administrative doors. “Undercover agents are not normally debriefed at the Quantico facility,” Yardley said. “It’s used primarily for training, but he was in a bad way and I didn’t want to risk transporting him. The nurse has him hooked up to fluids and he’s perking up. But we haven’t gotten a whole lot out of him yet.” Yardley pushed through a wooden classroom door and held it open for them.

  Inside, a trim-bearded man with an olive complexion sat at a table with an IV snaking from his left hand.

  Antonio Sebastiani de Medina.

  “I’m Karen Vail,” she said. “This is Hector DeSantos.”

  Sebastian’s gaze flicked between them. “You’re Robby’s girlfriend,” he said softly.