“Whazzup, boss?”
“Have a seat,” DeSantos said. “We’re going fishing.”
BENNY, INDEED, HAD DIFFICULTY manipulating the computer keys—and as a result had to go slow, regularly correcting his mistyped commands. Finally, twenty minutes later, DeSantos retrieved a sheaf of papers from the LaserJet.
“Those are Sebastian’s phone logs?” Vail asked.
He splayed them across the table in front of him. “Cell, home, and work.”
“Scary that you can do that.”
DeSantos chuckled. “This ain’t nothing, my dear. You should see what we’re capable of.”
“Something tells me that if I did, you’d have to kill me.”
Benny chuckled as DeSantos regarded the papers.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” DeSantos said, “believe me.”
Based on what little she had seen thus far, Vail certainly did.
Prior to printing the document, DeSantos had Benny sort the data multiple ways. He filtered out calls that were made to known people in Sebastian’s life: his family members, girlfriend, known acquaintances, and of course, Robby. Established businesses and federal agency contacts were eliminated. And that left calls to individuals or businesses that were unidentified or suspect.
“We’ll go from here, which is a lot more manageable.” DeSantos turned to Benny. “Page three. Do a search and get me the names of all the owners of these phone numbers.”
Benny turned back to the laptop and began poking at the keys. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair, which bent precariously close to the ground. “We’ll have the results in a minute. So,” he said to Vail, “I haven’t seen you around here.”
“I’m with the behavioral analysis unit.”
Benny looked at DeSantos.
“She’s fine,” DeSantos said. “She hasn’t seen anything and even if she did, she can be trusted.”
Benny eyed her cautiously. His laptop beeped and he turned his attention back to the screen.
DeSantos rose and placed a hand on Benny’s thick shoulder. He pointed at the color-coded display. “Sort it here and here. Give me a printout. That’ll leave us with a manageable list.”
Benny did as instructed, then left the room. DeSantos handed Vail the new, streamlined printout, which contained five names and numbers. “Let’s eliminate the four non-Hispanic names. If I had to guess . . . ” He placed a finger on the paper. “That’d be our guy.”
55
Union Station was an odd place. Not the building—which was outwardly and inwardly architecturally pleasing, having been refurbished in 1988 into a modern transportation hub, shopping and restaurant destination—but the surrounding area. Located in the heart of the district and only ten football fields from the Capitol building, one might assume it sat in a premier neighborhood, the pride of the heart of U.S. government. Yet a wrong turn to the northeast landed you in a down-and-out section of D.C. that was best avoided.
And that was where DeSantos chose to meet Jose Diamante, purportedly a man who had insider information into the Cortez drug cartel, the confidential informant that DEA agent Antonio Sebastiani de Medina coddled and cultivated, paid and protected. Yardley knew the value of a high-level CI such as Diamante, which explained the resistance to providing his identity.
DeSantos foiled their plans, however, and now Diamante had agreed to meet his contact Sebastian. In another tech feat, a different OPSIG team member had cloned Sebastian’s cell phone number, enabling them to send a text message to Diamante requesting the meet. After a tense ten-minute wait, the CI responded. He would be there.
Benny then hacked the DMV server and secured a photo and physical description of Jose Diamante. Now it was a matter of executing a get-together with a high-level CI who was, no doubt, a careful and suspicious sort.
“Me or you?” Vail asked.
“You mean the attractive woman approach? You think you can show a little cleavage and get closer than I can?”
“You don’t think I can pull it off?”
DeSantos made a point of running his gaze from head to toe. “Probably best if I circle around, bring up the rear in case he runs.”
Vail dropped her jaw. “Thanks a lot.”
DeSantos broke a smile. “If he runs from you, the guy needs glasses. C’mon, let’s go.”
Leaving the car in the Union Station parking lot, they hoofed it down H Street NE. DeSantos stopped abruptly. “There used to be an Amoco station there, on the corner,” he said, nodding ahead of him. “That’s where I told him to meet us.”
