Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (32 page)

Diamante continued south, toward H Street.

Shit
. She hustled to her feet—DeSantos was stil thirty or forty yards away—and resumed her pursuit.

Diamante tried cutting a hard left and he went down, sprawling in a patch of loose dirt. As he gathered himself, Vail pounced, wrapping her arms around his back. But she was only 115 pounds and Diamante was—per the DMV—200.

And that seemed about right as he flung her off his back rather easily. But Vail was not about to let her sole connection to Robby go that easily. She had an iron grip on his col ar and he dragged her forward through the dirt. She pul ed with al her weight, choking him best she could. But he wouldn’t go down.

She fumbled for the handle of her Glock, yanked it free, then swung it as hard as she could, clocking him across the back of his head. Diamante stumbled, then crumpled to his knees.

Vail landed atop him but maintained the grip on her pistol. She thrust it into the base of his skul and damn-near shouted, “Don’t move. Not one move—or I’l blow your goddamn brain al over the dirt, you hear me?”

DeSantos was pul ing up behind them in ful stride. “Karen! Karen, what are you doing?”

Ignoring DeSantos, she said into Diamante’s ear, “We need some information.

We’re not here to hurt you. Understand?”

He nodded his head, and his face scraped across the ground.

She gave him a thorough pat down and pul ed a .45 Magnum from his belt. She handed it back toward DeSantos, who snatched it away, anger pul ing his face into a snarl.

They needed to move Diamante away from the main drag. People would be getting out of work soon, and it’d be best not to be in ful view while they questioned him. In the era of camera phones—not to mention ATM cameras and security eyes recording everything within reach—they had to be careful.

“I’m gonna get off you now,” Vail said to Diamante. “You’re going to stand up.

Slowly. Then we’re going to walk to the back of this container and have a chat. You cooperate and no one wil get hurt. Understand?”

He again abraded his face against the dirt.

Vail backed off him but kept her Glock at her side, against her pants, out of view of any passing onlookers—who’d already gotten a good show if any had cared to watch. Vail surmised that in this neighborhood, when shit like this happened, people either turned their backs—or got the hel away before bul ets started flying.

They also needed to avoid trol ing Metro police cruisers. Vail didn’t have a problem with pul ing her creds and explaining their purpose, but the last thing they wanted to do was make a show of being seen with Diamante; it could destroy him.

Talking to cops was . . . frowned upon in this hood, and it would likely result in him no longer being a source of any value. Not to mention it’d probably get him kil ed.

Diamante, a coerced but wil ing party, walked alongside Vail, with DeSantos bringing up the rear. They continued about a hundred paces until they reached the far end of the long container. Two dozen feet away stood a line of parked vehicles.

Realizing that these SUVs, pickups, and minivans could provide adequate cover while they talked, Vail headed in that direction.

Before they arrived, her phone buzzed. It was Gifford. She muted the ringer, then steered Diamante between two Suburban-type SUVs.

Vail got a good look at his face for the first time: not a bad-looking guy. She wondered what he was real y like, why he had a connection to one of the most powerful drug cartels—and if he’d be a cooperating informant.

DeSantos stood with his hands in the back pocket of his jeans—no suit for this meet—and did not look pleased.

“Sorry about that back there,” Vail said to Diamante. “I didn’t think you’d run. I didn’t have a choice.”

Diamante turned to DeSantos. “Whaddya want with me?”

“It’s like I said,” Vail replied. “We need some information.”

With his gaze stil on DeSantos, Diamante said, “I don’t talk to women who carry guns. It’s one of my rules of doing business.”

“What business are we doing here?” Vail asked.

But DeSantos held out his arm and eased Vail aside. “That’s fine. Talk to me.”

Vail bit down hard—the objective was to get information. How they did that did not matter. Now was not the time to al ow her bruised female ego to intervene.

Diamante reached for his pocket. Vail raised her Glock.

And Diamante raised his hands. “A cigarette,
cabrona
, take it easy.” Vail knew that translated to “bitch”—but she let it pass. Dr. Rudnick would be proud.

