DeSantos zipped past a car that was doing ten over the speed limit. She glanced at the speedometer. They were going 95 miles per hour.
“We don’t know what happened. Maybe he expected to have dinner with you. But something might’ve broken on the case, and he had to leave. Don’t judge him until you know the facts.”
“Bottom line. He was doing this and chose not to tell me. Omission of facts is the same as lying, Hector. He deceived me. How can I trust him the same way ever again? Trust is one of the most important things in a relationship.”
“I’m married, Karen. I understand where you’re coming from. But until you give Robby a chance to explain, you’re not being fair. You’re taking this personally, not looking at it as a federal agent who has an in-depth knowledge of deep cover work.”
“You don’t know what I’ve been through. A failed marriage. A spouse who went from loving husband to abusive drunk who refused to take his medication. I needed someone I could trust, someone I could lose myself in and not worry about whether or not he was lying to me.” She shook her head. “As far as I’m concerned, there are no excuses. When we find him, Hector, I’m going to kill him.”
THEY ARRIVED AT THEIR MEET with the contact, whom DeSantos called “Sammy.” It wasn’t his real name, but it was safer this way for all involved.
DeSantos pulled his Corvette up to the curb in front of Professors Gate at The George Washington University on 21st Street NW. He shoved the shift into park and popped open his door.
“I don’t think we can leave it here,” Vail said.
“Not a problem. If they start to write up a ticket, they’ll run my plate and everything’ll be fine.”
Vail looked at him. “You’re not really serious.”
DeSantos slipped on his wraparound sunglasses. “Really, I am.” He dropped the keys into his suit pocket. “You worry too much, Karen.”
He walked through the decorative wrought iron arch, which was supported by two squat concrete tile columns. “GW” was prominently lettered in gold on black above the apex of the curve.
“Why here?” Vail asked as she followed him along the red brick pathway.
“Why not? It’s my alma mater. I donate every year when they call me, so I may as well get some use out of my donation.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the point.”
“It’s not, but so what?” They walked past a black circular sculpture seated on a square cement emplacement within a slightly elevated grass strip: three circles intertwined within one another. They continued past it toward Kogan Plaza and stopped near a miniature concrete gazebo topped with a copper dome. A man in jeans and a navy sweatshirt leaned against one of its ionic columns, pulling on a cigarette.
“Kogan Plaza,” DeSantos said, nodding at a brick-laid square ahead of them. “Bart Kogan’s a big donor to the school.”
“You know him, of course.”
“Matter of fact, I do. Friend of mine introduced me to him once, when he was in town. Had coffee. Nice guy.”
DeSantos stopped short of the structure and took a seat on a weathered wooden bench to his left, positioned beneath a row of medium-height trees. Vail sat beside him.
Vail tilted her head toward the gazebo. “That Sammy?”
“It is,” DeSantos said. “He’ll be over in a minute.” He turned to Sammy, removed and replaced his sunglasses, then put his arm across the back of the bench behind Vail. “Let me do the talking, okay? He’ll be nervous enough with you here.”
“He’s got a baseball hat on, sunglasses and a beard. I’m guessing the beard’s fake. Is he really worried I might ID him?”
“A guy like this doesn’t take chances.” DeSantos pulled out a pack of Juicy Fruit. “And neither do I.” He flipped open the gum and removed a stick, then offered Vail a piece. She declined.
As DeSantos folded the Juicy Fruit into his mouth, Sammy joined them on the bench, to DeSantos’s left. He did not look at them.
He lowered his chin and said, “Your friend was working on an op known as Velocity. The op’s been active since 2006 and heated up this year when we caught a break. Things were moving nicely till one of our guys had an accident. Your friend filled that void.”
“What was the op?” Vail asked.
DeSantos turned to her and gave her a look.
Tough shit, Hector. I’m here. I’m going to ask questions.
Sammy tilted his head back, his aviator sunglasses reflecting the glary sky like a mirror. “It’s far-reaching. But bringing down a cartel’s one of the primary objectives.”
“Which cartel?” Vail asked.
Sammy’s mirrored glasses flicked over to Vail. It was evident he was not pleased with her intrusions. His gaze slid over to DeSantos. “Cortez.”
“Cortez—” Vail said, then stopped herself. Holy shit. That’s the big leagues.
Sammy craned his head around, searching the immediate area. “I’ve said enough.”
DeSantos dipped his chin. “Appreciate it.”
“Wait,” Vail said. “That’s it? How does César Guevara fit into this?”
Sammy looked at DeSantos. His expression was as unreadable as stone. “See you around.”
He rose from the bench and turned in the direction of the gazebo. Vail started to get up, but DeSantos clamped down on her arm with vise-like strength.
“Let him go, Karen.”
She pulled away—to no avail. “But he knows more than he told us.”
“If he does, he’ll let me know. He said what he felt he could say in front of you. Let’s run with what he gave us.”
DeSantos released his grip. Vail turned and watched Sammy dissolve into the moving mass of students. Vail put a hand to her forehead, then rose and began to pace. “This is worse than I thought, Hector. Carlos Cortez, Jesus Christ. Cortez is one of the most violent and aggressive cartels.”
DeSantos looked off and, for the first time, Vail saw a look of concern on his face.
49
He’s not coming,” Brix said.
Dixon twisted her wrist and consulted her watch for what felt like the fiftieth time. Sitting and waiting, when so much was at stake, was a difficult skill to master. She still hadn’t perfected it. Her knee was bouncing and she felt the need to scream—anything—to burn off the excess adrenaline.
Brix stood up and brushed off his pants. “What do you want to do?”
Dixon got to her feet and looked up at the sky. It was bright and warm. It would be unseasonably hot today. “He’s not home and he’s not at work. Let’s poke around and see if anyone knows what’s going on. He has a secretary. It’s 9:00 AM, start of normal business hours. Why isn’t she here?”
Brix pulled his phone. “You got the number for Superior Mobile Bottling?” Dixon gave it to him, and he dialed. A moment later, he closed his handset. “They’re closed for annual maintenance. What do you think, bullshit?”
“I don’t know. But let’s go talk with someone who might.”
DIXON’S LAST VISIT to Wedded Bliss Vineyards seemed like weeks ago—but it was only a few days. She led Brix up to the glass structure built into the face of a mountain. Brix marveled and made all the appropriate gaping movements with his mouth.
“Makes Silver Ridge look like a shack.”
“You should be proud of your winery, Redd. I wanted to own a winery once.”
“Yeah? What happened?”
“Money happened. It was expensive back ten years ago. Now it’s just plain ridiculous.”
“It’s business. Supply and demand. Napa’s a very valuable brand. That means the value of the finite amount of land goes up. We were lucky our family got in when land was cheap.” He tilted his chin up toward the glass roof, beyond which lay the soil and roots of the mountain that towered above them. “But even if I’m not actively involved, I am proud of it. It’s ours. And we turn out high-quality wine.” He gestured at the pristinely lit glass structure around them. “But then you see a place like this, it feels like a different league.”