Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (34 page)

Vail looked out at the mil ing tourists as they snapped photos. “This is new?”

“Total y. BetaSomnol is used in hospitals as a powerful, fast-acting sedative—”

“I know how it’s used.”

“Then you know it’s a growing problem. Abuse by physicians on long shifts. They take the drug and it induces a rapid nap. After they wake, they have an intense, momentary high—which doesn’t last because they’re not using the transdermal film

—but it does make it seem as if they’d slept for hours, even though it’s only been about twenty minutes. Helps on long shifts.”

“And that’s legal?” Vail asked.

“Not exactly. But it’s becoming an abuse problem among hospital docs and nurses. Guevara found out about this. There was a doc at the hospital in Napa who nearly kil ed himself when he screwed up and misadministered the BetaSomnol to himself. Guevara heard about it, had an idea, took it to Cortez, and their chemist started working on it. Five months later, he came up with this transdermal film, modeled after a patented process that’s currently used in the manufacture of Duragesic. Transdermal Fentanyl.”

“And there’s a market for this?” DeSantos said.

“Guevara wanted to bring something big to Cortez. Be a big feather in his cap.

He’d already looked into using Propofol, the shit that kil ed Michael Jackson. But it was too damn dangerous. Too easy for some junkie to OD—that’d bring serious addict heat.”

“Addict heat?” Vail asked.

“When addicts start dying, the police take notice and come down hard. The cops know they’ve got a big problem, so it gets more attention. I’m not saying we look the other way when there aren’t as many junkies dying—but it’d make the papers. And once that happened, word would get out the stuff’s no good. Bad for business. So the cartels gotta keep their customers happy. And alive. Dead customers tend to stop buying stuff.”

DeSantos took Vail’s hand in his. He obviously wanted this to look believable. It didn’t help that Vail turned and gave him a hard stare.

“Cortez wasn’t total y convinced it was safe. Apparently skin permeability varies person to person and he didn’t want to risk it. But a couple days ago, his chemists came up with a fix. They refined the product by processing the film with some chemicals. It worked. Word is that it produces a very intense, long-lived high—

that’s completely safe. And the return on investment’s very high. The label can be sliced into multiple smal er sections, multiplying the doses per smuggled wine bottle.

His goal is to create a whole new craze in the marketplace. And Cortez is the only one who’s got it. He’s the sole supplier. He’l clean up.”

“Great,” Vail said. “Not good enough we’ve got tens of mil ions of drug abusers in this country. Now he’s gonna make it quick, easy, and safe to walk around stoned.

Great goddamn world we live in.”

“It’s a credible threat,” Sammy said. “We’re taking it very seriously. Only solution is to take down his organization. Or cut off its head and weaken it.”

DeSantos let go of Vail’s hand and put his arm around her. “I think it’s time we got back, honey.”

Vail rol ed her eyes. “Yes, dear. Let’s get back.”

DeSantos said, “Anything comes up on our guy, let me know.” He turned to glance at Sammy—but the man was thirty feet away, heading toward the steps at the far end of the plaza.

59

V
ail cal ed Gifford to update him on what they had learned from Sammy—and Lenka informed her he had just left the office. She could reach him on his cel , as he was headed into Georgetown for a late dinner.

Gifford agreed to meet them at the restaurant provided they got there quickly and didn’t stay long.

Georgetown Seafood Gril was located below street level in a marble-faced office building. DeSantos pul ed his car to the curb, again with no regard for the district’s parking enforcement laws and the five—
five
—stacked No Parking signs that towered in front of the restaurant’s entrance.

“They have valet parking,” Vail said, pointing to the A-frame sign at the curb.

“Won’t be here that long. We’re fine.”

They walked past a handwritten “50 cent Clams & Oysters” sign locked inside a display case that featured the restaurant’s menu, then descended the stone steps and pushed through the glass doors.

Vail moved past the bar and into the maritime-themed dining area. Clinking glasses and silver-on-ceramic clatter mixed with the rumble of idle chatter among the patrons. Polished cherrywood booths were separated by frosted dividers, neatly finished by crisscrossed wires that wove through riveted holes in the glass.

