Velocity kv-3

by Alan Jacobson

  The man lifted his face and turned it toward DeSantos. “And you don’t want to know what I do for a living.”

  “We already know,” Vail said, Robby’s jacket flapping in the breeze. She walked past DeSantos and stopped a foot from the man’s face. “And I’m in no fucking mood to play games. You can either cooperate and answer a few simple questions, or we push you back into that water and hold your head down till your lungs fill up. We cut your cuffs and let you sink. No one would question it. You drove into the water and drowned. And in case you didn’t notice, it’s pitch black and we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. You see any witnesses? Because I sure don’t.” Vail tilted her head back and observed. The man tensed his brow and narrowed his eyes.

  The wind whipped up, sending a shiver shuddering through her body. She gathered the jacket tighter around her torso. “I get it,” she said. “You don’t believe me. Federal agents don’t kill innocent suspects. Well, you got that right, asshole. But you’re not an innocent suspect. And I need the answers now. So the rules aren’t what you think they are.” She stopped and waited for him to process that. “Let’s start with your name.”

  The man did not respond.

  “All right, fine. We don’t have time for this shit. Drown him,” she said, then turned to walk away. Dixon and DeSantos each grabbed an arm and dragged him backward. He fought them, kicking his legs and twisting his torso.

  But as they approached the water’s edge, he yelled, “Arturo. Arturo Figueroa.”

  DeSantos and Dixon stopped but maintained their hold on either side.

  Vail walked up to him. “Very good. I’ve got a few other questions, Arturo. Answer, and we may let you go. If you don’t answer, I think you know what’ll happen.” She waited a beat, then said, “We’re looking for a federal agent by the name of Hernandez. He was running an undercover op against your cartel. We know his cover was blown and we know you brought him to San Diego.”

  “Then you know a lot,” Figueroa said.

  Vail waited, but he offered nothing further. “You’re pushing me, Arturo, and I’ve reached my end. Last chance. Where’s Hernandez?”

  Figueroa struggled against DeSantos and Dixon. When he apparently realized his efforts were futile, he said, “I don’t know. He was being held at a house with smuggled illegals near Palm and the 805. Someone came and busted him out a little while ago.”

  “Who? Who busted him out?” Figueroa set his jaw. “I don’t know. Information like that isn’t shared. We work in groups, so one doesn’t know what the other’s doing.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got the boss’s ear. We know that.”

  “I’m telling you, I haven’t spoken to Carlos. I don’t know who took him.”

  “If you had to guess,” Vail said. “Who?”

  Figueroa glanced around, shuffled his feet. Licked his lips. Clearly uncomfortable. “We had some discussions with a guy repping Alejandro Villarreal. Know who that is?”

  “Yeah,” Turino said. For his task force colleagues, he said, “Villarreal runs a rival cartel. Smaller—much, much smaller than Cortez. But they make plenty of noise—and money—in their own right.” To Figueroa, Turino said, “What kind of discussions did Villarreal’s man have with Cortez?”

  “I wasn’t there. I only know what my friend told me.”

  “Who’s your friend?” Vail asked.

  Figueroa again wind-milled his arms against the grip of DeSantos and Dixon. It was a fruitless effort that nevertheless reminded them to remain attentive.

  “Your friend, Arturo. We want a name,” Vail said.

  “Grunge. Ernesto Escobar.”

  Turino stepped forward. “Cortez’s right-hand man? He’s your buddy?”

  DeSantos knew what Turino was thinking: Arturo Figueroa was obviously an important catch, but possibly a bigger fish than they had anticipated. If he was close to Cortez’s second in command, regardless of their compartmentalized structure, he might hold key information regarding the cartel’s inner workings.

  With his free hand, DeSantos pulled his phone and typed a short message to Jack Jordan telling him they had Figueroa in custody—and asking him to get Thomson over here with some of his men as soon as possible.

  “So what did Escobar tell you about these discussions with Villarreal’s rep?” Vail asked.

  “That’s it,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t rat on my friends.”

  “You haven’t ratted on your friends,” DeSantos said. “Only on Villarreal. Unless Villarreal is one of your friends.”

