Thumps drove the cruiser back to Shadow Ranch with lights and siren, only turning off the overheads when he hit the turnoff for the resort. Cruz’s car was parked behind Palazzo Veneziano. Thumps touched the hood as he went past.
Hot.
The door was open. Thumps quickly stepped into the villa, his gun at his side. Cruz was in the living room, on the sofa, his leg up on the ottoman.
“What took you so long?”
“Where the hell did you get those pants?”
“Pro shop,” said Cruz. “Hospital wrecked my good pants.”
“You couldn’t find another colour?”
“Choices were neon fuchsia and electric yellow,” said Cruz. “I could have gone with a pair of tan walking shorts, but I didn’t want anyone to see the bandage.”
Thumps put his gun back in the holster, took in the villa for the first time. The place had been trashed. Chairs knocked over, the glass table smashed, pictures on the walls askew.
“Okay. Maybe you should tell me what happened.”
Cruz rubbed his leg gently. “I went back to that fancy house on the river.”
“Ironstone River Estates.”
“Thought I’d start from the beginning. I was sitting in my car when someone started shooting. First couple of rounds hit the front fender. One came through the door panel and nicked me.”
“You got the slug.”
Cruz pulled a baggie out of his pocket. Inside was a deformed lump of lead.
“Didn’t see anyone. Shooter must have been on the high ground above the house.”
“How bad?”
“Could have been worse. Having to wear these godawful pants hurts more.”
“Any idea who?”
“Soon as I left the hospital, I came here.” Cruz grimaced. “But I was too late.”
“Gage?”
“Gone.”
“So, either kidnapped or she did a runner.”
“How about we get something to eat,” said Cruz. “I’m wounded and my blood sugars are dropping.”
“Not sure I can take you anywhere in those pants.”
“Someplace quiet where we can talk.” Cruz swung his leg off the ottoman. “How about we take your car. I had a hell of a time getting here, working the clutch.”
THE MUSTANG PARKING lot was empty.
“Place even open?”
“Just too early for the motorcycle boys,” said Thumps. “They’re just getting up.”
Lorraine was behind the bar.
“Sit wherever.”
“Yo-Yo in the kitchen?” Thumps took a booth, so Cruz could put his leg up.
“Like the pants,” said Lorraine. “Wish I could get Big Fish into a pair like that.”
“If you got a black garbage bag with a belt,” said Cruz, “I’ll trade you.”
“What’s wrong with your leg?”
“He got shot,” said Thumps.
“Probably not the first time,” said Lorraine.
“Most assuredly not,” said Cruz. “Cheeseburger, extra tomato, fries, and a vanilla milkshake.”
“Sheriff ?”
“Same,” said Thumps. “Where’s Big Fish?”
“Up at Shadow Ranch,” said Lorraine. “He’s part of Team Wutty.”
“Which part?”
“The part that sits around and drinks beer.” Lorraine wiped down the table. “I’ll have Yo-Yo bring everything out when it’s ready.”
THUMPS WAITED UNTIL Lorraine disappeared.
“Well, here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into.”
“You know,” said Cruz, “most people think that comes from Laurel and Hardy, but W. S. Gilbert used it in The Mikado and in The Grand Duke.”
“You kidnap a dead man. You lose your principle. You get yourself shot.”
“Gage isn’t my principle, and Greeley wasn’t dead when I brought him by your office,” said Cruz. “That happened later. On your watch.”
“Principle or not, you lost Gage.”
“Didn’t lose her,” said Cruz. “Just don’t know where she is.”
“And all because you wouldn’t accept expert help when it was offered.”
“I’m injured.” Cruz settled himself in the booth. “I may have to rest and wait for refreshments to come.”
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, the door to the kitchen opened, and Yo-Yo appeared with a large tray.
“Deputy Dog and friend.” Yo-Yo set the tray on the edge of the table and began unloading the food.
Yo-Yo’s real name was Doug Jacobs. He was a string bean of a man with large ears and a frog butt. A couple of the Mustang regulars had gone on a rally to Burning Man, had watched a young woman do a trick with a yo-yo called “walking the dog,” which reminded them of Doug’s peculiar way of bobbing and gliding as he walked. All at the same time.
And the rest was history.
“Hey, you’re that ninja assassin guy.” Yo-Yo blinked several times. “Big Fish said if you showed up again, I was to get your autograph.”
Cruz looked at Thumps.
“He was hoping you might do it in blood.” Yo-Yo could sense the danger, started bobbing back to the kitchen. “But I’m betting ketchup would do.”
CRUZ ATE his food in silence. Thumps was patient. At some point, the man from Pie Town would have to come out from behind the burgers and fries.
“Okay.” Cruz finished his shake. “You first.”
Thumps leaned forward, lowered his voice. “We found Greeley’s rental.”
“Did you?”
“Hidden in the trunk was a sniper rifle.”
Cruz’s face darkened.
“Which is somewhat peculiar,” said Thumps, “seeing as how the man suffered from cataracts and macular degeneration. Beth figures he’d have trouble shooting himself in the foot.”
“Sounds like there’s more.”
Thumps took the envelope out of his bag. Laid the photographs out on the table.
“These were in Greeley’s car-rental locker at the airport.”
“Car-rental locker?”
“Pilot project. Allows you to rent a car anonymously. You rent a car, they give you a code. When your flight gets in, you go to the locker and get the key. Drop the car off the same way. Locker doubles as storage.”
Cruz picked up the photo of himself. “This is at least ten years old.”
“You recognize the rest?”
“Nora Gage.” Cruz touched another photo. “If I had to guess, I’d put my money on the Black Ice team.”
