Horns of the Devil - Jeff Trask [02] by Marc Rainer

question,” she said, smiling proudly. “To the extent there is one, I’d say upper Prince George’s County, Maryland.”
    “Bladensburg, again?” Trask asked, smiling back. It’s nice to have some common sense to add to the data collection.
    “It’s a reach, but yes. That’s the only place I could find with any recent, multiple arrests of M-18 types.”
    “Bear, can you—”
    “I’m on it,” Doroz said, reaching for the phone. “We’ll warn the locals and set up out there tonight.” He looked up at Carter. “Dix, you and Tim will be riding with me.”
    Carter rolled his eyes skyward, then nodded.
    “I’d like to come,” Trask began, but he caught the warning glance that Lynn was shooting at him and shifted gears, “but it’s out of my jurisdiction, and Ross Eastman is certainly going to order me to keep my impetuous young ass away from the scene. I’ll be at home, with our lovely and talented squad analyst, waiting by the phone. Keep me posted as soon as anything happens. Ross will be calling his counterpart in Baltimore within the hour, and he’ll want real-time information.”
    “Will do,” Doroz said.
    “I had one other reason for thinking it’s not the 18ers,” Lynn said. “I just found out about the car wash a couple of days ago by tracing the money from the deli insurance settlement. This Ortega character claimed that someone had burned down his business, and he just signed the settlement check over when he bought the car wash. How’d the 18 crew know about the MS-13 move to the car wash so soon?”
    “Where’s Puddin’?” Doroz asked. “Anybody seen Crawford?”

    Special Agent Michael Crawford, wearing shorts and a polo shirt that his mother had told him made his eyes stand out, waited a short distance away from the panda exhibit. Don’t want her to think I’m stalking her, he thought. I’m not, actually. Or am I? She’s a source, or a potential source, for now. He asked himself what would happen if she wanted to be more than that. What would win? The Bureau’s restrictions on dealing with a potential witness, or the other thoughts of her that had dominated his mind now for the past three days? Rather than answer, he chose to ignore the question.
    She came around the walkway looking at the animals. She was wearing another sundress, blue and white. He tried to walk up behind her, to surprise her.
    “How long have you been waiting?” she asked before he could say anything or touch her.
    “About thirty minutes,” he confessed.
    “I was waiting for you by the lions.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “No.”
    She looked up at him, and then kissed him. He almost fell backward.
    “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I just hadn’t expected that.”
    “It’s the twenty-first century in El Salvador, too,” she said. “I’m not required to have a chaperone when I leave my apartment, and I’m not even in El Salvador. Does that bother you?”
    “No. Not at all.”
    He thought of that priorities question again…and ignored it again. Another question replaced it. “Do you think it’s completely safe for you to be seen with me like this?” he asked her.
    She laughed again. “Give me your address, then. That way I can come see you where it’s safe and cool. I’ll make sure I am not followed.”
    “Let me know when you’re coming so I can clean the place up.”
    “No!” She laughed again as she walked backward away from him. “I want to see how you really live. I’ll surprise you!”
    He watched her turn and walk back toward the entrance. His apartment would be immaculate for the foreseeable future.

    At 11:47 p.m., Esteban Ortega and seven other members of the Washington, DC, east-side clique of the Mara Salvatrucha checked their weapons and headed northeast on Bladensburg Road in two vehicles, a stolen Chevy Cavalier and a Ford minivan.

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    Chapter Ten
    August 18
    R oss Eastman was looking out the window of his very large corner office on the fifth floor of the