Velocity

She closed her eyes tight, then opened them.

“Think for a second. Reason this through. Why would Guevara do something as blatant as leave you, a federal agent, a voice mail like that when he’s already under suspicion?”

Vail took a deep breath. DeSantos was trying to wring out her emotions, make her think. Back to logic. My comfort zone. “Because Guevara’s not a guy that’s pushed around by anyone. Because I broke into his house and went through his things. Given who he is, that’s a huge insult. Who the hell am I to do that to him and get away with it?”

“Leaving you a message like that may not be smart,” DeSantos said, “but he’s got a huge ego and he needed to strike back at you. Psychological warfare can be very effective.”

Guevara’s showing me he’s above the law. He wanted to get inside my head. And it worked.

DeSantos tilted his head, studied her face. “You look like you’re spacing out on me.”

Vail shook her head. “Yeah. No. I mean I’m here.”

“Good. Because I did some digging around, and I found out some shit you’re not going to like.”

She looked at him but did not answer.

“Come with me.”

DeSantos led Vail by the arm out of her office and down the hall. She was still numb, in a fugue like none she had ever experienced. Things moving by her, noises in the background. Robby’s alive. It’s not true. Just psychological warfare. But what if it’s not, what if—

“I accidentally came across something. It was classified and filed in a way that made my nose twitch.” He looked at her, then stopped walking and pushed her up against the wall. “You with me? I need your full attention, Karen.”

“Yeah. Yes.” She took a deep, uneven breath.

“I came across something unusual. So I sniffed under the rock, one thing led to another, I made a few phone calls . . . and I ended up at the deputy administrator for the DEA. But I hit a brick wall. I couldn’t get shit. Before I started calling in favors and getting the FBI director involved, I took another look at what I had, dug a little more, and found another name associated with all this, someone accessible who we’d be able to speak with.”

Vail straightened up, pushed away from the wall. Like smelling salts under the nostrils, her brain whipped back awake. “Who is it? I want to talk to this guy.”

DeSantos looked at her a long moment, then said, “I thought you might. Let’s go.”

Vail followed DeSantos down the hall—and into Thomas Gifford’s office.

“Can we have a moment with Mr. Gifford?” DeSantos asked.

Lenka hesitated, glanced at Vail, then at the sharply dressed DeSantos. “And you are—”

“Hector DeSantos, DoD.” He pulled a credentials wallet and held it in front of her face.

“What’s this about?”

“Agent Vail and I need a moment with ASAC Gifford.”

Vail shook her head. “Hector, we’re wasting time. Let’s just go and see this guy. I don’t need permission from my ASAC to leave the building.” She turned toward the door, but DeSantos grabbed her arm. “We don’t need to leave the building. The person you need to talk with is right here.”

Gifford’s door opened. Vail and Gifford faced each other. Gifford’s gaze flicked over to DeSantos.

“Hector De—”

“I know who you are,” Gifford said.

“We’re here about Detective Roberto Hernandez,” DeSantos said, then stepped forward and pushed past Gifford into his office.

Gifford stepped aside. “Sure, just come on in,” he mumbled. He turned toward Vail and said, “Are you coming, too?”

43

Gifford sat down in his chair. Very official and stiff. He folded his hands in front of him and rested them on the desk. “Is there something I can help you with?”

DeSantos leaned forward. “Oh yeah, I’d say there is.”

“Is there a problem, Mr. DeSantos? I detect an attitude.” DeSantos seemed to study Gifford a moment. Vail watched the warring male egos, relieved that she was not part of it.

“I was asked to assist in locating Detective Hernandez and—”

“I thought I told you there were agents working this case,” Gifford said, his hard brow and stern voice aimed at Vail.

“I’m talking to you at the moment,” DeSantos said.

“Excuse me? Listen here, Mr. DeSantos. I’m the assistant special—”

“I know what you are. Acronyms aside, you’re a goddamn liar.”

Gifford sat there, his entire head shading red with anger.

“Hector,” Vail said. “Back up a second. Please. Let’s keep this civil. What are you talking about? You said you found some information on Robby’s case.”

“Yes.” He turned to Gifford. “I got into a classified DEA file. I spoke with Deputy Administrator Donaldson but he wouldn’t tell me shit. But there was another name there. Yours.”

Gifford did not move. “So?”

“The other name in the file was Roberto Enrique Umberto Hernandez. Now I don’t know about you, but there aren’t two people I know of with that name. And I also know there isn’t a good goddamn reason why Roberto Hernandez’s name should be in a classified DEA file.”

Gifford leaned back in his leather chair. Bit his bottom lip and examined the ceiling.

Vail and DeSantos shared a glance as Gifford began speaking.

“Detective Hernandez—Robby—wanted in to the FBI. But he didn’t want any help. No favors, no strings, no one on the inside making it happen. He wanted to earn it.”

“I already know that,” Vail said. “He and I have been down that road.”

“He has a friend in Napa. Sebastian—”

“We tried tracking him down,” Vail said. “Sebastian doesn’t exist.”

“His name’s Antonio Sebastiani de Medina. Goes by Sebastian.”

Vail cursed under her breath. Hadn’t seen that coming.

“Sebastian is a veteran undercover DEA agent working to infiltrate a violent Mexican drug cartel. Sebastian’s partner was killed in a freak car accident a couple weeks ago and he needed a quick replacement who could step in for one transaction.”

Vail felt her stomach beginning to turn. She closed her throat, fearing she might vomit.

“Sebastian recommended Robby because he knew him and he figured they’d work well together. For Robby, it was an ‘audition’ of sorts—if all went well, he could turn it into a permanent position with DEA. We’ve done this before, but it’s usually with task force members who are federalized as DEA task force officers. There wasn’t any task force in place, but Sebastian was both desperate and insistent. And his ASAC, though reluctant initially, gave in because Robby fit the bill and they needed him.”

“But—”

Gifford held up a hand to silence Vail. “That’s not all. Behind the scenes, Robby mentioned this job to me. He and I had talked a few days earlier about applying to the Bureau. But there are problems with that. With the budget deficit, we’re on a hiring freeze and shifting personnel around toward antiterrorism efforts, and . . . the biggest problem, and which I didn’t know until I happened to ask, Robby never got his B.A. He stopped a few credits short, so he has to finish that out and get his degree before he can apply.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“He didn’t realize it was an issue until he got the app. It’s not something he talks about.” Gifford leaned the chair upright. “Robby doesn’t know, but I reached out to Sebastian’s ASAC, Peter Yardley, with the understanding that he didn’t tell Sebastian, because I didn’t want Robby to know it came from me. Yardley wasn’t going to do it, because he was being a prick and if it went south he didn’t want his ass getting whipped. But when I called, I told him Robby was a good fit because of his background growing up in LA, in gang areas. He grew up around the drug