Oars hung overhead, alongside inverted canoes and three sizable swordfish.

Gifford sat at a booth along the side wal , alone, a mixed drink in his hand and a menu propped up to his left. Vail slid in beside him. DeSantos stood at the end of the table, not wanting to invade the ASAC’s space without asking permission.

Gifford motioned him in. “My friend should be here soon. Make it fast.”

“We need to get the Bureau back in the game,” Vail said.

Gifford set his drink down beside a metal porthole carved into the wal just above the table’s surface. He removed his reading glasses and said, “No.”

“Sir—”

“I realize ‘no’ is a hard concept for you, Karen. But this is a DEA op, and the FBI has no part in it. No jurisdiction.”

“What about interstate trade? Crossing state lines? Kidnapping?”

Gifford was silent.

“Karen can be a pain in the ass,” DeSantos said, “But I think she’s right here.”

He proceeded to recap what Sammy had told them. When he finished, Gifford sat back. He lifted an oversize canister marked SEA SALT and absentmindedly rotated it in his hand.

“Sir?”

“Yes. Yes. Kidnapping.” He set the salt container on the table. “This flies in the face of interagency cooperation. If we’re running our own op and not coordinating with DEA, it’s just bad. So let’s do it right. Keep DEA in the loop.”

“And just how are we going to do that?” Vail asked. “We have no contact on the case other than Yardley. I don’t even know if Sebastian is stil working it.”

“He is. More than that, I don’t know. But the docs have cleared him for duty as of tomorrow.”

DeSantos pushed his glasses back up his nose. “As soon as you tel Yardley we’re back in, he’l throw a fit.”

“Let me worry about that. Meantime, work it as a kidnap case, not a drug case.”

“And the difference is?” Vail asked.

“A matter of interpretation. But your objective is to find Robby—Detective Hernandez. It’s not to bring down the cartel. Let the DEA handle that. That should clarify it for you.”

Not really. It’s not always possible to separate one string from a ball of yarn.

You pull and yank and the whole thing starts to unravel.

“Start out by letting DEA know about this BetaSomnol thing.”

“Yeah . . . ” Vail said. “Can’t do that. And what I told you has to remain in confidence.”

Gifford threw up his hands. “Karen—”

“I’m sorry. It came from a very sensitive source.”

“This isn’t the way to start off our newly restored relationship with DEA.”

“I think it’s safe to assume the DEA knows al about Cortez’s plans for BetaSomnol.”

“And how is that?”

Vail bit her lip.
He’s not going to like this.
“Hypothetical y. What if I told you that our sensitive source is a DEA agent working the case?”

“Hypothetical y, I’d have to say you’re finding new ways to shorten my life. Just when I thought I’d figured out what to expect from you—”

“I got the info, didn’t I?”

Gifford rubbed his face with both hands.

“As soon as you have information you can share with DEA, I expect you to do that. For now, consider Antonio Sebastiani de Medina to be your contact. I’l have Lenka text you his cel when I get in tomorrow.”

Vail tossed a quick glance toward DeSantos. “I believe we’ve already got it, sir.”

A woman dressed in a clinging violet dress and diamond drop necklace walked up to the table. The stress drained from Gifford’s face like water through a storm drain.

DeSantos rose and nodded at the woman. Vail fol owed and excused herself.

“Remember what we talked about,” Gifford said. “Both of you.”

“Yes sir,” Vail said. She bowed slightly, as if he were Asian royalty. “Absolutely, sir. You know that whatever you say goes.”

As they moved past the bar, DeSantos leaned close to her ear. “What’s up with that bowing thing?”

“Just trying to make him look important in front of his date. He and I have our moments, but overal he’s a good man.”

DeSantos grinned. “If you were his date, would you have bought that crap?”

“Me?” She chuckled. “Come on.”

They emerged from the restaurant and ascended the steps. DeSantos stopped short and yel ed. “Fuck!”

Vail turned to see what he was looking at—or, rather, what he was not looking at.

The curb space was empty. His Corvette had been towed.

60

T
he morning arrived, a welcome occurrence given her futile attempt at sleeping.