Thumps did the math in his head. “Gage said that there were eight members of Black Ice. Dalca would make nine. You make ten.” Thumps waited for Cruz to catch up. “But here we have eleven images.”
Cruz stared at the pictures. “I can get the names of the team, confirm the faces.”
“There was also a burner phone,” said Thumps. “One number programmed into the memory. A number in Texas.”
“You saving the best for last?”
Thumps took a breath, let the air out slowly. “We also found a Staccato 2011. With suppressor.”
“That’s a sweet ride.” Cruz pushed his plate to one side. “Okay, you want in, I’ll read you in.”
“The whole truth and nothing but the truth?”
“You already know about Gage and Black Ice and what they did.”
“Shit.”
“What?”
“Black Ice,” said Thumps. “I remember now. Boris Lukin.”
Cruz did his grumbly face. “Took you long enough.”
“What the hell does a dead Miami gangster have to do with any of this?”
Boris Lukin was a major coin dealer, who had come to Buffalo Mountain for a regional coin show to acquire a 1933 double eagle, one of the rarest coins in the world, a coin that was not supposed to exist.
“Mobster,” said Cruz. “Not gangster.”
“The difference being?”
“Gangsters are individuals,” said Cruz. “Much easier to take down. Mobsters are part of an organization. Takes more effort to kick them to the curb.”
“Like a corporation.”
Lukin was killed by a taser. Accidently, as it turned out. Black Ice had nothing to do with his death.
“Yes,” said Cruz, “there was a moment when we thought Black Ice was a rival mob. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that Black Ice was one of the good guys.”
“Right hand, left hand.”
“There’s that,” said Cruz.
“Let’s rewind to the beginning,” said Thumps. “Black Ice is what? Homeland Security? CIA? NSA? FBI?”
Cruz shrugged. “More or less.”
“None of those agencies is going to second someone from customs. That means Gage was CIA or NSA. A field agent? An analyst?”
“Okay,” said Cruz. “She was an analyst.”
“And I’m guessing she was lead at Black Ice.”
“More or less,” said Cruz.
“Is there a straight bone in your body?”
“My leg is killing me.”
“Doctor said it’s a flesh wound.”
“It’s not your leg.”
“Black Ice. Nora Gage.”
Cruz yawned, sighed a long sigh. “Black Ice was a collective. Originally, their mandate was to gather information, ammunition for the hunter/killer agencies.”
“An activity without teeth.”
“Oh, there were the drug busts and the mass arrests, the occasional congressional hearing, calls for action. The War on Drugs. The War on Poverty. The War on War.”
“The War on Stupidity?”
“That all changed in 2005.”
“Yeah, Gage told me. Tom Ridge retires, Michael Chertoff steps in.”
“Then she told you about Sorin Dalca, and the change in Black Ice’s mission.”
“According to Gage,” said Thumps, “Black Ice began going after the industrial-military boys, the ones who were selling restricted technology to the opposition and making obscene profits.”
“Black Ice already knew who was selling what and to whom and how financial transactions were being made. Now, they had the green light to do something about it.”
“Goodbye congressional hearings,” said Thumps. “Hello state-sanctioned muggings.”
“Civil forfeiture,” said Cruz. “We call it civil forfeiture.”
“And the guilty corporations can’t complain because those accounts and monies aren’t supposed to exist.”
Cruz sat back. “And there you have it.”
Thumps held up a hand, took out his phone. “Cooley? Need you to do something . . . The house in Ironstone River Estates . . . Yeah, that one . . . Get out there with a crime scene kit and take the place apart . . . Right . . . And do a search of the high ground above the house. You’re looking for shell casings or anything else to suggest a shooting . . . No, I’m okay . . . Right, right . . . Oh, did Duke try to take the dog to the pound? . . . The shelter, yes, I know it’s called the shelter . . . Okay, just keep an eye on him.”
Thumps put the phone back in his pocket. “Okay,” he said. “Continue.”
“There’s no continue,” said Cruz. “That’s it.”
“Didn’t we have a chat about lying?”
“I’m not lying.”
“Omissions then,” said Thumps. “Omissions are the same as lying.”
Cruz grimaced. He moaned, then moaned again to make sure the honest world could hear him, twisted his face in pain. Thumps had seen killdeers do the same thing. Feign an injury, drag a wing, make pathetic chirps, to lure a predator away from their nest.
“Dalca takes over at Black Ice. He creates a holding company called the Vault. All the confiscated money goes into it. How much are we talking about?”
“Did you ask Gage?”
“I did.”
“What did she tell you?”
Thumps took a moment to come up with a number. “Said it was around forty million.”
“Did you just make that up?”
“I did.”
“So far as we can tell, the figure was quite a ways north of that.” Cruz moved his leg to a more comfortable position. “You see the problem yet?”
Thumps took a moment. “You’re telling me that Dalca was the only person who had access to the Vault?”
Cruz pushed the plate toward him. “Give that man a french fry.”
“That’s crazy. Somebody above Dalca and Black Ice should have had access. Where did they think all the money was going?”
Cruz was smiling, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “You ever work in D.C.? If you had, you wouldn’t bother to ask that question. Black Ice took the money. Dalca set up the Vault. Dalca had the access codes. Homeland didn’t even know the Vault existed. It’s the very definition of bureaucracy.”
“Unbelievable.”
Cruz continued to smile. “And did Gage happen to mention that he’s dead?”
“Dalca?”
“Sailing accident in French Polynesia,” said Cruz. “Ran into a storm near Huahine.”
No, Thumps thought to himself, she had neglected that detail as well.
“You see the problem?”
“A team of government thieves who rob corporations, a shit pile of money squirrelled away, and a dead man who knows how to get at it?”
“Yes,” said Cruz. “That’s the first part. And you’re going to love the second.”