  “I’d like to see Villarreal rot in hell.”

  “Help us out, and maybe that’ll happen.”

  Figueroa’s face contorted into a crooked smile. “We’ll take care of it. Our own way. We don’t need your help. El jefe knows how to deal with it.”

  “El jefe,” Vail said. “What do you think of el jefe’s plans to kill Hernandez? That doesn’t seem like such a good idea to me.”

  Figueroa tightened his jaw. “Big mistake.”

  Vail nodded. “So help us find Hernandez before your boss does. No one will know you told us.”

  Figueroa chewed on that a moment, then shook his head again. “I’m done here. I’ve told you what I know.”

  “That’s bullshit, and we both know it,” DeSantos said. “What did Villarreal want with Hernandez?”

  The man looked around into the darkness. He sighed deeply and said, “He wanted us to release him.”

  “To keep DEA off your backs.” Vail nodded slowly. “So Villarreal and his men had something to do with busting Hernandez out. Because if Cortez killed him, they knew it’d bring big time heat, destroy their business.”

  “Like I was saying,” Figueroa replied. “You already knew what I know. So cut me loose.”

  “Where’s Villarreal taking Hernandez?” Vail asked.

  Figueroa forced his chin back. “How should I fucking know?”

  Vail tilted her head and studied Figueroa. “Because you do. Even if you don’t know for sure, you’ve got an idea.”

  Figueroa looked down, struggled once more against DeSantos and Dixon.

  “You’re not hurting yourself here, Arturo. You’re helping yourself. And you’re helping el jefe.”

  “Las Vegas. They’re taking your friend to Las Vegas.”

  “Vegas?” Dixon asked. “Why Vegas?”

  “Villarreal has a place there. Now, can I go?”

  DeSantos checked his phone and played with the joystick. Jordan was attempting to pinpoint their position using their cell signals. Thomson was on his way over and would be there shortly. But when DeSantos flipped to the next text, what he saw surprised him. He reread the message to be sure he’d gotten it right.

  Turino stepped forward with a set of standard handcuffs. “Dixon, secure our prisoner to the bumper.”

  “No fucking way!” Figueroa said. “You said you’d let me go if I answered your questions.”

  Vail shook her head. “First of all, I said we may let you go. We decided not to.”

  Turino tossed Dixon the cuffs, which she caught with her free hand. “Why me?”

  “Because I’m in charge and I don’t like what you said back in Napa about my name.”

  Dixon frowned, then kicked off her shoes and rolled up her pant legs. She pulled and dragged Figueroa to the Land Rover’s rear bumper, located the undercarriage tow bracket, and fastened the handcuffs to it. Figueroa continued to resist, but Roxxann “Buff Barbie” Dixon easily controlled the slightly built prisoner. Once the restraint was in place, Dixon backed away and headed toward shore.

  VAIL PULLED HER PHONE to call Gifford. She knew he was asleep by now, but she felt he would want to be informed about Robby’s whereabouts. He answered immediately, which surprised her.

  “Sorry for calling at this hour,” Vail said.

  “I’m not sleeping. What have you got?”

  “A lead on Robby, sir.” She explained what they knew, and provided the information they’d gleaned from
Figueroa.

  “I’m with Agent Sebastiani de Medina and ASAC Yardley, on a plane en route to San Diego. I’ll see if Mr. Yardley can make a few calls, get us some info on Alejandro Villarreal. I’ll text you anything I find out.”

  Wind gusted into Vail’s face. “You’re on your way out here?”

  “Mr. Yardley felt it was looking increasingly likely that Robby was somewhere out west, so he invited me to join him on one of DEA’s confiscated jets.”

  “Sounds like they have a whole fleet.”

  “And semis and even a yacht or two. They come in useful. Maybe we can strike a deal, get a private jet just for the BAU, like on TV. All kidding aside, good work, Karen. No, stellar work.”

  “I’ll consider it stellar when I’m holding Robby in my arms. We were so damn close. We literally missed him by seconds.”

  “You’ll find him. I’ve got confidence in you.”

  Another blast of wind slammed against Vail’s body. She turned her back to block it. “Given our intel, sir, you might want to divert to Vegas.”

