Knox did not look at Gifford, but the implications were clear.
Shit. Gifford deserves a lot of things, but blame for my screw-ups is not one of them. “Mr. Gifford suggested suspending me by a crane over the Potomac to keep me out of trouble.” Levity. Did it work?
Knox looked at her, an expression that said he was gauging whether or not she was serious. Gifford was facing away, clearly uncomfortable.
Gazing squarely at Vail, Knox said, “That may yet be a good idea.” He turned to leave. “I’ll take it under consideration.”
When the door clicked shut, Vail found a nearby chair and fell into it. Hard.
Gifford stood there, staring at her, sucking his bottom lip. Seconds passed. “Damn it, Karen.”
“Sir—”
“No. Just goddamn it. I have a love-hate relationship with you, you know that? You frustrate the hell out of me. I don’t know what the hell to do with you sometimes. If you weren’t so damn valuable to the unit, I’d recommend you be kicked out of the Bureau so far you wouldn’t be able to find your way back.”
Vail leaned forward and rested her forearms on her knees. This time, for once, she kept her mouth shut.
“What the hell were you thinking? Threatening Yardley, a DEA ASAC? What possible good did you think would come out of that?”
“We were trying to get information about Sebastian’s CI,” Vail said. “Yardley didn’t want to help us out. I was just trying to save Robby.”
“Yeah, about that. Your behavior might just have sealed your boyfriend’s fate. Because we can’t do anything to help find him now. And we’re the ones who are most concerned about his well-being.”
Gifford’s voice was now so loud Vail was sure it could be heard on the other side of his door.
“Do you realize that? We are fucked. You heard the director.”
“I heard him, but—”
“Robby’s status—a task force officer—was some goddamn fabrication we created to help him advance his career because there was no task force. But it leaves him in no-man’s-land. He’s not one of DEA’s own. Will they go to the end of the earth to save him? Probably. But do you see any written guarantees? Because I sure don’t. I can tell you that this op is hugely important to them. They have to nail it to show the war on drugs is worth pumping more money into. With all federal budgets under pressure, you bet they need a home run on this. Normally, they’d do everything they could to get Robby back. But with all this in play, it’s not a normal situation.” Gifford hung his head and said, beneath his breath, “And it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
“No sir. I’m the one who blew his cover.”
Gifford’s head snapped up. “And I’m the one who pulled strings to get him into that operation in the first place.” He shook his head, leaned back in his chair, and massaged his face briskly with a hand.
Vail watched him. He was under unaccountably severe duress. Yes, a law enforcement officer was in danger. And some time ago, Gifford had promised Robby’s mother he would look after him. Was that all there was to this? Or was there something more?
“Sir, we’ll find him. Hector and I have got a line—”
“Karen, I don’t want to hear this. I can’t hear this. Did you get what the director just said to you? The Bureau’s done, we’re out of this. Our hands are tied.”
“Your hands are tied, sir. I don’t intend to sit by and wait for Robby’s body to show up on a morgue slab, or worse—along the side of some Mexican highway. Not gonna happen.”
Vail realized Gifford was not listening. He was staring ahead, at nothing in particular. Eyes glazed.
“I promised his mother I’d look after him. On her death bed, I promised.”
Vail studied his face a long moment—and then it hit her. She should have seen it before . . . the information had been there, teasing away at her brain for months, but she never put it all together. Until now, the look in Gifford’s eyes. Guilt—but not just guilt.
“Robby isn’t just the son of a good friend, is he, sir? He’s your son. Biologically.”
Gifford’s eyes found hers. But he did not reply.
Back when they were working the Dead Eyes case, Robby told her he suspected Gifford of having a fling with his mom. Vail assumed it was a recent occurrence, in the year before his mother died. But what if it had been a much longer relationship than Vail realized—than Robby realized? “You knew Alexandra a great many years,” she said softly. “You had an affair with her. A long time ago.”
Gifford rocked forward in his seat and dropped his gaze to his desk. In a weak voice as flat as Texas, he said, “I think it’s time you left.”
Vail sat there, debating how hard to push. But she realized she knew all there was to know—for now. Her time was best spent trying to find Robby. After what just went down, she had to operate under the radar of both the Bureau and the DEA.
It was then that she realized it was a good thing the man assisting her was Hector DeSantos. Under the radar was his specialty.
58
Vail met DeSantos at the World War II memorial. When she had called and told him she was officially removed from the case, he told her to put that thought on hold.
“I’ve got someone who wants to meet.” He told her where and encouraged her not to be late.
She caught a cab and was there two minutes early. Vail got out and walked toward the towering southern entrance, the limestone block four-poster Pacific gateway. A giant stone wreath hung above, supported by eagles in midflight. Splitting off to both sides of the archway were dozens of freestanding pillars, each lettered in relief with the states’ names, in addition to the various U.S. territories. The columns were dramatically lit from below and curved in a gentle semicircle, forming a recessed central plaza, where a large, active fountain sat. Carved in bas relief along two long walls were scenes depicting iconic milestones in the war.
Standing a few yards from the edge of the rainbow pool was Hector DeSantos. Several clumps of people milled about the water’s periphery, including the usual contingent of tourists with cameras; older men reminiscing about the war and commiserating about how the world had changed in the intervening decades; children holding their grandfathers’ hands, learning their country’s history in a way that transcended textbooks and two-dimensional black-and-white photos.
Vail walked up to DeSantos and was about to speak when he tapped her arm, then turned to his right and began walking. He stopped twenty yards later, near a cutout in the pool’s rim, midway between the Pacific and Atlantic gateways. A man sat at the water’s edge, hands clasped around his knees.
Vail eyed him closely. It was Sammy, DeSantos’s DEA contact.
DeSantos sauntered toward the man but kept a distance so that the two of them did not appear to know each other. Vail stood at DeSantos’s left, between him and Sammy. She figured it was her job to stand there and make like DeSantos was chatting with her, when in fact he was talking across her to Sammy.
“What’ve you got?” DeSantos asked.
Sammy looked down at his lap and picked at a loose thread on his shirt. “I haven’t heard anything about your guy.”