Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(94)

“Any indication he’s there?” DeSantos asked.

“SWAT’s had ‘eyes on’ since we first called. No activity.”

Mann pushed through a set of doors. “That would’ve been too easy.”

“Let’s not give up on it yet,” Dixon said. “It’s a starting point.”

With Turino—the de facto case agent—driving the DEA’s black Chevy SUV, they pulled up in front of a house in the tony beach community of La Jolla—one of the most expensive areas in the nation, with homes topping out at $20 million and averaging a mere $2 million. Unfathomable—and unreachable—to most Americans.

The white oversize SWAT RDV, or rapid deployment vehicle, and black armored Bearcat were parked and waiting. The mission leader—the tactical commander—was standing by his command car. The large double doors of the RDV, a Ford E-450 Super Duty, were swung wide, revealing the utilitarian steel interior and twenty tactical officers—the equation was two men per room—in full garb.

Turino left the SUV to make contact while the others remained in their seats.

“Been awhile since I went on a raid like this,” Mann said. “Hope the asshole’s there. Be a pleasure interrogating shit like him.”

“You’ve dealt with people like this,” Vail said to DeSantos. “What’s your take?”

“Cortez? Long gone. As soon as he got wind Hernandez is a UC, he went into retreat mode. Probably won’t be back here for a while, if ever. He knows we’re looking for him, so finding him’s going to be a challenge. With a huge cache of dough to draw on, I’m sure he’s got some secure, off-the-grid places he can go. Homes owned by a shell corporation or in someone else’s name. Very, very tough to track shit like that unless we can grab up an associate who can give us something. But finding a guy willing to squeal on one of the most violent cartel families ain’t gonna be easy.”

“Even though we’ve issued a BOLO,” Mann said, referring to law enforcement’s Be On The Lookout alert, “guys like Cortez have ways of getting across the border without going through traditional channels.”

Dixon grabbed the seatback and pulled herself forward. “So he could’ve already fled to Mexico.”

DeSantos extracted the package of gum from his pocket. “I’m not sure poking around his house will give us much.”

Through the SUV window, Vail took in the stylish beach homes all around her. “To a trained eye, going through his place could tell us a lot. If we know where to look.”

DeSantos folded a slice of gum into his mouth. “Such as?”

She twisted her lips. “Don’t know yet. I’m a behavioral analyst. I’ve spent my career studying human behavior. I’ve never applied it to something like this, but why the hell not? I’ll see if something hits me.”

Turino came back toward their vehicle. “We’re good to go. Eyes on the house haven’t seen any movement. They did a covert canvass of the immediate neighbors. No one’s seen any activity in days.”

“Since they discovered Robby’s a UC,” Vail said.

Up ahead, several of the SWAT officers hopped onto the Bearcat’s steel exterior skids and prepared to make the short ride to the Cortez estate. Hanging off the sides of the vehicle, they would be ready to deploy the second the Bearcat drew to a stop.

Turino yanked the gearshift into drive. As he pulled away from the curb, following the SWAT vehicle, he said, “They’ll go in first, clear the house. We’ll follow. Anybody got a problem with that?”

“I just hope they don’t destroy anything on the way in,” Vail said. “I need to see everything as Cortez left it.”

“I’ll let ’em know. While they’re watching out for loaded AK-47s poking around the edges of doors, I’ll make sure they wipe their feet so they don’t dirty the carpet.”

Vail smirked. “I meant we need to preserve—”

“I know what you meant.”

Vail felt like cracking Turino across the noggin but thought better of it. Her objective was to find Robby, and at the moment she needed the agent’s assistance.

They approached Cortez’s home, which was on a hill near a country club overlooking the ocean. Vail craned her neck to peer out the window. Beyond the town of La Jolla, which sported white buildings, red tile roofs, and groupings of palm trees, pristine sky blue-tinted water stretched into infinity, sun glinting off its surface.

She pulled her gaze from the window and her Glock from its holster. The others in the SUV followed suit.

The two SWAT vehicles pulled to a hard stop in front of the Cortez estate. Turino brought their Chevy perpendicular to the wide vehicles. Next came two patrol cars, approaching from opposite ends, to block traffic from entering the street. Turino shoved the shift into park.

The SWAT officers leaped from the Bearcat, then fanned out as they neared the white brick structure, MP-5 submachine guns at the ready. A stone fence wrapped around the home, providing a slight but insignificant impediment as the officers scaled it with aplomb.

The mission leader issued hand signals and his contingent took their positions.

The task force followed SWAT toward the house, pistols gripped in both hands, pointed at a 45 degree angle toward the ground. Over the fence and down the slate steps they went, some remaining out front, others taking up a position at either side of the mansion—but they remained along the perimeter and waited to advance until SWAT gave the all-clear. This was SWAT’s show until the structure was secure.