Ahead of them was an empty lot, filled with sprouting weeds and partial remnants of asphalt that was spider-cracked like a sun-weathered face. At the corner of 3rd and H Street stood three battered passenger bus-size cargo containers. It appeared as if construction was due to start and the crew brought the equipment onsite prior to initiating the project.
“Maybe he figured it out and is waiting by those storage containers,” Vail said.
“Let’s hope so.”
They approached separately, DeSantos taking a detour between freshly constructed multistory brick apartment buildings, where he’d walk parallel to H, toward and across 3rd Street. He would then come up fifty yards behind the location where they hoped Diamante was waiting.
DeSantos was carrying the cloned cell phone—and all network traffic to that number was diverted to his handset. Like an arrested suspect, Sebastian’s real phone would remain silent until DeSantos’s team member released it for normal telephonic reception. If Diamante was not where he should be, DeSantos could contact him while retaining his cover.
DeSantos advanced from the rear. He signaled Vail, who began walking toward the front of the closest blue-gray cargo container. As she approached, she saw there was just enough room between the long structures for a person to fit—not comfortably, but it was possible to shuffle sideways through the opening. Just looking at the tight quarters made her chest tighten.
Along the exposed side of the shipping container was a smaller storage box. Roughly half the size of the other two, it was positioned approximately a dozen feet away. And leaning against its side pulling on a cigarette was Jose Diamante. DeSantos had spotted him too, as he was tipping his head left in the CI’s direction. DeSantos stood frozen, waiting for Vail to advance so that errant footsteps wouldn’t be detected before Vail could engage him.
She smiled and walked gaily toward Diamante, motioning at him until his head lifted and his body straightened. He was locked in.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m totally lost. My phone battery’s dead and I was looking for a pay phone. Someone said there was one in the gas station on the corner, but”—she spread her arms and made a point of swiveling her head from side to side—“there’s no gas station.”
“Looks like they tore it down,” Diamante said, then sucked again on his cigarette, out the side of his mouth, like he was thinking of what kind of fun he could have with the attractive redhead who was approaching.
“I was looking for a street that had an ‘NW’ after it, but all these street signs say ‘NE.’ Is there a difference?” She laughed. Stupid me, I’m a vulnerable woman in a bad neighborhood where a missing dimwit might go unnoticed for hours, if not days. Go ahead and try something.
But he suddenly swiveled 180 degrees, and his body language suggested he caught sight of DeSantos and had read him as a cop. Not merely suggested—he tensed and coiled low and bent his knees and took off in Vail’s direction. She was still a ditsy redhead and had not entered his threat zone. Yet.
Vail stepped left, into his path, and threw her arms around him. But he must’ve seen this move before, because he stuck an elbow into her neck, and she went down.
Diamante continued south, toward H Street.
Shit. She hustled to her feet—DeSantos was still thirty or forty yards away—and resumed her pursuit.
Diamante tried cutting a hard left and he went down, sprawling in a patch of loose dirt. As he g
athered himself, Vail pounced, wrapping her arms around his back. But she was only 115 pounds and Diamante was—per the DMV—200.
And that seemed about right as he flung her off his back rather easily. But Vail was not about to let her sole connection to Robby go that easily. She had an iron grip on his collar and he dragged her forward through the dirt. She pulled with all her weight, choking him best she could. But he wouldn’t go down.
She fumbled for the handle of her Glock, yanked it free, then swung it as hard as she could, clocking him across the back of his head. Diamante stumbled, then crumpled to his knees.
Vail landed atop him but maintained the grip on her pistol. She thrust it into the base of his skull and damn-near shouted, “Don’t move. Not one move—or I’ll blow your goddamn brain all over the dirt, you hear me?”
DeSantos was pulling up behind them in full stride. “Karen! Karen, what are you doing?”
Ignoring DeSantos, she said into Diamante’s ear, “We need some information. We’re not here to hurt you. Understand?”
He nodded his head, and his face scraped across the ground.
