Thumps was sure that pie was not the answer to much of anything. Still, Cruz was incredulous.
“Whipped cream and ice cream?”
“It’s pumpkin pie,” said Thumps.
“I didn’t have any of that crap on mine.”
Thumps twirled his fork in the cream. “Your loss.”
“Diabetes?”
“That’s what insulin is for.”
Cruz made a face. “No. It’s. Not.”
Thumps could have had the chocolate cream pie. Now there was a mistake waiting to happen. Chocolate and cream. A sugar load if there ever was one. So, he had shown restraint. Pumpkin, after all, was a vegetable, and according to the experts, vegetables were supposed to make up half your plate.
And there it was. Half the plate, vegetable. The other half, dairy. End of discussion.
“How about we compare notes.” Thumps took another bite of pie and whipped cream, loaded a bit of ice cream onto the end of the fork. “How about we start with Black Ice?”
“You first.”
“Government program originally tasked with gathering information on any group that posed a threat to national security. Terrorists, drug cartels, right-wing militias, cyber criminals.”
“Don’t forget reality television.”
“And in the course of their information gathering, Black Ice discovered that one of the greatest threats was coming from our own military-industrial complex, specifically large corporations who were selling restricted technologies to the Boris Badenovs and Natasha Fatales of the world.”
Thumps helped himself to another bite of pie.
“Change of administration, change of mission. The technology leaks can’t be allowed to continue, but no one wants to spark a public spectacle, so Black Ice is tasked with the job of quietly hacking into the secret slush funds of the naughty corporations and making off with their ill-gotten gains. A slap on the hands, if you will.”
Cruz stayed stone-faced. “Gage has been chatty.”
“Your turn,” said Thumps.
Cruz shrugged. “It appears you know everything.”
“And I’m guessing the reason that Gage told me as much as she did is because Black Ice has been . . . what . . . disbanded?”
“ ‘Decommissioned’ is the word you’re looking for.”
Thumps tapped his fork against the plate. “What happened to the rest of the team?”
“Classified.”
“As in retired? Reassigned? Dead?”
“As in.”
“And Sorin Dalca?”
“Jesus. She told you about Dalca?”
“She did.”
“No comment.”
“How much money are we talking about?”
“No comment.”
“Wow,” said Thumps. “That much.”
The server came by with a fresh pot of coffee. Thumps thought Cruz might order a second piece of pie. With whipped cream and ice cream this time. But he didn’t.
“Okay,” said Thumps, “so what happened to the money that Black Ice confiscated?”
“Under civil forfeiture practices, monies from a forfeiture would normally go to the agency that initiated the action,” said Cruz. “Or they might go into a general fund.”
“Thank you for the textbook answer. Now, tell me about the Vault.”
“You going to eat all that pie?”
“Sorin Dalca? The Vault? A shitload of money just sitting there?”
“If you don’t eat it soon,” said Cruz, “the ice cream is going to melt, and the crust is going to get soggy.”
“Dalca would have access to that money.” Thumps waited to see if Cruz wanted to jump in. “Who else?”
Cruz put down his fork, picked up a spoon. “See? Soggy.”
“You’re not going to help me, are you?”
“Hey, jefe,” said Cruz. “Helping you is not my job.”
“What I can’t figure out is why Gage is here. Why you’re here.” Thumps watched Cruz’s face for clues. “Hope you don’t expect me to believe that you’re assisting her with the vagaries of real estate.”
Cruz shrugged. “Why can’t that be a possibility?”
“Gage isn’t in witness protection,” said Thumps. “If she were, the Secret Service would be doing the heavy lifting.”
“Why is everything with you so cloak and dagger?”
“How about this? After Black Ice was decommissioned, what did Gage do?”
“Retired.”
“What? She sat around. Knitted socks for her nephews?”
“Don’t think she has any nephews.”
“You know, I’m happy to arrest you.”
“Okay,” said Cruz. “It’s no secret. When Black Ice was decommissioned, Gage retired, started a small consulting business.”
“Doing?”
“Cybersecurity. Company called Data Sentry Associates. Nothing big, but pleasantly lucrative.”
Thumps rolled the name around in his head. “Data Sentry Associates? DSA? Like CIA or NSA?”
“Hadn’t thought of it like that.” Cruz helped himself to a forkful of Thumps’s pie.
“Hey!”
Cruz nodded. “You’re right. The whipped cream and ice cream really set the pumpkin off.”
The pie, as it turned out, was a mistake. Thumps could feel the sugar begin to bloom in his body. Maybe letting Cruz poach his plate wasn’t such a bad idea. He could disguise self-interest as generosity.
“So, Gage retires, starts a business.” Thumps slid his plate over to Cruz. “Settles into a regular routine. Life is good. Life is stable.”
“This for me?”
“It is,” said Thumps. “And while you’re eating that delicious pie, why don’t you tell me what happened.”
“So, this is a bribe?”
“Cruz . . .”
“Nothing happened,” said Cruz. “D.C. is a shithole. Noise, traffic, poverty. Politicians, lawyers, lobbyists all screwing over the planet at the same time. Decided that she needed a change in geography.”
“And her business? Data something?”
“Data Sentry Associates,” said Cruz. “Sold it.”
“Just like that.”
“Packed her bags, jumped on a plane, and here she is. Woman always wanted to see the West. I told her to try Chinook. Home on the range. Buffalo roam. Land under starry skies above.”
Thumps thought about taking the pie back. Just on general principles. He didn’t want to eat it, but it made no sense to reward Cruz for sarcasm and bad behaviour.
“Something happened.”
“Such as?”
“A woman like Nora Gage doesn’t just cut and run.” Thumps pointed his fork at Cruz. “You want to tell me what spooked her?”
Cruz held his hands out, palms up, to show he had nothing to hide, nothing up his sleeves.
“Not me you have to worry about,” said Thumps. “It’s Duke. Chinook’s his town. He finds a rope lying around loose, he’s likely to start pulling on it.”
Cruz was grinning. “Is this going to be one of those western homilies I’ve heard so much about?”
“Best he doesn’t find you on the other end.”
“Christ,” said Cruz, “you even sound like John Wayne.”
Thumps was working on a clever retort when he felt his phone vibrate.
“DreadfulWater.”
“Hey, boss, where are you?”
“Shadow Ranch. What’s up?”
“You might think about meeting me at the airport,” said Cooley. “Been following up on the car rental question.”
“And I need to be there because?”
“Not exactly sure what I’ve got,” said Cooley. “Thought you’d want to see it in person.”
“But not a dead body.”
“Nope,” said Cooley. “Definitely not a dead body.”
Thumps put the phone back in his pocket. Cruz was relaxing in the chair, his fork at the ready.
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to go off, do some sheriff work, give you and Gage time to chat about how obstructing an investigation is a crime. Come tomorrow, I’ll be back with the same questions. And I’ll keep coming back until I get answers. That seem fair?”
“This a variation on your big bad wolf routine?”
“The story of police work. Huff and puff, huff and puff.” Thumps set his hat on his head. “You enjoy the pie. We don’t serve dessert in jail.”