DeSantos was carrying the cloned cell phone—and all network traffic to that number was diverted to his handset. Like an arrested suspect, Sebastian’s real phone would remain silent until DeSantos’s team member released it for normal telephonic reception. If Diamante was not where he should be, DeSantos could contact him while retaining his cover.
DeSantos advanced from the rear. He signaled Vail, who began walking toward the front of the closest blue- gray cargo container. As she approached, she saw there was just enough room between the long structures for a person to fit—not comfortably, but it was possible to shuffle sideways through the opening. Just looking at the tight quarters made her chest tighten.
Along the exposed side of the shipping container was a smaller storage box. Roughly half the size of the other two, it was positioned approximately a dozen feet away. And leaning against its side pulling on a cigarette was Jose Diamante. DeSantos had spotted him too, as he was tipping his head left in the CI’s direction. DeSantos stood frozen, waiting for Vail to advance so that errant footsteps wouldn’t be detected before Vail could engage him.
She smiled and walked gaily toward Diamante, motioning at him until his head lifted and his body straightened. He was locked in.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m totally lost. My phone battery’s dead and I was looking for a pay phone. Someone said there was one in the gas station on the corner, but”—she spread her arms and made a point of swiveling her head from side to side—“there’s no gas station.”
“Looks like they tore it down,” Diamante said, then sucked again on his cigarette, out the side of his mouth, like he was thinking of what kind of fun he could have with the attractive redhead who was approaching.
“I was looking for a street that had an ‘NW’ after it, but all these street signs say ‘NE.’ Is there a difference?” She laughed.
But he suddenly swiveled 180 degrees, and his body language suggested he caught sight of DeSantos and had read him as a cop. Not merely suggested—he tensed and coiled low and bent his knees and took off in Vail’s direction. She was still a ditsy redhead and had not entered his threat zone. Yet.
Vail stepped left, into his path, and threw her arms around him. But he must’ve seen this move before, because he stuck an elbow into her neck, and she went down.
Diamante continued south, toward H Street.
Diamante tried cutting a hard left and he went down, sprawling in a patch of loose dirt. As he gathered himself, Vail pounced, wrapping her arms around his back. But she was only 115 pounds and Diamante was—per the DMV—200.
And that seemed about right as he flung her off his back rather easily. But Vail was not about to let her sole connection to Robby go that easily. She had an iron grip on his collar and he dragged her forward through the dirt. She pulled with all her weight, choking him best she could. But he wouldn’t go down.
She fumbled for the handle of her Glock, yanked it free, then swung it as hard as she could, clocking him across the back of his head. Diamante stumbled, then crumpled to his knees.
Vail landed atop him but maintained the grip on her pistol. She thrust it into the base of his skull and damn- near shouted, “Don’t move. Not one move—or I’ll blow your goddamn brain all over the dirt, you hear me?”
DeSantos was pulling up behind them in full stride. “Karen! Karen, what are you doing?”
Ignoring DeSantos, she said into Diamante’s ear, “We need some information. We’re not here to hurt you. Understand?”
He nodded his head, and his face scraped across the ground.
She gave him a thorough pat down and pulled a .45 Magnum from his belt. She handed it back toward DeSantos, who snatched it away, anger pulling his face into a snarl.
They needed to move Diamante away from the main drag. People would be getting out of work soon, and it’d be best not to be in full view while they questioned him. In the era of camera phones—not to mention ATM cameras and security eyes recording everything within reach—they had to be careful.
“I’m gonna get off you now,” Vail said to Diamante. “You’re going to stand up. Slowly. Then we’re going to walk to the back of this container and have a chat. You cooperate and no one will get hurt. Understand?”
He again abraded his face against the dirt.
Vail backed off him but kept her Glock at her side, against her pants, out of view of any passing onlookers— who’d already gotten a good show if any had cared to watch. Vail surmised that in this neighborhood, when shit like this happened, people either turned their backs—or got the hell away before bullets started flying.
They also needed to avoid trolling Metro police cruisers. Vail didn’t have a problem with pulling her creds and explaining their purpose, but the last thing they wanted to do was make a show of being seen with Diamante; it could destroy him. Talking to cops was . . . frowned upon in this hood, and it would likely result in him no longer being a source of any value. Not to mention it’d probably get him killed.
Diamante, a coerced but willing party, walked alongside Vail, with DeSantos bringing up the rear. They continued about a hundred paces until they reached the far end of the long container. Two dozen feet away stood a line of parked vehicles. Realizing that these SUVs, pickups, and minivans could provide adequate cover while they talked, Vail headed in that direction.
Before they arrived, her phone buzzed. It was Gifford. She muted the ringer, then steered Diamante between two Suburban-type SUVs.
Vail got a good look at his face for the first time: not a bad-looking guy. She wondered what he was really like, why he had a connection to one of the most powerful drug cartels—and if he’d be a cooperating informant.
DeSantos stood with his hands in the back pocket of his jeans—no suit for this meet—and did not look pleased.
“Sorry about that back there,” Vail said to Diamante. “I didn’t think you’d run. I didn’t have a choice.”
Diamante turned to DeSantos. “Whaddya want with me?”
“It’s like I said,” Vail replied. “We need some information.”
With his gaze still on DeSantos, Diamante said, “I don’t talk to women who carry guns. It’s one of my rules of doing business.”
“What business are we doing here?” Vail asked.
But DeSantos held out his arm and eased Vail aside. “That’s fine. Talk to me.”
Vail bit down hard—the objective was to get information. How they did that did not matter. Now was not the time to allow her bruised female ego to intervene.
Diamante reached for his pocket. Vail raised her Glock.
And Diamante raised his hands. “A cigarette,
DeSantos nodded for him to continue. He pulled a lighter and held it out for Diamante, who lit up. He puffed smoke into the air and said with a shrug, “I don’t know nothing, so there ain’t nothing to talk about.”
DeSantos stepped forward and spoke in a low voice. “Cortez. We know you’re connected. That’s what we need to know about.”
“You’re loco,
DeSantos grinned. “I didn’t say anything about drugs. So you know enough to know what Cortez’s business is. But okay, I get it. You had to say that. Now that we’re past all that shit, I need to know what you’ve heard. About a certain guy.”
“I told you. I don’t know nothing.”
Vail stepped forward, nudging DeSantos aside. “Bullshit. And I’m not in the mood to play games, so you
Diamante spit in her face. A gooey, cigarette smoker’s phlegm stuck to her cheek. Rather than wiping it away, she reached back and slugged him, right in the nose with the butt of her Glock. His head snapped back into the top of the car and he slunk down onto his knees, at her feet.
DeSantos turned away and brought a hand to his forehead. “Jesus Christ.”
Vail crouched between the trucks. Her face was now an inch from Diamante’s bloodied, crushed nose. “Now