She gave him a thorough pat down and pulled a .45 Magnum from his belt. She handed it back toward DeSantos, who snatched it away, anger pulling his face into a snarl.
They needed to move Diamante away from the main drag. People would be getting out of work soon, and it’d be best not to be in full view while they questioned him. In the era of camera phones—not to mention ATM cameras and security eyes recording everything within reach—they had to be careful.
“I’m gonna get off you now,” Vail said to Diamante. “You’re going to stand up. Slowly. Then we’re going to walk to the back of this container and have a chat. You cooperate and no one will get hurt. Understand?”
He again abraded his face against the dirt.
Vail backed off him but kept her Glock at her side, against her pants, out of view of any passing onlookers—who’d already gotten a good show if any had cared to watch. Vail surmised that in this neighborhood, when shit like this happened, people either turned their backs—or got the hell away before bullets started flying.
They also needed to avoid trolling Metro police cruisers. Vail didn’t have a problem with pulling her creds and explaining their purpose, but the last thing they wanted to do was make a show of being seen with Diamante; it could destroy him. Talking to cops was . . . frowned upon in this hood, and it would likely result in him no longer being a source of any value. Not to mention it’d probably get him killed.
Diamante, a coerced but willing party, walked alongside Vail, with DeSantos bringing up the rear. They continued about a hundred paces until they reached the far end of the long container. Two dozen feet away stood a line of parked vehicles. Realizing that these SUVs, pickups, and minivans could provide adequate cover while they talked, Vail headed in that direction.
Before they arrived, her phone buzzed. It was Gifford. She muted the ringer, then steered Diamante between two Suburban-type SUVs.
Vail got a good look at his face for the first time: not a bad-looking guy. She wondered what he was really like, why he had a connection to one of the most powerful drug cartels—and if he’d be a cooperating informant.
DeSantos stood with his hands in the back pocket of his jeans—no suit for this meet—and did not look pleased.
“Sorry about that back there,” Vail said to Diamante. “I didn’t think you’d run. I didn’t have a choice.”
Diamante turned to DeSantos. “Whaddya want with me?”
“It’s like I said,” Vail replied. “We need some information.”
With his gaze still on DeSantos, Diamante said, “I don’t talk to women who carry guns. It’s one of my rules of doing business.”
“What business are we doing here?” Vail asked.
But DeSantos held out his arm and eased Vail aside. “That’s fine. Talk to me.”
Vail bit down hard—the objective was to get information. How they did that did not matter. Now was not the time to allow her bruised female ego to intervene.
Diamante reached for his pocket. Vail raised her Glock.
And Diamante raised his hands. “A cigarette, cabrona, take it easy.” Vail knew that translated to “bitch”—but she let it pass. Dr. Rudnick would be proud.
DeSantos nodded for him to continue. He pulled a lighter and held it out for Diamante, who lit up. He puffed smoke into the air and said with a shrug, “I don’t know nothing, so there ain’t nothing to talk about.”
DeSantos stepped forward and spoke in a low voice. “Cortez. We know you’re connected. That’s what we need to know about.”
“You’re loco, amigo. Fucking loco if you think I know something about drugs.”
DeSantos grinned. “I didn’t say anything about drugs. So you know enough to know what Cortez’s business is. But okay, I get it. You had to say that. Now that we’re past all that shit, I need to know what you’ve heard. About a certain guy.”
“I told you. I don’t know nothing.”
Vail stepped forward, nudging DeSantos aside. “Bullshit. And I’m not in the mood to play games, so you will answer our questions.”
Diamante spit in her face. A gooey, cigarette smoker’s phlegm stuck to her cheek. Rather than wiping it away, she reached back and slugged him, right in the nose with the butt of her Glock. His head snapped back into the top of the car and he slunk down onto his knees, at her feet.
DeSantos turned away and brought a hand to his forehead. “Jesus Christ.”
