Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (47 page)

Clar capped the marker and tossed it down. “I’ve brought along an electronic tracking device that’l assist us in triangulating Officer Hernandez’s position using Sandiego Ortega’s cel signal.” He rooted around inside a charcoal gray rucksack and pul ed out a black PDA-size unit. Its top consisted of a dark, shiny glass display, with brushed aluminum sides. He held it up and said, “Meet LOWIS.”

“Lois, as in Lois Lane?” DeSantos asked.

“As in low output wave imaging sensor. L-O-W-I-S. She’s tuned to the quantized discrete-time signal emanating from the ESN—the electronic serial number—of that phone.”

“I’m no physics major,” Mann said, “but it sounds like a similar kind of technology that al ows cel towers to identify particular phones on a network.”

“It does utilize that technology, but it takes it a step further. Mobile phones are like two-way radios. They regularly send out bits of data signals, cal ed ‘pings,’ to the nearest cel tower every two or three minutes. It’s a way for the phone and the tower to know where each other is so they can communicate when a cal is initiated. The towers forward the location of that phone back to the network. LOWIS

uses a smart ping, a unique identifier that we’ve captured and that she’s now tuned for. Which means she’s like a hound dog on a scent.”

“I’ve never seen one of those,” DeSantos said. “And I tend to come across a lot of fancy technoelectronics the government’s got.”

“This won’t show up in any government agency. Not yet. It’s total y experimental.

This is the prototype. I built it myself. Wel , myself and a buddy of mine in Russia.”

“One other thing,” Gifford said. “The FBI is in the process of remotely turning off the ringer on Ortega’s phone. Once that’s done they’re going to switch on the microphone. That way, if the phone is powered off, we’l stil be able to listen in.”

“A roving bug,” Dixon said. “Very useful.”

“Very. No fancy hardware required. If need be, they can just cal the phone and listen in to what’s being said by anyone in the vicinity.”

Clar held up LOWIS. “Who wants it?”

“I’l take it,” Vail said.

“Take care of her,” Clar said. “We’ve grown attached.”

Vail took the device. “I think you need to get a life, Clar. But no worries. We’l treat
her
just fine.”

Clar ignored Vail’s dig. “Keep in mind that even though she did wel in our simulations, that’s far from being battle-tested. I can’t say for sure she’l work like we want her to.” He looked hard at Vail and said, “You know how women can be sometimes.”

“But,” Mann said, “she—it—
LOWIS
has got a lock on that cel , and it’s tracking it.

Right?”

“Affirmative.” Clar flung open a flap on his bag. He dug his hand inside and began pul ing out black handhelds. “I’ve got two-ways for al of you. They’re set to channel 9. It’s encrypted.”

The task force stepped forward and took their radios—Turino included.

“The Huey’s stil hot,” Ruth said. “Another of Agent Clar’s many talents is he’s a certified pilot. Since he’s the only one who knows the intimate workings of LOWIS, he’l be your escort.”

Gifford waited a beat, then said, “Okay, let’s do it. Let’s bring our man home. And round up the bastards who took him.”

As Vail huddled with Clar, Mann, and DeSantos, Gifford cleared his throat and caught Vail’s attention. She moved over to the huddled suits, who were gathered at the back of the room.

“What’s going on?” Gifford asked.

“Sir?”

“Agent Vail, cut the crap. I know you better than your own father.” He winced, no doubt realizing the insensitivity of his comment and the reference to Vail’s sadistic parent. “Strike that. Point is, I saw the looks you and the task force were exchanging with Agent Turino during the briefing. So I’l ask you again. What’s going on?”

Vail scanned the faces of Yardley, Ruth, and Gifford. She hesitated a long moment. She did not want to get into this—certainly not now. And she definitely didn’t want Turino leading them on this op. Stil , she shook her head and said,

“Nothing’s going on, sir.”

“You’re about to embark on a critical y important op,” Ruth said. “What the hel is the problem?”

“That’s not a friendly request,” Gifford added. “It’s an order.”

Vail looked off at the wal . Realizing she was losing valuable time, she acquiesced. “Agent Turino.”

“What about him?”

