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absolute truth, it hasn’t happened before, but it
is
possible.”
    “Really big hitters? What are you telling me? What kind of database is this anyway?”
    Nata felt silent, then glanced toward Darcy again. Darcy sighed and folded her arms.
    “Don’t put me in a bad spot here, Jack. Let’s just say that it is a comprehensive summary of…” Darcy paused, weighing her words, “nonpublic U.S. intelligence data concerning foreign organized crime activity. If there was any real connection between your man, the Texas State Bank, and the Russian mob, it would be in here.”
    “In other words,” I said, “you’ve hacked the FBI.”
    “If we had, you wouldn’t want us to tell you, would you?”
    I had always thought the expression about someone’s eyes twinkling was pure poetic exaggeration, but right at that moment Darcy’s actually did.
    “So what
can
you tell me that won’t get me twenty to life?”
    “My gut says you’re about to step into it here, Jack,” Darcy said. “I’d back off and let it go if I were you.”
    That wasn’t exactly what I had been expecting to hear.
    “Don’t you think that’s sensationalizing this thing a little, Darcy? How can it hurt just to meet a guy at Foodland and talk to him?”
    “He may tell you something you’re better off not hearing,” she said.
    What the hell was
that
supposed to mean?
    “Do you want some help?” Nata asked.
    “Help? Doing what?”
    “If you’re really going to meet this guy, it might be a good idea to have somebody throw a loose net over you. That way you’d pick up on any surveillance that might be on you or any other funny business that might be going on.”
    “I don’t like the sound of this very much.”
    “You asked for our advice and I’m giving it to you.”
    “Look, if there’s really something nasty going on here, the last thing I want is to get you two involved.”
    “Oh, not us,” Darcy jumped back in. “You know my policy about avoiding operations. But we could find somebody to cover you without much trouble.”
    “How about Mango Manny?” Nata asked, looking at Darcy.
    “That’s a good thought,” she answered. “You know him, Jack?”
    “I don’t think so. I imagine I’d remember meeting anybody with a name like Mango Manny.”
    “His real name is Emmanuel Marcus. He’s a Brit. Used to be a top hitter in London, but he made a couple of silly mistakes and had to relocate on short notice.”
    “Mistakes?”
    “Oh, you know. Hit the wrong people a couple of times. That sort of thing.”
    Darcy made it sound like the fellow had done nothing worse than misdirect a few Federal Express packages.
    “Manny’s been in Bangkok… oh, four or five years now, I think. He owns Q Bar, that place on Soi 11 where the hipper-than-thou crowd hangs out. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”
    “Nope. Too expensive for me. I’m more a Cheap Charlie’s kind of guy.”
    “Manny’s very well connected. Plays golf with all the right generals and government ministers. But the important thing is that he’s got a really first-class organization.”
    “You mean at his bar?”
    “No, not that. Manny brought the marijuana business here into the twenty-first century. Really made it fly, so to speak.”
    “He’s a
drug dealer?”
    Darcy looked down and kicked her toe at the carpet. “He’s more of a… management consultant. Besides, he won’t touch anything but grass. The man’s not a criminal, Jack.”
    I took a deep breath.
    “Just let me be sure I understand what you’re telling me here,” I said. “Just because you can’t find a couple of references to Barry Gale in your magic machine, you’re seriously proposing that I get some screw-up cockney hit man turned godfather to the Thai marijuana trade to work security for me when I go to the Foodland tonight to meet a dead guy. Have I pretty much got it?”
    “Manny’s not a cockney,” Darcy said. “He went to Cambridge.”
    “Oh well, that changes