Vail crouched between the trucks. Her face was now an inch from Diamante’s bloodied, crushed nose. “Now we’re going to try this again. I don’t know you and I don’t know what you’re involved in. But I do know you’ve got a line into Cortez. That’s all I care about.” She lifted the Glock to the man’s face. He looked at it with groggy eyes, his head bobbing slightly to the sides. He probably had a mild concussion. Getting slugged in the face with a handgun will do that to you.
Vail tilted her head. “I want to know what you heard about an undercover cop whose cover was blown.”
Diamante’s eyes slid from her weapon to her face. “Yeah. Cortez and Guevara were pissed, big time. What was he . . . your partner or something?”
“Yeah. Or something.” Vail glanced at DeSantos. A confirming look that this was working. “See?” she said to Diamante. “This isn’t so hard, talking to a woman with a gun. Is it?” She wiggled the Glock in front of his eyes. “Where is this undercover cop now?”
Diamante’s gaze rose skyward. “Don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Hey, you don’t believe me, shoot me. But you’re a cop, you won’t do that. So I guess we’re done here.”
Vail brought her hand back to strike him, but DeSantos grabbed her arm.
“He’s lying,” she said. “He knows more than he’s telling us.” DeSantos frowned, then shook his head and knelt down in front of their informant. “See, the thing is, Jose, she’s a bit of a loose cannon. And what we do, we do off the grid. So if you don’t cooperate, we’ve got the option of killing you. Honest. I’ve done it before.” He leaned forward and lined up his eyes with Diamante’s. “Many times.” He waited a long minute, then shrugged. “But I think we can come to some kind of understanding. I’m gonna be reasonable. You’ve got till midnight to get us the information we need.”
Diamante shook his head.
DeSantos held up a finger. “Again, I understand how this works. I know that demanding that you get us some intel wouldn’t mean much if I didn’t back it by a threat. Right?” He grinned. “So here’s the deal. If we don’t hear from you, I’m going to spread the word, carefully, selectively, so that, in time, it’ll make it back to Carlos Cortez himself that you’re a CI for the DEA.”
Diamante’s jaw line tensed.
“On the other hand,” DeSantos said with a shrug, “you give us what we want, and you’ll never hear from us again. And that’s a promise.” He rose from his c
rouch—and Vail followed suit.
Diamante swallowed hard, touched his bloody nose with a finger, testing to see how badly broken it was—then threw Vail a dirty look. He pushed his back against the SUV and got to his feet.
A moment later, he was disappearing down the block, gone from view.
56
DeSantos stood there glaring at Vail. She stared back.
“What the hell was that?” he asked.
“Oh come on. You know what it was. And don’t tell me you never roughed someone up to get information vital to your mission. Or whatever the hell it is you do.”
“That’s different. Do you really need me to tell you that’s not the way to go about this, that you’re burning a CI? Sebastian’s gonna be pissed as all hell if Diamante tells him to go fuck himself next time he contacts him for a line on Cortez. Not to mention your behavior’s going to get us both killed.” He lowered his voice and took a breath. “Do you usually go about your business like that? Because if you do, I’ve had the FBI all wrong.”
Vail looked away at the deteriorating apartment buildings and duplex homes in the near distance. “No. Yes. Lately, I’ve lived on the edge. I’ve done things I’ve never done before.”
DeSantos stood there looking at her before responding. “I’m no shrink, but I think you need help, Karen. Anger management.”
“Been there, done that.” She thought of Dr. Rudnick. “Still doing it, I guess.”
“Yeah?” DeSantos stood with his hands on his hips. “Well, it’s not working.”
“You know what? If you’re going to preach, you’d better be prepared to follow the advice in your own sermon. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t be doing exactly what I’ve been doing if your loved one’s life depended on it.”
DeSantos dropped his arms and turned away, placed both palms on the driver’s side window of the adjacent SUV.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
DeSantos did not answer. But the fact that he hung his head suggested she was, indeed, correct in her assertion. Finally, DeSantos pushed back from the truck and walked away, back the way they had come, toward Union Station.
Velocity Page 24
