Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (43 page)

But like a rat sensing a predator, their target picked up their approach. And that’s when it al went to hel .

The traffickers ran for the truck cab, then revved the engine. Another got into the adjacent Land Rover and peeled away in a cloud of loose dirt.

Thomson made a neat maneuver with his pickup—cutting off the truck and pinning it against a cinderblock fire wal . Two other cruisers appeared—Thomson must have radioed them while en route—and surrounded the vehicle.

“Go for that Land Rover,” DeSantos yel ed, pointing at the windshield, as if Mann did not see the fleeing vehicle.

As DeSantos spoke, another police vehicle was approaching, its lightbar flashing and its siren blaring. Mann stole a look in his sideview mirror. “I think they’ve got the situation back there under control.”

“That’l make the police chief happy,” Dixon said, watching the scene unfold through the rear window. “Snagging al those drugs, gotta be a feather in his cap, for sure.”

“That wasn’t a joke,” Mann said, “was it?”

The Land Rover’s brake lights tapped once, then it hung a sharp left. A fog of dense haze kicked up behind it.

DeSantos leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. “Did he just go off road?”

“Hel yeah,” Mann said. “Smart move. He’s got a four-wheeler, we got shit.”

“We gonna lose him?” Dixon asked.

“Very possible,” Mann said as he accelerated and remained on the paved road as long as he could.

DeSantos pul ed his phone, hit a key, and waited as it dialed. Vail answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”

“Passing Montgomery Field, about a half mile from the division office. Why?”

“Pul into the airport,” DeSantos said. He waited while Vail issued the instructions to Turino.

“On our way in,” Vail said. “What’s going on?”

“Put me on speaker.”

Vail pressed the button on her BlackBerry and said, “Go ahead.”

“Turino, does DEA have access to choppers?”

“Of course.”

“Get the largest, fastest motherfucker and fly it out to Clover Creek. How soon can you be here?”

“For what?”

“We just intercepted a handoff—kilos of coke. One of the Cortez lieutenants—

I’m guessing it’s Arturo Figueroa—”

“No shit?” Turino said. “Figueroa?”

“He’s in a four-wheeler and we can’t off-road. He’s a smart shit. If we can corral him, we might be able to sweat him, get info on Hernandez.”

“Division has a Super Huey on loan from the Marines, tops out at 185. Best we can do. We can be there in . . . I don’t know, about ten to twelve minutes if I push her.”

“Push her. Before we lose this guy.” DeSantos peered into the darkness, where the dust cloud from Figueroa’s four-wheel drive continued to impair his view.

“Coming up on the hangar,” Turino said. “But I’m gonna need to get permission

—”

“No,” Vail said, “You won’t.” She apparently took the phone off speaker, because her tinny voice was instantly clearer. “See you guys in a few minutes.”

TURINO WATCHED as Vail grabbed Robby’s leather jacket and got out of the SUV.

“Real y,” he said, fol owing her. “I need permission. I can’t just fly off with a $10

mil ion aircraft.”

Vail headed for the Huey, which sat atop a wheeled dol y outside the hangar.

“We’l cal from the air. But we can’t let this guy get away. If he knows something about Robby—”

“It’s not likely, Karen.”

She spun and faced him. “Hel with ‘not likely.’ You’ve been reluctant to take action since you took over the task force, and it’s real y beginning to piss me off.”

Vail pul ed her Glock but kept it angled at the floor. “Now get in that goddamn helicopter or I’l fly it there myself.”

Turino squinted at her, cursed loudly, then trudged ahead toward the Super Huey that sat outside the hangar in quiet repose, on its mark. He climbed inside, got the engines spooled up and the rotor system online, then slipped on the headset. He radioed the tower and requested takeoff clearance for an “emergency departure”—terminology used to signify a life-threatening or urgent tactical situation requiring quick takeoff and traffic priority. With the Huey vibrating and the rotors thrumping, he turned to Vail, who had also placed the bulky radio over her ears.

“Would you have real y taken the chopper if I refused?”

Vail looked at him with a clenched jaw, one of those looks that conveyed that she was damn serious. “What the hel do you think?”