  “Concentrate on finding him. I’ll discuss it with Mr. Yardley and determine our course of action. Gifford out.”

  Vail joined Mann, DeSantos, and Dixon, who was drying off her legs and feet with a rag from the SUV’s trunk.

  “We’ve got a problem with Turino,” DeSantos said. “I was just told he’s—”

  “My ears are burning,” Turino said with a chuckle, coming up from behind. “Must be talking about me behind my back.”

  DeSantos drew his Desert Eagle and, in one motion, shoved his pistol into Turino’s right ear. The agent’s eyes bulged. “What the h—”

  DeSantos wrapped his forearm around Turino’s neck. “Why don’t we start from the top, Agent Turino, and tell us what the fuck you’re really up to.”

  78

  Whoa—” Vail said, holding out her hand. “Hector, what the hell’s going on?”

  Keeping the Desert Eagle firmly against Turino’s head, DeSantos removed the agent’s Glock and shoved it into his own waistband. “Seems that Agent Turino has been working against us. Isn’t that right, agent?”

  Turino was arching backward against DeSantos’s torso. “Lower that fucking gun. Are you out of your mind?”

  “Answer my question.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  DeSantos twisted to face Mann, Vail, and Dixon. “The shit’s hitting the fan on Cortez in two days. Agent Turino here has taken it upon himself to keep us busy. Specifically, to keep our noses away from Operation Velocity.”

  “Why?” Vail asked.

  Turino ground his molars. “I told you, Karen. This is bigger than one person. Going after Hernandez, I understand it. But you’re being selfish. The stakes are much greater. A lot more lives are at stake.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Vail said.

  “Look at the big picture.”

  “We could’ve done both,” Vail said. “I told you that.”

  “Is that right?” Turino said. “Look what happened when Hernandez disappeared. You went searching for him, blew his cover, damn near fucked up an operation that’d been years in the making, and jeopardized several agents we’ve got undercover. Sometimes you have to work with the team and not take matters into your own hands.”

  Vail chewed on her lip. She couldn’t argue with Turino—but, damn it, what was she supposed to do when Robby went missing? Did they think she’d just go wine tasting and sightseeing?

  “Working with the team’s exactly the point,” DeSantos said. “If we’d known, if you’d shared your concerns with us, we could’ve worked with you, maybe run a fake op to throw them off, a decoy, so it didn’t jeopardize Velocity. There are ways to preserve the overall op but still get things done under the radar.”

  “I didn’t think you’d listen. I did a little research on you people. Karen in particular. Following rules and working for the greater good doesn’t seem to be in her DNA.”

  Vail stepped back. Jesus. What website did he find that on? Even worse, is it true?

  “Now what?” Dixon asked.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Turino said. “Cortez no longer has Hernandez, so you’re no longer a threat to Velocity. Once Villarreal broke him loose, I had no reason to stand in your way anymore.” Turino brought a hand to his neck and pried away DeSantos’s arm to free up the flow of oxygen. “Look, I want to see Hernandez brought home, no question about that. A LEO in the hands of a cartel burns at me. I lived through Camarena. I knew the guy, worked with him. When we found out what happened to Kiki, it killed me, affected me deeper than I could ever admit. I wanted to track down those fuckers and do to them what they did to him.

  “It’s what drove me to request assignment on Velocity. I wanna see these bastards taken down. Badly. If there’s one thing I have left to accomplish in my career, it’s bringing ’em to their knees. Devastate their ability to bring drugs into our country.”

  “If Camarena affected you so deeply,” Mann said, “you’d be busting your ass to find Hernandez.”

  Turino shook his head. “Not at the expense of blowing a years-long operation that’ll save hundreds—shit, thousands of lives. And not at the expense of the other UCs whose cover’d be blown if you’d fucked things up. They’d be tortured and killed, too. I couldn’t take that risk.”

  “Is there anything you’ve kept from us,” Vail asked, “that we should know?”

  Turino rolled his eyes. “You people’ve been a goddamn handful. Trying to keep you in check has been damn near impossible. At this point, I think you know everything I know. In the grand scheme of things, I don’t think I’ve slowed you down that much.”

