Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(118)

“If I may,” Sebastian said to Ruth. He received a nod of approval and said, “About an hour ago, I got a call from a man identifying himself as Sandiego Ortega. Ortega is a lieutenant in the Villarreal cartel. He was talking quickly, said he only had a minute before his partner returned.” Sebastian turned to Vail. “He tried calling you, but it went to voice mail.”

Vail’s hand went to her BlackBerry. “I was in the air.” She pulled the phone and saw the missed call. Shit. But she realized she now had the man’s phone number, so all was not lost.

“Gist was that he had Robby, and that he was safe. He wanted to broker a deal for his return.”

“A deal?” Turino asked. “Cartels don’t make deals for—”

“He wants witness protection. Says he has valuable information for us on Villarreal and Cortez. If we agree to WITSEC, he’ll give us what he’s got and testify against his boss. And he’ll guarantee Robby’s safe return.”

“Why the hell would he do that?” Dixon asked. “He’s gotta know it’s a death sentence.”

“I asked the same question,” Sebastian said. “He said he’s found God and he’s no longer able to live the life. They’d kill him anyway if they discovered he wanted out. He also happens to be a childhood friend of Robby’s. He was the one who convinced Villarreal to break him free.”

“So Villarreal’s behind this?”

“Apparently, from what I was able to get from Ortega, Villarreal was concerned about the blowback from Cortez killing a federal agent. Ortega sold him on the idea of grabbing up Robby, then exchanging him for the DEA giving him some passes.”

Dixon spread her arms. “So we don’t need Ortega. Villarreal will ensure Hernandez’s safety.”

“If he can be trusted,” Sebastian said. “Ortega had his doubts. He said that since no one knew they’d broken out Robby, Cortez would be blamed for his death no matter what happens. And no matter who kills him. Could be that’s Villarreal’s play: kill Robby, blame it on Cortez. Serious heat comes down on Cortez. When the dust settles and Cortez is arrested, his organization weakened, Villarreal steps in and takes his territory.”

“So we’re back to having to trust Ortega,” Mann said.

“Is this true?” DeSantos asked. “Ortega is a buddy of Robby’s?”

“I’ve never heard him mention a Sandiego Ortega,” Vail said. “You?”

Sebastian shook his head.

“How do we know we can trust this guy?” Mann asked.

Yardley stepped forward. “We don’t. But he’s left open his cell signal to let us track him. They’re headed here, to Vegas.”

“Where in Vegas?”

“Ortega didn’t have time to say. But we got an address for Villarreal’s place. And we’ve been monitoring Ortega’s call, listening in on the conversation.”

“Did you hear Robby?” Vail asked.

Gifford cleared his throat. “No. When we stopped listening a few minutes ago, it’d just been a bunch of nonsense bullshit between two guys on the road. Occasionally they’d mention an awareness of Highway Patrol, keeping to the speed limit, that sort of thing. There’s also some muffled talk, but we couldn’t make it out. The lab’s working on it, but I don’t know when, or if, they’ll have anything for us.”

“Of course,” Yardley said, “before we get our hopes up, it’s important to point out we’ve got no idea how long Ortega’s battery will last. Right now, until we find we can trust Villarreal, that cell’s our lifeline to Hernandez. If we lose it, he’ll be on his own unless we can find—” He stopped and looked down at his phone, then pulled a pair of small reading glasses from his suit pocket. “Excuse me a minute.”

Ruth, standing beside Yardley, glanced at her colleague, then picked up the discussion. “Agent Clar’s a man of many talents. In addition to his fieldwork, he’s got a Ph.D. in digital signal processing and did some terrific work redesigning our wire room capabilities. I’ve asked him to have certain things ready for us.” Ruth nodded at Clar. “Are they?”

Clar, who’d been leaning a shoulder against the wall near the AV control panel, straightened up. “Yes ma’am, ready to go.” He walked to the wall beside the entry doors and fingered a touchpad LCD. The lights dimmed to half strength and a projector splashed light onto the screen.

“Hang on a minute,” Yardley said, his reading glasses perched low on his nose. The glow of his phone reflected off the lenses. “Just got a text from my office. Sandiego Ortega is an American citizen—actually, he’s got dual citizenship. Born and raised in Los Angeles. Mexican citizenship granted in ’95. No record while in the U.S.”

“Robby grew up in LA,” Vail said.

Gifford nodded. “So there’s potential validity in Ortega’s claim. Where in LA did Ortega live?”

Yardley scrolled down the screen on his phone. “Fullerton.”

Gifford nodded. “That’s where R—Officer Hernandez—lived.”

Yardley slipped his phone into a pocket, then motioned to Clar. “Continue.”

“Right. This is what we’ve got.” Clar struck a button on his laptop and an aerial image of the Las Vegas strip appeared. He pulled a laser pointer and a brilliant green pinpoint light circled a specific area, in tandem with the agent’s hand movements. “The cell signal we’ve been tracking entered Vegas twenty minutes ago. They were driving here, in a seemingly random pattern, as if taking evasive maneuvers to make sure they weren’t being followed. Then they went stationary at a point just off South Las Vegas Boulevard, in an area that appears to be a parking garage. Right here.” The green light stopped moving. “The signal keeps cutting in and out, probably because of the steel and concrete in the structure. But it hasn’t moved in about five minutes.”