Velocity

by Alan Jacobson

  “Don’t think,” Vail said. “Use your radio, find out, and get me there. Fast.”

  82

  After struggling with the soaked, clinging material, Robby stripped off his shirt. There was a gentle flow of oil-scented air swirling through the dimly lit area, which helped evaporate the dampness from his skin.

  The breeze made him shiver. His shoes sloshed with each step. And his waterlogged pants rubbed against his thighs.

  But none of it mattered. Because he was free—no one with high-powered ammunition or bloodstained machetes was threatening, beating, or chasing him. In a few minutes, he’d reach safety. Dry clothing. Medical attention. And, hopefully, Karen.

  But before he’d gone twenty feet, something struck him in the head. Hard. And he went down.

  Two arms pulled him upright and a dark figure approached.

  A few steps more and the glow of a nearby incandescent bulb shadowed across the hard features of Antonio Sebastiani de Medina.

  “Sebastian—”

  “You had to fuck everything up, Robby. Everything came together the way it was supposed to. I just needed a few more days, a few more goddamn days.” Sebastian shook his head. “A $3 million payoff. And everyone would’ve won. DEA, me, you, all of us would’ve gotten what we wanted.”

  “Is that right?” Robby asked weakly.

  Sebastian’s men struggled to force Robby erect. One of them yanked up on his injured arm, eliciting a cringe. But Robby was still dazed and had difficulty keeping himself steady.

  Sebastian sighed and stepped closer. “DEA would get Guevara, and if we were lucky, maybe even Cortez. You get your special agent creds. And me—I get my cut. A million big ones and a shot at a comfortable retirement when the time comes.”

  “I always thought you were a smart guy, Sebastian. Until this. Then you got really stupid. And greedy. But greed can be so intoxicating it can blind you to what’s going on.” Robby tried to bring his shoulders back, to give him some sense of authority. “You never saw it coming.”

  Sebastian’s face stiffened. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Yardley. He suspected something wasn’t right. That’s really why he agreed to bring me on. When your partner got into that accident, it turned out to be a dream come true for you. Too good a dream.”

  “You’re the one who’s dreaming, buddy.”

  Robby shifted his weight to lessen the strain on his shoulder. “You figured you could convince Yardley to bring me onboard because of my street cred. And you knew I’d drool over the chance—and that Gifford would do what he could to help get me signed on.”

  “Nice story, but—”

  “Best part is you thought you’d be able to control me better than a veteran agent who’d adhere to procedure and would be all over anything that smelled like shit. And to a seasoned nose, you were reeking. That’s what got your partner killed, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t need to listen to this crap.”

  “Worst part is that I was your friend, so you knew I’d give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  Sebastian laughed weakly. “You think you’ve got it all figured out.” “You’d work the op and help bring down the cartel, but at the same time you were angling to score a last big payoff. Skimmed off that huge black tar heroin shipment coming in. You’d then collar Guevara, maybe Cortez, too, and no one would know about the missing money.” Robby cricked his head to the side. “Does that sound about right?”

  Sebastian reached back into the darkness and thrust a fist into Robby’s abdomen. He doubled over and dropped to his knees.

  Robby sucked in his breath, then tried to sooth the abdominal spasm that prevented him from speaking. He lifted his head, anger spilling forth like the saliva that dripped from the corner of his mouth. “You’re a fucking disgrace to the badge, Sebastian. You’ve shit on all the honest DEA agents who put their lives on the line every fucking day.”

  “Like I did for nine years. Years of deep cover.” He spit in Robby’s face. “No fucking way to live.”

  “That’s the life you chose. And now . . . you’re living on the wrong side of the law. You’re a huge disappointment. As a federal agent. And as a friend.”

  Sebastian looked at him—and for a second, Robby thought he saw sorrow. An apology? For all the fun times they’d had. For a friendship that was now forever tainted. Dead with no hope of resuscitation.

  But maybe Robby was projecting what he’d like to see . . . an admission that what Sebastian had done was wrong.

