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

Triple-nickle, his back to Trask, Doroz, and Bill Patrick, the Criminal Division chief and Trask’s immediate superior. Eastman was the epitome of a Washington political appointee. His manner, grooming, dress, and credentials were impeccable. He was average in height, average in weight, and average in actual legal ability, which made him a danger to no one—especially not to those in the halls of Congress where he had formerly been employed as counsel to the House Judiciary Committee. He had, accordingly, been a smashing success there and had been granted his appointment of choice, which turned out to be United States Attorney for the District of Columbia.
    Eastman’s strength, however, was actually one of character . He was the Washington anomaly, the public servant who actually wished to serve the public, even if it meant that his own interests might not be best served. He had learned he could best serve the nation in his current position by making sure that the most talented assets in his office got the assignments that required the most talent, and he provided those assets with any support at his disposal. Their successes then became his own.
    “This isn’t the end of this thing, is it, Jeff?”
    “I really doubt it,” Trask said. “Bear and the local guys were only able to pick off the van that had the MS-13 shooting team. Our guys rolled in on them while they were stopped at a light before they crossed the line into Maryland. There was a small Chevy with the van. The Chevy was on the hot sheet; the van wasn’t. Whoever was in the car peeled out and went through the light and around the squad car that blocked the van. The Maryland cops found the Cavalier abandoned about a mile away, nobody in sight.”
    “We concentrated on the van because we figured it had the shooters, Ross.”
    Doroz was completely comfortable using the US Attorney’s first name. He’d worked cases with Eastman years before, when the latter had been just a line prosecutor. That history and his own reputation in the FBI gave Doroz the freedom to speak his mind. Besides, someone else wrote his report card, so he’d decided to deflect the harder issues away from Trask.
    “The gangbangers like to roll by and slide the side doors open on those things, then light their targets up with the AKs.”
    “I can’t fault your decision there, Barry,” Eastman said. “And it’s good that you got them before they killed somebody. Plus, you got them before they crossed into Maryland, so we get to control the case, for now. We’ve got venue, District of Maryland doesn’t. What charges do you have, Jeff?”
    “Illegal possession of machine guns. Four shooters in the back of the van, four fully automatic AKs. We don’t want to charge a conspiracy yet—might give us double-jeopardy issues for what we anticipate will be an overall conspiracy indictment later. The driver gets charged as an aider and abetter, and he’s already on paper: probation for a tax case. They’re all MS-13 troops. Tats and colors, the works. Two from El Salvador and two from Honduras. The driver is a US citizen, born in LA.”
    “Did you serve the Vienna Convention notices?”
    “Yes, sir. We had the initial appearances this morning, and I put the consul notification forms, in Spanish, in front of each defendant. Not one opted for the notification.”
    “That’s a little strange, isn’t it? Not wanting your home government to know you’ve been arrested and locked up?”
    “I really don’t think so,” Doroz intervened again. “Our analysis on the Maras right now shows that they have nothing but contempt for the new government in El Salvador, and the gangs are really at war with the new military regime in Honduras.”
    Eastman turned back toward the window again. “I got a call from the White House this morning, guys,” he said when he finally turned back toward them. “Not the Attorney General, the White House . The president’s chief of staff told me that he