DeSantos nodded for him to continue. He pul ed a lighter and held it out for Diamante, who lit up. He puffed smoke into the air and said with a shrug, “I don’t know nothing, so there ain’t nothing to talk about.”

DeSantos stepped forward and spoke in a low voice. “Cortez. We know you’re connected. That’s what we need to know about.”

“You’re loco,
amigo
. Fucking loco if you think I know something about drugs.”

DeSantos grinned. “I didn’t say anything about drugs. So you know enough to know what Cortez’s business is. But okay, I get it. You had to say that. Now that we’re past al that shit, I need to know what you’ve heard. About a certain guy.”

“I told you. I don’t know nothing.”

Vail stepped forward, nudging DeSantos aside. “Bul shit. And I’m not in the mood to play games, so you
will
answer our questions.”

Diamante spit in her face. A gooey, cigarette smoker’s phlegm stuck to her cheek. Rather than wiping it away, she reached back and slugged him, right in the nose with the butt of her Glock. His head snapped back into the top of the car and he slunk down onto his knees, at her feet.

DeSantos turned away and brought a hand to his forehead. “Jesus Christ.”

Vail crouched between the trucks. Her face was now an inch from Diamante’s bloodied, crushed nose. “Now we’re going to try this again. I don’t know you and I don’t know what you’re involved in. But I do know you’ve got a line into Cortez.

That’s al I care about.” She lifted the Glock to the man’s face. He looked at it with groggy eyes, his head bobbing slightly to the sides. He probably had a mild concussion. Getting slugged in the face with a handgun wil do that to you.

Vail tilted her head. “I want to know what you heard about an undercover cop whose cover was blown.”

Diamante’s eyes slid from her weapon to her face. “Yeah. Cortez and Guevara were pissed, big time. What was he . . . your partner or something?”

“Yeah. Or something.” Vail glanced at DeSantos. A confirming look that this was working. “See?” she said to Diamante. “This isn’t so hard, talking to a woman with a gun. Is it?” She wiggled the Glock in front of his eyes. “Where is this undercover cop now?”

Diamante’s gaze rose skyward. “Don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Hey, you don’t believe me, shoot me. But you’re a cop, you won’t do that. So I guess we’re done here.”

Vail brought her hand back to strike him, but DeSantos grabbed her arm.

“He’s lying,” she said. “He knows more than he’s tel ing us.” DeSantos frowned, then shook his head and knelt down in front of their informant. “See, the thing is, Jose, she’s a bit of a loose cannon. And what we do, we do off the grid. So if you don’t cooperate, we’ve got the option of kil ing you. Honest. I’ve done it before.” He leaned forward and lined up his eyes with Diamante’s. “Many times.” He waited a long minute, then shrugged. “But I think we can come to some kind of understanding. I’m gonna be reasonable. You’ve got til midnight to get us the information we need.”

Diamante shook his head.

DeSantos held up a finger. “Again, I understand how this works. I know that demanding that you get us some intel wouldn’t mean much if I didn’t back it by a threat. Right?” He grinned. “So here’s the deal. If we don’t hear from you, I’m going to spread the word, careful y, selectively, so that, in time, it’l make it back to Carlos Cortez himself that you’re a CI for the DEA.”

Diamante’s jaw line tensed.

“On the other hand,” DeSantos said with a shrug, “you give us what we want, and you’l never hear from us again. And that’s a promise.” He rose from his crouch—

and Vail fol owed suit.

Diamante swal owed hard, touched his bloody nose with a finger, testing to see how badly broken it was—then threw Vail a dirty look. He pushed his back against the SUV and got to his feet.

A moment later, he was disappearing down the block, gone from view.

56

D
eSantos stood there glaring at Vail. She stared back.

“What the hel was that?” he asked.

“Oh come on. You know what it was. And don’t tel me you never roughed someone up to get information vital to your mission. Or whatever the hel it is you do.”

“That’s different. Do you real y need me to tel you that’s not the way to go about this, that you’re burning a CI? Sebastian’s gonna be pissed as al hel if Diamante tel s him to go fuck himself next time he contacts him for a line on Cortez. Not to mention your behavior’s going to get us both kil ed.” He lowered his voice and took a breath. “Do you usual y go about your business like that? Because if you do, I’ve had the FBI al wrong.”