  “We don’t have a lotta time,” Sebastian said to his two lieutenants. “Take care of him, then meet me where we discussed.” Sebastian slipped past them out of the light’s reach, his footfalls going suddenly silent as he disappeared.

  Robby heard the slide of a semiautomatic pistol, dangerously close to his left ear.

  “I’ll make this quick,” the man said.

  Robby threw up a hand. “No. Wait—”

  The gunshot echoed loudly.

  83

  When Pryor radioed his supervisor for the exact location of the maintenance shop, he was told they had another hundred feet to go, around the bend—but he was informed that SWAT and Vegas Metro PD were on their way. They were to stop and await their arrival.

  “Bullshit,” Vail said to Pryor as he reholstered his two-way. “I’m not waiting.”

  Pryor pulled a ring from a clip on his uniform and sifted through the various keys before making his choice. “The engineers are all gone for the night.”

  Vail took the key and said, “Stay here. No one goes past unless they’re law enforcement. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Vail jogged down the curving corridor until she reached a gray metal door that bore a red and black sign:

  FOUNTAIN MAINTENANCE SHOP

  AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

  Vail slid the key into the lock and entered the room. She quietly shut the heavy door and proceeded forward. A network of pipes extended the length of the ceiling—as best she could see in the room’s low light. Machinery lined both walls: what looked like a welding apparatus, a band saw, a large pipe cutter, a circular saw.

  Because it was dimly lit, she had to move slowly to make sure she didn’t trip on a spike or fastener bolted into the ground.

  Vail pointed her BlackBerry’s lit display at the floor and used it as a flashlight. She followed the machinery until she heard voices nearby. Workers? Pryor said they’d all gone home for the night. She stopped and listened. I know that voice. Where’ve I heard it before?

  “ . . . skimmed off that huge black tar heroin shipment coming in. You’d then collar Guevara, maybe Cortez, too, and no one would know about the missing money. Does that sound about right?”

  That voice she knew. Robby. Who’s he talking to? Vail edged forward another few steps.

  “You’re a fucking disgrace to the badge, Sebastian . . . ”

  Sebastian? What the hell’s going on?

  She turned her head left, then right, trying to triangulate on the echoing voices.

  “We don’t have a lotta time. Take care of him, then meet me where we discussed.”

  Vail advanced forward, Glock out in front of her. To her left, the room opened up into a larger space. Two men were standing by Robby.

  And one of them had a pistol pointed at his head.

  84

  Robby, no!

  The gunshot was deafening. And it was followed by a second, equally as loud—but Vail’s hearing was blown from the close-quarters echo of the first, so she more or less felt, rather than heard, the latter round.

  The dead man to Robby’s left hung in the air, but the one to his right was heavier—and he hit the ground with a thud, that sickening hollow thrump when a skull strikes cement with significant force. His colleague followed a split second later, dropping to his knees before falling forward onto his face.

  Robby’s eyes caught Vail’s and she merely stood there, emotion welling in her chest, threatening to eru
pt. She found herself unable to move, her feet still planted in a Weaver stance, both hands squeezing the Glock. The smell of cordite stinging her nose.

  Robby, on his knees, was crying—she could see that much in the dim light from the overhead bulb. Tears streaked his cheeks.

  She dropped her arms to her sides, took a tentative step forward, then ran. Ran into his arms, and joined him on the floor. Hugged him tight.

  Neither said a word.

  85

  Outside in the carport, an ambulance sat idling in front of the Terrazza di Sogno—the Terrace of Dreams—an Italian balcony overlooking the Bellagio fountains. Peter Yardley and Thomas Gifford had just arrived from the Green Valley Ranch Resort and were jogging toward them, accompanied by three men in black windbreakers with light gray DEA block letters on the back, chest, and arms. Two men in suits, presumably FBI, took up the rear.

  Robby lay on a gurney, his torso elevated and an IV snaking from his arm. Roxxann Dixon and Hector DeSantos stood at his side, shoulder to shoulder with Vail, who had her phone pressed to her ear.

  “How’s he doing?” Gifford asked the medic.