Vail glanced over her shoulder. Sebastian and Turino were huddled in the far corner. Vail turned back and proceeded to outline what she knew. She stressed that they were unfamiliar with DEA policy, and that they were unsure whether or not his actions were above board. When she was done, Gifford, Yardley, and Ruth al wore variations of agitation and disgust.

“DEA policy,” Ruth said firmly, “is that a human life is always priority. Everything we do is based on officer safety. No operation’s worth a life—no amount of drugs is worth a life. It’s not written in any manual, but it’s built into everything we do, every op and takedown we plan.” She turned to Yardley.

Yardley threw a strained look across the room at Turino. “Agent Turino.”

Turino set his jaw and then walked over, gait confident, shoulders back, chin above level. “Yes sir?”

Yardley said, “We’ve been made aware of your actions as leader of the task force.”

Turino threw a hard, cold stare at Vail. “I’m sure you have.”

“Agent Vail was ordered to do so,” Gifford said. “And she did so reluctantly.”

Turino set both hands on his hips. “Whatever.”

Dixon cal ed out from across the room. “Karen, let’s go. We’re ready to rol .”

“The issue,” Yardley said, “is
you
. Not her. I’m looking forward to sitting down and listening. You’re a decorated, veteran agent and you’l be afforded al due process. And given the benefit of the doubt. But later. We’ve got a man out there depending on us and some real y bad assholes ripe for arrest. That’s where our energies need to be focused. There’s no time to adequately evaluate this—and I don’t even have the authority to put you on administrative leave. But I do have the perfect assignment for you. I want you to rendezvous with SWAT and work out of their command post. I’l radio the tactical commander and clear it.”

Through a clenched jaw, Turino said, “Yes sir.”

Yardley turned to Vail and said, “Even though this is a DEA task force, I’ve got no one who’s as ful y briefed on al aspects of this operation as you are. I’m placing you in charge. Now get the hel out of here and find Hernandez.”

“Yes sir.” Vail stole a look at Gifford. He was uncommonly quiet. More than concerned, she decided. Worried. Not worried because she was now running the task force, but worried like a father who’s dealing with a son who’s gotten himself into a heap of trouble. Vail gave him a slight nod of assurance, then led her team back toward the Huey.

80

W
il ie Quintero drove around the strip, up and down side streets and back again to Las Vegas Boulevard, watching for a tail. They were clean, best he and Sandiego Ortega could determine in the thick traffic and frequent red lights that choked one of the busiest sections of the strip.

Robby asked for the cuffs to be removed, a request that Quintero rejected.

“Once we get inside, Mr. Vil arreal wil tel us how he wants us to handle you. Til then, keep your fucking mouth shut. You’ve got us to thank for your life, and I wanna hear some grat-titude,
amigo
.”

“Thank you,” Robby said. “I appreciate what you did for me.”

“Damn straight. Now keep your head down until we’re ready to get out.”

Fol owing another trip through the Vegas streets, Quintero guided the car into an underground garage. There they waited, Robby stil scrunched into the rear seat, until Quintero received a phone cal . He listened, then said, in Spanish, “Yes, boss.” He hung up, then told Diego they were to take Robby up to the condo.

After draping a jacket across his handcuffed wrists, they led Robby through the parking lot, up the stairs, across a larger area, then into an elevator bay. The ride up was long and, according to the LCD readout, fifty-seven stories.

Undernourished—and abused—for several days, Robby felt unsteady and had to lean against the elevator wal to keep from fal ing over. The car final y drew to a stop and the doors slid apart. Quintero gave him a shove, and Robby tripped forward. Diego tightened his grip on Robby’s arm and ushered him into Alejandro Vil arreal’s ultramodern condo.

“Steady,
hermano
,” Diego said in a low voice. “We’l get you some food in a few minutes.”

“That’d be good,” Robby said, finding it difficult to summon the energy to maintain an erect posture.

Inside, the condo’s clean, edgy lines were augmented by Zebrawood cabinets, teak doors, limestone vanities, and white oak flooring. Ahead of them, expansive picture windows dominated the wal . Bright casino and hotel lights sparkled starkly in black repose against the nightscape below.

