Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (52 page)

Vail thought of Robby and grabbed her temples.
I can’t believe this.

The elevator doors slid open and she practical y leaped inside.

ROXXANN DIXON HAD LOCATED César Guevara attempting to circle back and exit Caesars Palace through its front entrance. She was determined not to lose him again, but he appeared to be moving urgently—and he had a cel phone to his ear. If he had spotted her, bodyguards would not be far off. Armed bodyguards.

“This is Dixon,” she said into her radio. “In foot pursuit of suspect Guevara.

Leaving Caesars’ main entrance. Request available backup.”

Dixon fol owed him as he ran across the pedestrian overpass that arced above South Las Vegas Boulevard at Flamingo Way. To her left, building-size pictures of Donnie and Marie Osmond smiled back at her.

Ahead, amid people moving in both directions across the bridge, César Guevara was thirty feet from the down escalator and staircase.

“Hold it right there,” Dixon yel ed. “Agents are coming right at you, there’s nowhere to go.” Not true, but what the hel .

The tourists who saw her SIG veered away, but those who were oblivious bumped her from behind or weaved around her. Guevara slowed and glanced through the clear Lexan wal s, no doubt attempting to verify Dixon’s claims of nearby reinforcements.

But Guevara apparently felt that if there were federal agents approaching, he would be no worse off than if he were to surrender. And he surely knew she wouldn’t discharge her weapon with innocents in such close proximity.

Down the stairs they both went. Dixon keyed her radio.

Guevara negotiated a sharp left at the bottom of the staircase, passing Bil ’s Gambling Hal and Saloon and moving toward the Flamingo Hotel.

“Guevara headed north at the intersection of Las Vegas Boulevard and Flamingo Way,” Dixon said into her two-way.

Guevara sidestepped the open casino entrance, where two scantily clad women were dancing atop a raised pedestal. Dixon struggled to stay in visual contact with Guevara, as the crowd was now considerably thicker than it had been on the bridge.

Guevara fended off Latino workers shoving porn trading cards into the hands of passersby. He looked right, at the raucous col ege students pul ing on neon green drinks in Margaritavil e, then glanced left at the thick, slowly moving traffic.

Dixon made up ground and was only thirty feet behind him when Guevara stopped suddenly, shoved a man aside, drew his handgun, and—

Before Dixon could reach him, his weapon bucked, fol owed by his body.

He’d been hit—but by whom?

As Guevara slumped back into the trunk of a streetside palm tree—he’d taken a round but was not incapacitated—Hector DeSantos stepped off the planted median in the center of the boulevard, his gold Desert Eagle out in front of him, approaching Guevara with caution.

Cars stopped, drivers gawking at the man in front of them advancing across the roadway with a handgun—and making no attempt to hide it.

“Don’t make me shoot you again,” DeSantos said. “Drop the gun or you’l be joining al your dead cartel brothers.”

Guevara, his face contorted in pain, did not acquiesce.

But Dixon came up behind him and pressed her SIG against the man’s temple.

“Does this make the decision easier?”

Guevara dropped the handgun. He was bleeding from the abdomen—a notoriously painful wound—but Dixon showed him no mercy as she grabbed his hands and yanked them behind him, then fastened her set of cuffs to his wrists.

“That’s for Eddie,” Dixon said of her deceased ex-boyfriend.

Guevara winced. “Don’t know who that is.”

“John Mayfield kil ed him.”

“Don’t know who that is, either.”

“Lying pisses me off, César. And that’s not something you want to do.”

“I don’t know—”

Dixon slapped him on the head. “Just shut up, asshole.” She turned to DeSantos.

“Robby?”

“Haven’t heard anything,” DeSantos said as he holstered his weapon. “Cal this in. I’l go see if Karen needs help.”

ROBBY TRIED TO GET TO HIS FEET, to right himself. But he was stil dizzy from the punches he took and the head butt he meted out. After al he’d endured lately, his tank was running dry.

He sat back down on the cold floor, water dripping from his face. His clothing was thick and heavy, and his arm throbbed.

And he couldn’t shake the image of holding the man’s head down as his lungs fil ed with water. He had kil ed him. But it was different from the time as a teen when he had murdered the man who had done the same to his uncle. Here it was a matter of survival. Before . . . it was as Diego had said: revenge. Raw, inexcusable, premeditated revenge.

He’d repressed those memories, those thoughts and feelings, for so long that he’d gotten skil ed at it. Too skil ed. He now realized he had been cheating. He had broken the law and never paid the price.

But was the price too expensive now, given that he had dedicated his life to catching those who would harm others? Did that balance out the scales of justice?

Did it tip them in his favor?

Robby shivered. He had to get to his feet, find help, dry clothing, some food, and medical attention for his gunshot wound.

He rol ed left and pushed himself up.

VAIL FELT THE ELEVATOR bottom out, then leaned forward as the doors slid apart. She side-slithered through, Glock in her hands, and swept into the hal way.

“Which way?” she cal ed back to Pryor.

He remained behind her and silently pointed ahead, no doubt realizing that, with the handgun clenched in both hands, out in front of her, Vail’s frenzied demeanor wasn’t an act. He was probably beginning to wonder what he’d gotten himself into.

Pryor directed her through the seemingly endless, curving corridor.

“How much farther?”

Pryor slowed, then looked back over his shoulder. “I don’t know. The back of the house isn’t my patrol area. I’ve only been down here once.” He pursed his lips, stopped walking, then again glanced behind him. “There’s no elevator at the north end of the property. I’m pretty sure the room service elevator was the best way to get there.”

“But you’re not real y sure where ‘there’ is.”

“I think if we keep going, we’l eventual y get to the maintenance shop.”

Vail tightened her grip on the Glock.
Great. Robby could be in trouble—if he’s
still alive—and I get the tour guide with no sense of direction.

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

82

A
fter 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, hopeful y, Karen.

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

Two arms pul ed 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 mil ion payoff. And everyone would’ve won. DEA, me, you, al 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 stil 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 mil ion 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 real y 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 real y 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 al over anything that smel ed like shit. And to a seasoned nose, you were reeking. That’s what got your partner kil ed, 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 al 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 col ar 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 spil ing 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 al 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 al 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 footfal s going suddenly silent as he disappeared.

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

“I’l make this quick,” the man said.

Robby threw up a hand. “No. Wait—”

The gunshot echoed loudly.

83

W
hen 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.

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

Pryor pul ed a ring from a clip on his uniform and sifted through the various keys before making his choice. “The engineers are al 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 wal s: 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 fol owed 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 col ar 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.”