Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(117)

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


2300 Paseo Verde

Henderson, Nevada



Hector DeSantos peered out the window, then made an adjustment with the cyclic and collective controls and guided the helicopter into a gentle descent toward the Las Vegas countryside. He hovered fifty feet above his target, then slowly dropped onto the center of a grassy knoll. The helipad was encircled by a decomposed granite path, bordered by wooden benches and decorative lamps.

The Green Valley Ranch Station Casino was a resort in every sense—but it also served law enforcement as a staging area when the need arose. The helipad, composed of well-tended and close-cropped putting green grass, sat at the far end of the complex’s recreation quad.

Upon liftoff from Clover Creek, Vail had explained the task force’s decision to Turino. Turino absorbed her comments without reply, but his face conveyed a look she was unable to read—other than that it wasn’t full of warm fuzzies.

DeSantos powered down the Huey, then followed Vail, Dixon, Mann, and Turino as they met up with an individual who identified himself as DEA Special Agent Mark Clar. The agent ushered them away from the helipad, briskly walking past a hand-laid rock retaining wall and down a tan gravel path.

After passing the spa building on the right, Vail looked ahead—and all around them in a semicircle, for that matter—and took in the splendor of the Spanish tiled six-story resort, highlighted by strategic and dramatic lighting.

To her left, a security booth was manned by a heavyset guard dressed in a lime green shirt and black pants. He nodded as they passed, then spoke into his handheld radio.

The group ran up the two flights of stairs and entered the hotel. They followed Clar to a generous central hallway with a black and gold lighted sign suspended from the ceiling that directed guests to their desired conference room. They passed El Viento, La Cascada, and La Sirena, then stopped beside a room with a wood-framed sign that read “La Luna.” Below the name, an embedded LCD screen displayed images of the room and of the Green Valley Ranch property.

Clar pulled open the right wooden door and motioned them inside.

“Not bad,” Dixon said. “Nice job, Clar.”

“They take good care of us. Fortunately we don’t need to impose too often. But when we do,” he let the door close behind him and shrugged, “we get amenities like this.”

In the center of the room—which shared the design scheme of the corridors—sat a large rectangular table, a red tablecloth spread across it, with gold ruffled sides that stopped just above the carpet. Burgundy chairs stood lined up alongside, and overturned crystal glasses rested in front of each seat, accompanied by notepads and pens.

Suspended above the table was a candelabra with two dozen lamp-shaded bulbs. Against the far wall of the square room was a retractable ceiling-mounted projection screen. A white board on a wood stand rested off to the side. Various pieces of AV equipment sat nearby, at the ready, like a standing army.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Vail said. “Can we get started?”

“The ASAC of the DEA Vegas district office is due any minute,” Clar said. “ASACs Yardley and Gifford are en route, as well. I can touch on a few things, but I’d rather wait for—”

Before he could finish his thought, the doors swung open and in walked a dark-suited woman and man.

The woman’s eyes raked the room, taking in each member of the task force. “I’m Deborah Ruth, Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge, Vegas district office. I take it you’ve already met Special Agent Clar,” she said with a flick of her head toward the man. “Which one of you is Agent Turino?”

“That’d be me.” Turino made introductions to the other individuals. They exchanged nods and stares and half waves.

“Okay,” Ruth said. “I have information for you—for all of you. While you were en route, Agent Sebastiani de Medina received a phone call. Sebastiani—” The door swung open again and in walked Sebastian, followed by Thomas Gifford and Peter Yardley. Ruth pursed her lips. “Excellent timing.” She made sure Gifford, Yardley, and Sebastian were acquainted with the others.

Sebastian looked healthier and stronger than the last time Vail had seen him. From his demeanor, he seemed fully recovered from his ordeal.