“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.
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.
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 Cesar 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
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.”
“Up the stairs. Crystal’s waiting for us.”
They walked into Crystal Dahlia’s all-glass office and dispensed with the pleasantries. Crystal grinned. “And how’s your friend. Agent Vail?”
“Back in Virginia.”
“Did she enjoy her stay out west?”
Dixon and Brix shared a knowing look. Dixon said, “Not particularly.”
“Oh,” Crystal said, her smile fading. “I’m sorry.”
“Couldn’t be helped,” Dixon said. “Circumstances beyond our control.”
“So how is Silver Ridge, Lieutenant Brix?”
Brix threw out both hands, palms up. “Who can complain? The economy sucks, sales are down a bit. But the wine is great. I’m told this will probably be a good year for the grapes if the weather goes as expected.”
“I’m told the same thing.”
“If you don’t mind,” Dixon said. “We’ve got some pressing business. No pun intended.” She waited a beat, then said, “Your board—the Georges Valley AVA.”
“I told you, my presidency is almost over.”
“Yes,” Dixon said. “But we need some information about Superior Mobile Bottling. Cesar Guevara, in particular.”
Crystal placed well-manicured red nails on her desk. “Our contracts VP has dealt with him more than I have.”
“That’s Ian Wirth?”
“Good memory. If you wait a few minutes, Ian will be here if you’d like to talk with him. I’m due to hand over my file as part of the transition to the new president.”
Dixon checked her watch yet again. “A few minutes?”
“Any minute now.” Crystal picked up her phone and dialed an extension. “When Mr. Wirth arrives, please send him up to my office . . . He has? Excellent.” She placed the receiver back in its cradle. “Ian just came in the