  “When seconds count, ‘that much’ may’ve been too much,” Vail said, lacing her voice with contempt. “If we’d gotten to that drop house thirty seconds earlier, it might’ve made the difference.”

  “That one you can’t pin on me.”

  DeSantos released his hold and pushed Turino away. “Lie down. On your stomach.”

  Turino twisted around and faced DeSantos, whose Desert Eagle was trained at Turino’s center mass. “Why?”

  “Because I want to talk with my colleagues and I wanna be sure you’re not going to do something stupid.”

  Turino complied with DeSantos’s request. DeSantos patted him down and removed a smaller Glock that was tucked into Turino’s ankle holster. He then backed away and huddled with Vail, Dixon, and Mann.

  “All due respect to Karen,” Mann said, “Turino’s not wrong. I wanna get Hernandez back, you know that. But I think we have to take a breath and look at this objectively. One life against hundreds, if not more. A serious blow to Mexico’s most violent cartel. Shutting down their money laundering operations. All those drugs and weapons off the streets.” He scraped at his forehead with the prosthesis. “I can’t fault the guy. In a way, I respect him. It took balls to do what he did.”

  DeSantos nodded at Dixon. “Roxxann?”

  Dixon puffed her cheeks and blew a mouthful of air through her lips. “Tough call. I see your logic, but seems like the guy’s been acting on his own. I can’t imagine the DEA ordering one of its agents to purposely screw us over.”

  “They wouldn’t,” Mann said. “Every DEA agent I’ve ever worked with is a class act. Professional. Committed. But don’t be so quick to judge the man. We got caught up in the Crush Killer case and we cut corners. Lots of ’em. We did shit we shouldn’t have done. Right?” He got a nod from Dixon and a conciliatory dip of the chin from Vail. “When you’re dealing with a case like that, especially a huge one like Velocity, it’s hard not to let emotions get the best of you. We all know that’s true.”

  They turned to Vail. She shoved her hands into the pockets of Robby’s leather jacket. “I can’t be one to judge him. I’m certainly no angel. The past couple weeks I’ve . . . crossed the line plenty of times. Too many times.”

  DeSantos said, “So, what do we do with him?”

  “Let’s back up
a second.” Dixon ran her hands through her hair. “What if he’s got a broad mandate to run the task force as he sees fit? Bottom line, we’re pissed because he’s looking at the big picture and we’re focused on getting Robby home safe. Who’s right? Who’s wrong? Is there a right or wrong here?”

  They were silent as they chewed on that.

  “So what are our options?” Mann said. “We leave him here or we take him with us.”

  Vail said, “Trust is everything. Way I see it, question is, Can we trust him?”

  “Our goals are no longer conflicting,” Dixon said. “It’s a moot point.” Vail pulled up the collar on Robby’s jacket. “Trust is never a moot point, Roxx.”

  “Who tipped you off?” Mann asked DeSantos.

  He held up his phone. “Text.”

  “From?”

  DeSantos rotated his body, checking out the area. Lowering his voice, he said, “Turino admitted it. Source is irrelevant.”

  Vail figured it had to be Sammy. But it no longer mattered.

  “If it helps any,” DeSantos said, “we all understand one another now. And I think we woke him up.”

  “I’d say grinding your Desert Eagle into his ear definitely got his attention,” Dixon said.

  Mann cracked a smile. “I kinda liked that. Old-school stuff. Settle it out in the field.”

  “Fine,” Vail said. “We handle this in-house. But I’m done working with him, not until I can be sure we can trust him. If shit goes down and he has to choose between Robby and Velocity . . . ” She shrugged. “We can’t take that chance. I can’t take that chance.” She looked around and everyone indicated agreement.

  DeSantos checked his watch. “Time to rock and roll.”

  They released Turino, returned his side arms, and then headed back to the helicopter as the chief pulled up. They handed over custody of Arturo Figueroa and told Thomson to expect a visit from Agent Jordan.

  Then, with DeSantos piloting the Huey, they went skids up and disappeared into the black San Diego sky.

  PART 4

  CRASH AND BURN