They were interrupted by the tower providing clearance. When the helicopter lifted into the air, Vail watched as the lights of San Diego appeared to move away from them.

Turino swung the craft to the left and headed toward Clover Creek. “I think,” he said, “that you absolutely would’ve done it. Anything to find Hernandez. That’s why I got in. Ultimately, as task force commander, I’m responsible for the actions you take.”

“You’re goddamn right,” Vail said. “That’s exactly what I would’ve done.”
If I knew
how to fly a helicopter.

76

T
he car pul ed abruptly off the freeway. Robby had to force his feet against the door to keep himself from rol ing off the backseat. The vehicle’s gentle rocking and the drone of the road’s white noise, combined with his weakened condition, had dropped him into a light, fitful sleep.

As he woke, he began to key in on the conversation. They were stopping to refuel, and the driver needed to use the bathroom.

The interior dome light popped on and Robby squinted and jerked his head away to shield his eyes. The door slammed shut, rocking the car.

“So, you’re awake, my friend.”

Robby slowly loosened his squint and turned to face the passenger. He couldn’t help himself. In his current state, his defenses were not as sharp. A thought formed in his mind, and he spoke it without a moment’s hesitation to process it. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

The man turned away slowly, looked out the side window. After a long moment, he said, “You are a lucky man. If it were not for me, you would probably be dead about now. And if not today, then tomorrow. Or the day after.”

“Why would you help me?”

The man shifted his body in the seat but kept his gaze focused on the windshield, occasional y rotating his head or shifting his eyes between the front and side windows. “Does the name Sandiego Ortega mean anything to you?” he final y said.

Robby grinned. “Diego Ortega was my friend, when I was young.” “He was, I know. He thought a lot of you.”

“And how would you know that?”

The man reached into his pocket and removed a protein bar. He tore it open and handed it across the seatback to Robby, who struggled to maneuver it in his handcuffed grip. He brought it toward his mouth and hungrily attacked the food.

“Easy, easy. When you haven’t eaten in days, you can throw up. And I don’t feel like driving the rest of the way with vomit in my car.”

“Why are you helping me?” Robby asked again, his voice muffled as he chewed on the food.

“Diego told me you moved, after your uncle was kil ed. He said he missed you.

He was angry at first, because he didn’t understand why you would leave him.”

“Wasn’t my idea. When my uncle was murdered, I didn’t have a choice. I went to live with my mother back east.” He took another bite of the bar, chewing quickly in case the man changed his mind and yanked it away.

“It changed his life, your leaving. Not for the better.”

“Why would anything I did change his life?”

“Your uncle was like a father to him, his house a sanctuary. When Diego was there, he could escape.”

“How do you know al this?”

The man reached up and clicked the overhead light, then turned toward Robby.

His face was now partial y visible, exposed in muted hues with dark shadows exaggerating his features.

Robby stopped chewing and stared.

“Because, Robby, I am Diego.”

Robby fought to sit upright, but his efforts failed. “Diego—”

“It is good to see you, Robby. We have much to talk about, but we can’t do it with Wil ie here.”

“Wil ie?”

“Wil ie Quintero, one of Vil arreal’s inside guys. He doesn’t know our relationship.

If he finds out, we wil both be kil ed.” Diego turned off the dome light, then craned his neck to look outside. “Finish your bar before he comes back. I’ve gotta get us some gas.” He climbed out and moved around to the pump, sorted it out and shoved the hose into the tank. The front door popped open and Diego stuck his head inside. “I think you know you were being held by the Cortez drug cartel. And I think you know they were going to kil you.”

“That was becoming clear, yeah.”

“Word of your cover being blown spread. Cortez made no secret that he had a federal agent and that he was going to make an example of you. He said it was time to stop fearing the U.S.
federales,
that he was going to change our thinking.

Just like he did in Mexico. He has plans, big plans for the U.S.”

“That doesn’t explain your involvement.”

“I’m with the Vil arreal cartel. You asked how your leaving could’ve changed my life. When you left, I had nowhere to go that was safe. My father . . . I never told you this, but he used to . . . ” Diego took a deep breath, his gaze wandering around the interior. “Let’s just say I couldn’t stay there.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Do you real y want to know?”