Earlier in the evening, Vail had spent a few hours with Jonathan, relating an edited version of her adventures in Napa and dancing around Robby’s disappearance by explaining that he was working undercover.

They capped the evening by watching the latest Star Trek movie, during which Vail nursed a glass of bargain-priced Cabernet—a throw-back to her pre-enological education. The inevitable comparison to the fine Napa Val ey out-of-her-budget reds that she had recently tasted was a foreseeable disappointment.

Upon climbing into bed, instead of shutting down, her mind up-shifted to a gear in which she had spent too much time lately. Images, thoughts, and ideas zipped and flowed for hours. Mayfield, Ful er, Owens, Lugo, Cannon. Her friendship with Dixon, even Brix. Everyone paid a visit to her thoughts, except the sandman. But ultimately her focus was Robby. Not knowing if he was stil alive . . . and if he was, what were they doing to him? She didn’t have to ask the DEA how cartel members treated exposed undercover agents.

At four o’clock, in the desolate silence of the dark night, her pil owcase had absorbed an hour’s worth of tears and needed to be changed. She rol ed out of bed, retrieved the new linen, and walked into Jonathan’s room. She sat down on his ottoman and watched him awhile. It was only a short time ago she had done this very thing—in a hospital, hoping to God he would regain consciousness. A huge battle among many in a war she was fighting at the time.

And now, stil engaged in that war, just a different theater. Like Iraq and Afghanistan.

Vail grabbed breakfast with Jonathan and Faye, then sent her son off to school while Faye went to visit Vail’s mother at the assisted care facility.

“I saw her before I left for California,” Vail said as she cleared the table. “She seemed to be doing wel .” She stopped in front of the sink, a plate in each hand, lost in thought. “As wel as someone can be with advancing Alzheimer’s.”

“I’l tel her you send your love,” Faye said.

Vail shook the funk from her thoughts, then set the dishes down. “Give her a kiss for me, wil you?”

Faye’s grin conveyed empathy mixed with pity. She gave the back of Vail’s head a thoughtful stroke. “Of course.”

Vail spent the next hour in her den jotting down al she knew about Robby’s disappearance. It was not much help, but it passed the time until DeSantos picked her up. She slid into his Corvette, which looked no worse for its trip to the impound lot.

DeSantos had summoned two cabs last night, one to take Vail home and the other to bring him to the tow yard.

“Your Vette looks fine,” Vail said as he eased it onto the interstate. “I assume you got it al straightened out.”

“Can we not talk about it?

Vail suppressed a grin. And then her belt vibrated. A text from Dixon.

can u get to a pc with internet?

She wrote back:

yes in about 15 min. K?

“What’s the deal?” DeSantos asked.

“We need a PC with a broadband connection.”

“We can do that. When? For what?”

“Got a text from Roxxann Dixon. Don’t know what it’s about.” Her BlackBerry buzzed again.

dea bringing us on board. u and ur partner need to be plugged in.

welcome to the dea

She replied and told Dixon they would be ready. “I think we’re being added to a DEA task force.” Another text, this one from Gifford: expect a cal . they’ve set up a jtf. pul ed strings. u owe me. dont fu.

Vail chuckled.

DeSantos tossed her a sideways glance. “What’s so funny?”

Vail shoved her phone into its holster. “Gifford. He pul ed strings, got DEA to set up a joint task force. We’re apparently on it. He told me not to fuck it up.”

“Give me a break,” DeSantos said. “With you on the case, does your boss real y think things are going to go smoothly?”

61

A
dark-skinned black man who fit the mold of a starting middle line-backer walked into the room. Sporting a shoulder slung beat-up leather messenger bag, unmoving confidence, and three day’s growth of stubble on his face, he dumped his satchel on the table. “I’m the DEA task force coordinator from the San Diego field division.”

The man had the type of Brooklyn-specific accent that had faded somewhat with time and place, but stil poked through on certain words. He stepped forward, found Dixon first, and extended a hand. “Guido Turino.”

Dixon unsuccessful y suppressed a laugh.

Turino had just clasped her hand. He tightened his grip. Narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with something?”

Dixon looked down at their conjoined hands, then at Turino. She squeezed back, matching his strength. “Just wondering. Is Guido your real name?”