  “I’m doing fine,” Robby said.

  The medic frowned in annoyance. “Vitals are stable. It was a through and through. The constricting effects of the cold water helped. Some blood loss, but I’ve stopped the bleeding. Motor and sensation are intact. We’ll transport and give him a good look-see in the ER.”

  “That really necessary?” Robby asked.

  Vail, having ended her call with Jonathan—she’d woken him, but needed to hear his voice and couldn’t wait till morning—said, “Yeah, Robby, it’s really necessary. Not up for discussion.”

  “For once,” Gifford said, “I agree with you.” He looked at Robby. “Anything we can get you? Something to eat?”

  “Someone already brought me a fancy chili burger—”

  “Yeah, that’d be me,” Dixon said, playfully raising her hand.

  Vail chuckled. “Which he downed in two bites.”

  “You earned it,” Gifford said. “That and a whole lot more.” He nodded at DeSantos. “Status.”

  “Escobar’s in the wind. BOLO’s been issued and checkpoints have been set up. Lots of places in Vegas to get lost, so I’m not overly confident we’re gonna find him.”

  “Villarreal and Guevara are in custody and being treated for GSWs,” Vail added.

  A black Chevy SUV pulled up beside them, drawing their attention. Turino stepped out and faced Yardley. “I’ve got something for you, sir.” He pulled open the rear door, where Sebastian sat restrained in silver handcuffs and leg irons.

  Sebastian and Robby locked eyes, then Turino slammed the door closed. “Apparently someone placed a tracking device in his phone.”

  Yardley grinned. “How rude. I wonder who’d do something like that. And those blanks in his gun. Definitely not standard issue.”

  “My pleasure to bring him in, sir,” Turino said.

  “I thought you’d appreciate it.” Yardley’s face turned serious. “We’re due for a chat. Half hour, back at the office?”

  Turino pulled open his door. “Yes sir. Looking forward to it.”

  As Turino drove off, Yardley took a deep, relieved breath, then said, “Fine work, agent.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Vail and DeSantos answered in unison.

  “No offense.” Yardley motioned to Robby. “I was talking to my agent.”

  Vail couldn’t suppress her smile. Robby had earned that. She glanced at Gifford, who seemed to be sporting a proud, though subtle grin.

  “Given Agent Turino’s concern over Velocity,” Yardley said, “I thought you’d like to know that DEA moved up its timetable. We figured that with Cortez and Villarreal busy sparring over Robby, the distraction would make our jobs easier. We launched Velocity—” he consulted his watch—“sixty-five minutes ago. Early reports are very encouraging. Arrests in five states. More to come through the night.”

  “Cortez?” Robby asked.

  “Nothing yet. So far he’s slipped the net. But if not tonight, we’ll get him some other time. Our job’s not done till guys like him are out of business.”

  Gifford extended a hand toward DeSantos. “Hector, you’ve been a godsend. Next time I see Detective Bledsoe, I’ll have to thank him for bringing you into the fold.”

  “Yeah.” Vail gave DeSantos’s shoulder a playful shove. “Thank you.”

  He looked at her a long moment, then said, “This case ended up meaning more to me than you could know. If my wife were here, she’d thank you, too.”

  Vail tilted her head in confusion but let it go. DeSantos gave her a quick hug, then motioned to Dixon.

  “We’ll let you rest,” Dixon said to Robby. “We’re gonna grab something to eat.”

  Gifford caught Vail’s attention with a jerk of his head. “Can I have a word with you?”

  “Sure—I just need a moment. Roxx,” she called after Dixon. “Hang on a sec.”

  Vail walked with Dixon back toward the Bellagio entrance, away from the knot of personnel.

  They stopped beside a large conical planter at the edge of the carport. Vail stood there looking at Dixon, not speaking, unsure of what to say.

  Finally Dixon broke the silence. “It’s been incredibly . . . exciting. You make things interesting, Karen.”

  Vail hiked her eyebrows. “So I’ve been told. Look, I—I can’t tell you what you’ve meant to me these past couple weeks. It sounds trite, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” She leaned forward and gave her partner a warm embrace.

