Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(92)

“Two or three thousand?” DeSantos asked.

“A lot of ’em in Mexico, but several hundred here in the States, too. It’s one of the most important ops in DEA history, so we gotta make sure all goes as planned. We can’t afford any fuckups. Sebastian—Agent Sebastiani de Medina—was playing a key role in opening up avenues to drugs, traffickers, and money launderers we didn’t even know existed. It looked like TFO Hernandez was going to get us in close to the part of the operation we hadn’t yet penetrated. We’ve done a quick and dirty assessment, and as far as we can tell, the op hasn’t been compromised.”

“Speaking of Robby,” Vail said, “where do you suggest we start looking for him?”

DeSantos’s phone sang a whale song. “Excuse me.” He reached down and turned away from the webcam.

Turino sucked on his front teeth a moment, then turned back to the map. He folded tattooed arms across a hairy chest peppered with gray. “I’m not sure there’s a good answer to that. We’ve really got nothing to suggest it’d be any one of a hundred different potential hot spots.” He studied the map some more.

“I think we should go to San Diego,” DeSantos said, cell phone still in hand. “I just got a call from one of my . . . people. There’s been a tremendous amount of cartel activity out of San Ysidro the past year and a half. Assassinations, kidnappings, beheadings. And Carlos Cortez’s main residence is in a San Diego suburb. My guy says that’s where we should look first. His house.”

“Good enough for me,” Vail said. She nudged DeSantos in the arm. “Can you get us on the next flight out?”

“We don’t have time for that.” DeSantos leaned forward, which distorted the features of his face and nearly shifted him off-screen. He lifted Vail’s telephone handset, then tucked it between his neck and shoulder. “Let me see if I can scare up a military transport. Or—” he lowered the receiver and said, “Turino. You guys get confiscated shit all the time.” He lifted his cell phone and started to press keys. “You’ve gotta have a jet. I’ll give Yardley a call—”

“No need,” Turino said. “We picked up a Lear 60XR during a raid last year. A real beauty. Find yourself a pilot and you’re good to go. If you fly it right, you’ll probably make it without a refueling stop.”

“Probably?” Vail asked.

“We’ve used it a few times for stuff like this,” Turino said, passing over her comment. “Very easy on the department’s budget.”

“Don’t need to search too hard for a pilot,” DeSantos said. “You’re looking at one. If you can give Yardley a shout to alert the ground crew, we’ll see you in a few hours.”

Vail reached forward and their screen went dark.

Mann logged off the teleconference session.

Turino folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels. “I saw in your file that you’ve been working with the Napa Special Investigations Bureau on the Crush Killer case.”

“Right,” Brix said. “NSIB provides support and overflow investigative functions, but their main purpose is narcotics investigation and enforcement. As soon as we were informed about Superior Mobile’s operation, I alerted them.”

“Before I left the office to come here,” Turino said, “we got a call from them. I’d like to have two of you consider staying behind, working with NSIB to monitor the status of César Guevara and Superior Bottling. You’d be our liaisons.”

“You sure?” Dixon said. “That leaves us a bit thin.”

“With Vail and DeSantos on board, we’ll be fine. For a mobile unit, it’s easier logistically to get around.”

Brix turned to Dixon. “Your call.”

Dixon’s eyes canted toward the ceiling as she leaned back in her chair. “Redd, you and Burt. Stay here, coordinate with NSIB and DEA.”

Brix and Gordon indicated their agreement with her decision.

“Okay then,” Turino said. “We’ve got a lot to do before our colleagues from Quantico arrive. And we’ve gotta get down south, too.” He flipped his folder closed. “Redd, see if you can get us booked on a flight down to San Diego. Everyone else, do you have go packs in your trunk?”

Mann did, the others did not.

“Fine. Pack a bag for three days and meet back here in one hour. No later.”

Brix pulled out his cell. “I’ll get us some transportation to the airport, too.”

Turino lifted the handset of the conference room phone. “See you all in an hour, sharp.” He twisted his wrist, stole a look at his watch, and said, “Let’s do it.”





PART 3


ACCELERATION


A puddle of urine covered one corner of the bare cement floor. Across the room, the captive lay curled in a ball to conserve heat. His thoughts were confused, his brain devoid of the necessary fuel to keep the mind churning out the impulses that fired neurons and formed images. Two days without food or water would do that to you. Especially when coupled with what he had endured during that time.

The duress his body had been subjected to was equal to techniques the CIA had used in the farthest reaches of Afghanistan and Iraq during wartime. He had the scars to prove it—emotional as well as physical.