Robby pushed himself up onto his left elbow. “If you feel comfortable tel ing me.”

The pump clicked off. Diego stepped away, handled the gas hose, then got back into the passenger seat and closed the door. “He abused me, Robby. Sexual stuff.

That’s al I want to say about it.”

Robby knew admitting that took a lot of courage on his friend’s part, and he let the issue drop. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to know. Hard for a boy to admit that shit. I couldn’t tel anyone.

But that’s why staying at your place was so important. It was the only way I could escape that fucker. When you moved, I went to Mexico. Ran away. I had nothing, no clothes, no money. I joined a gang to survive. Eventual y I graduated to the cartel. Paid good, gave me a life I could be proud of.”

“You’re proud of what you do?”

“I was.”

“I came back,” Robby said. “To LA. I lived in Burbank, joined the LAPD. Because of my uncle.”

Diego nodded, thought a moment, then said, “Have you ever told anyone? About your uncle? About what you did?”

Robby looked away.

“I’l take that as a no,” Diego said.

“I couldn’t. Just like you couldn’t tel anyone about your father.”

Diego turned to face him. “It’s not the same. And the sooner you can admit that, the sooner your soul wil be cleansed.”

Robby chuckled. “You’re tel ing me about cleansing my soul?”

“I found God, Robby. I’m a changed person.”

Robby studied his friend’s face. “You’re serious.”

“The Sandiego Ortega that Wil ie Quintero and the rest of the cartel members know is no longer. He’s dead to me.”

“Bul shit. Didn’t you just hose those guys in that yard, back at the house?”

“That was Wil ie. I was shooting, yeah, but I was aiming low and wide.”

“Come on, man. How long do you think you can survive in this cartel with your newfound religion?”

“I can’t.” Diego turned away. “The minute they ask me to blow somebody away, I’m going to have to refuse, and they wil then kil me. I won’t just be useless to them, I’l be a liability. I know too much. I know a lot.”

“Then we’ve both gotta get out of here.” Robby tried again to sit up but couldn’t negotiate the maneuver in the smal backseat. He held up his cuffed wrists.

“Unhook me. Now.”

“It’s too dangerous. I sold the idea to my boss that you’re worth more to him in credits with the DEA. But the real reason is that if I get you out, you have to take me with you. I wil confess to one kil ing. They wil probably want to send me to prison, I understand that.”

“You’l be kil ed. The cartel, they’l find you.”

Diego leaned close, across the backseat. In a hushed voice, he said, “I’l be in witness protection,
hermano
. I wil testify, give them money launderers here in the U.S., tel them how the cartel moves their product. Who helps, what businesses and individuals clean the money. I know a lot of shit about Cortez, too.”

“Witness protection or not, I’m sure you realize the danger inv—”

“I can take care of myself,
hermano
, no worries. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Me?”

“If we’re going to do this, you need to confess, too. Make right with the Lord.”

Robby jolted backward, as if burned by a stove. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” His gaze turned dark and hard. “Don’t insult me.” He waited and when Robby did not respond, Diego tightened his lips. “If you’re going to play games, the deal’s off. I’l find my own way into custody. I’m giving you a way out, Robby—for both of us.”

Robby ground his molars. He knew what Diego was referring to. Fourteen years ago, Robby’s uncle was shaken down by a Los Angeles gang running a protection ring. That his uncle would land on their radar was something Robby never understood. His convenience store made, at best, a modest profit. Regardless, his uncle made the payment for several years, until the store fel on hard times. He then faced a choice: feed his family or cover the monthly protection fee. He chose to buy food.

After a month of warnings, one day after school when Robby was in the store, Gerardo Soto grabbed Robby around the neck and threatened to kil him unless his uncle paid up—with interest. His uncle told Soto he was done, that he didn’t have the money—and that no one threatened his family. Soto and his two thugs pul ed weapons. Robby broke free and fled, but in the reflection of the Coke refrigeration unit, he saw Soto riddle his uncle’s body with hol ow point rounds. It was an image Robby had never been able to wipe from his brain.