In front of the window sat a man in a dark, broad-pinstripe suit. Tan and trim, he possessed the constitution of a wealthy individual whose vast amounts of money were wel spent. He rose from the soft, cream-colored leather chair and sauntered up to Robby. “So this is the man al the fuss is being made over.” Vil arreal pursed his lips, then nodded. He studied Robby’s face, no doubt taking in the abrasions and bruises, in various stages of healing, and the fresh slice inflicted by Ernesto Escobar. “I am Alejandro Vil arreal,” he said with some flair. “I am responsible for saving your life. You know that, don’t you?”

Robby looked down at the man. “I do, sir. Thank you.”

He raised a hand and smiled out of the corner of his mouth. “Don’t thank me yet, Mr. Hernandez. Don’t thank me yet.”

A bowl of mixed nuts sat on a coffee table to Diego’s right. “May I, sir?” Diego asked, wiggling an index finger at the food.

“Yes, of course. Make our guest at home.”

Diego retrieved the dish and held it in front of Robby, who grabbed a fist ful of nuts and shoved them into his mouth as a caveman would devour a fresh piece of meat.

Vil arreal’s phone rang. He pul ed a sleek Sanyo from his pocket and flipped it open with a flick of his thumb. “Yes.” He listened a moment, then said, “I see. No, no, thank you.” Another pause. “I wil consider.”

Vil arreal snapped the lid closed with one hand and looked up at Robby. “You see, Mr. Hernandez, I am a businessman. That is what I do. It so happens my product is cocaine, methamphetamine, marijuana, heroin. A little Fentanyl thrown in to round out the product mix. Demand is strong, so I try to keep the supply flowing.”

He spread his arms. “And it makes for a very, very comfortable lifestyle. As you can see.” He rotated his torso, taking in the décor of the interior.

Robby, more interested in generating needed energy and strength, threw another handful of nuts into his mouth.

“I’ve been made an offer,” Vil arreal said. He turned and walked toward the picture windows. Looking at the lights of Las Vegas below, he appeared to be lost in thought.

Robby shared a look with Diego.

“What kind of offer?” Quintero asked.

Vil arreal turned slowly. “A very good one, Wil ie. Snatching Mr. Hernandez has opened up an opportunity I hadn’t considered.” His eyes narrowed. “That cal was from Carlos Cortez. It seems he wants our guest back. And he has made a lucrative offer of exchange. He’s sent men over to formalize the agreement.”

Formalize the agreement.
Robby knew that meant he was going to be returned to Cortez. If Cortez sent lieutenants to retrieve him, how long until they arrived?

That depended on when Cortez had first approached Vil arreal about striking a deal. Clearly this was not a topic freshly broached in that phone cal .

He, or Diego, had to do something—but what? They didn’t have much time, he knew that. These were his best odds since he’d been kidnapped. An armed foe to his left, an armed al y to his right. Was Vil arreal packing? Probably—though his slim-fitting suit seemed to indicate otherwise.

Diego stepped forward. “With al due respect, sir. We grabbed Hernandez because we know what Cortez is going to do. And the heat his murder would bring would destroy our busin—”

“Yes, yes. But Mr. Cortez is offering us exclusive rights to a rather large territory.

And he’s proposing a new supply chain for us, through one of his key suppliers in Colombia, which wil enable us to increase our kilos moved per month by a third.”

Diego rubbed at his forehead. “Sir. None of that matters if the Feds shut us down.”

Vil arreal turned back to the windows, his face reflected in the dark glass. “For how long can they do that? Seriously, now, Diego. A month? Two months? Three?

The cost wil be enormous in a down economy, their government deficits at record levels.” He shook his head. “I should have thought this through better.” He cocked his head. “Then again, it seems to have worked out just fine. Because if we hadn’t taken Mr. Hernandez here, this offer wouldn’t be on the table right now.”

Diego’s right hand reached behind his back—no doubt for his pistol. But if Robby saw it, Quintero could see it too, if he was looking. Diego slipped out a Beretta and had cleared his waist band when Robby leaned left and buried his shoulder into Quintero’s side, slamming both of them into the adjacent wal .

A gunshot rang out.

Robby scuffled with Quintero but in the periphery of his vision, he saw his friend drop to the floor.

“Diego!”

Quintero yanked his Smith & Wesson free and aimed it at the doorway—his immediate threat—but another blast from that direction took care of any danger Quintero posed.