Vail looked away at the deteriorating apartment buildings and duplex homes in the near distance. “No. Yes. Lately, I’ve lived on the edge. I’ve done things I’ve never done before.”

DeSantos stood there looking at her before responding. “I’m no shrink, but I think you need help, Karen. Anger management.”

“Been there, done that.” She thought of Dr. Rudnick. “Stil doing it, I guess.”

“Yeah?” DeSantos stood with his hands on his hips. “Wel , it’s not working.”

“You know what? If you’re going to preach, you’d better be prepared to fol ow the advice in your own sermon. You can’t tel me you wouldn’t be doing exactly what I’ve been doing if your loved one’s life depended on it.”

DeSantos dropped his arms and turned away, placed both palms on the driver’s side window of the adjacent SUV.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

DeSantos did not answer. But the fact that he hung his head suggested she was, indeed, correct in her assertion. Final y, DeSantos pushed back from the truck and walked away, back the way they had come, toward Union Station.

57

V
ail had returned Gifford’s cal while they were en route to their car. She had nothing else to do, since DeSantos was in no mood to talk. At least he was in no mood to talk to her.

Lenka told Vail that Gifford was in a meeting but wanted to see her in his office if she was headed back to the unit. Vail could not think of other leads to track down, so going back to the BAU seemed to be the best move. If Rooney had not yet left for Iraq, she wanted to sit down with him and tel him al she had learned about Guevara, John Mayfield, and the drug smuggling operation. Perhaps he could recommend some unseen angles worth pursuing.

DeSantos said he had an errand to run twenty minutes from the BAU, so he dropped Vail at her office and told her to check in with him when she was done.

As Vail moved through the secure door to the BAU, a text came through from Dixon:

answer on audio of message left on wirths voicemail. guardian angel was robby. :-)

She al owed herself a moment to grin. Robby may’ve been undercover, but after giving Ian Wirth’s home address to Guevara, he found a way to send Wirth an anonymous warning.

While Vail was typing a reply, another text came through: and got a hit on handcuffs serial nmbr. female cop napa pd. last seen at a bar downtown about 1am. didnt report to work today. this isnt gonna end wel

No. This isn’t going to end well.
Vail typed back: for what its worth she was probably cannons first victim

“Everything okay?”

Vail looked up. She was standing in front of Lenka’s desk.

“Yeah, sorry. I was—” She held up her BlackBerry. “Got a text.”

Lenka reached for her phone. “I’l let him know you’re here. I’m not sure if he’l be glad or mad.”

Vail tucked her chin back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My sense is that he’s had a bad day. And right now, with the people in his office and the noises coming from inside, I think it’s only gotten worse.” She lifted the receiver and poked a button. While it rang, she said to Vail, “Not to mention he should’ve gone home fifteen minutes ago.”

Vail’s relationship with Gifford was odd, to say the least, for an ASAC and an agent. Profilers usual y dealt directly with their unit chief. But Vail and Gifford always worked one-on-one. Her unit chief didn’t mind—at least, he’d never said anything to her about it—although that could’ve been Gifford’s doing. Maybe he labeled her a troublemaker and felt a more direct, hands-on approach would be the best way of keeping her reined in.

Am I a troublemaker?

Lenka set the handset back in its cradle. “You can go in.”

Vail nodded, then turned toward the office door.

“Good luck.”

Vail looked over her shoulder at Lenka, hesitated with her hand on the knob, then walked in.

And it immediately became apparent why Lenka had wished her luck. Gifford was behind his desk. Standing to his left was FBI director Douglas Knox. And to his right was DEA administrator Bronson McGuire. Gifford did not look pleased.

Knox did not look pleased.

Nor did McGuire.

In fact, they looked downright angry, like frustrated cougars who couldn’t get at their meal. And Vail suddenly felt like a sacrificial lamb.

“Agent Vail,” Knox said. “Good of you to final y join us.”

“I just got word—”

“I received a cal about an hour ago,” Knox continued. “Do you know who it was?”