  A moment later, they pushed away from each other, both wiping tears from their eyes.

  “So let’s not let this be good-bye,” Dixon said. “Okay? Email, phone. Facebook?”

  Vail chuckled. “Jonathan’ll have to show me how to set up an account. But, yeah. Of course. And when you make it out to D.C.—”

  “Lunch, dinner, whatever. And a tour of the academy.”

  Vail’s face broadened into a grin. “It’s a date. And—do me a favor. Thank everyone for me. Brix, Mann, Gordon . . . except, well, Matt Aaron.”

  Dixon laughed. “I’m going to miss you, Karen.”

  They hugged again, and then Vail walked off to join her boss.

  VAIL’S TIRED, SORE LEGS felt heavy as she ascended the gentle incline of the Tarrazza balcony. Gifford was silent until she reached the railing. The police were in the process of clearing the vicinity, though onlookers lined the boulevard along the periphery, outside the barricades.

  Gifford leaned both forearms on the concrete balustrade and looked out at the lake. “Karen, nice job with all of this. I—well . . . thank you.”

  Vail extended her arms beside him and took in the view of the lake. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but I didn’t do it for you.” She grinned and noticed he had cracked a smile, too.

  They stood there another silent moment. Then Gifford said, “You were right. About Robby being my son.”

  “I know.”

  He turned to Vail. “But I need you to keep that between us.”

  Her eyes widened. “Sir, that’s your personal matter. But to ask me to keep it from him, to lie—”

  “I’m not asking you to lie. I’m asking you to give me a chance to tell him. I want to do it the right way. It’s not an easy thing to admit to your son you’ve been absent from his life.”

  “But you will tell him,” she said.

  He looked back out over the water, then nodded. “Yes.”

  YARDLEY WAVED A FINGER at Robby’s bandaged shoulder. “When you’re healthy, I’ll make a few calls, get you enrolled at the academy.” He paused, then said, “That is, if you still want to be an elite agent with the Drug Enforcement Administration.”

  “I do, sir. Very much.”

  Yardley nodded slowly. “Good. We need people like you.” He gave Robby’s uninjured shoulder a pat, then walked off with his entourage.

  As Robby watched him leave, he notic
ed Vail standing beside Gifford thirty yards away, near the edge of the lake.

  His discussion with Diego played back in his thoughts. He had killed a man—and he’d done it for revenge. That was something he would have to come to terms with. Was it the right thing to do? No. He could answer that without deep thought. But now, given who he was and what he did for a living—and what he was about to do—who would be served by his paying the price for his past transgressions?

  But what gave him the right to serve as judge and jury? How many rehabilitated criminals could say they were devoting their life to catching other violent criminals?

  Am I a criminal?

  He looked over at the clear IV bag hanging near his head. Too much to consider for now. As Yardley said, he had to get healthy.

  “Hey.”

  He turned and saw Vail and Gifford heading for him. Will she read my face? My mind? She and Robby often had an idea about what the other was thinking. She’ll know something is bothering me. Can I keep it from her? Lie to her, again?

  As they approached, music started blaring from the speakers, followed by the fountain’s jets shooting skyward. He recognized the song: Andrea Bocelli’s “Con Te Partiro.”

  Time to say good-bye.

  86

  Gifford stood a little behind Vail, as if he didn’t want to intrude. “Do you—you have any plans for lunch tomorrow?” Gifford said above the din of the fountain show.

  Robby laughed. “I think it’s safe to say my calendar’s pretty clear.”

  “Good. Assuming you’re up to it, want to grab a bite with me? Before I head back home?”

  “With you, sir? And Karen?”

  “No. Just us.”

  Robby pursed his lips, glanced at Vail, then said, “Yeah, sure.”

  Gifford nodded and then walked off.

  Robby extended his bent elbow and Vail took it. She maneuvered the gurney toward the lake so they could watch the rest of the show.

  “What was that about? Gifford asking me to lunch.”