Free Big Mango (9786167611037) by Jake Needham

this was going, but he found none. “Before we talk
about anything like that,” he said, “there are still a few
formalities to deal with. You know, little things like who the hell
you are and what you want me to do.”
    “I already told you. I want you to help me
collect some money. We’ll get to the rest of it later.”
    The man was putting on a performance that
suggested he needed something a little less routine than
foreclosing a mortgage on a strip mall he had sold to a bunch of
proctologists in Palo Alto. Was he talking about hot money of some
kind? The man didn’t look the sort for laundering drug money, but
then Eddie wasn’t absolutely sure what ‘the sort’ looked like when
you got up to what was obviously this guy’s level. Most of Eddie’s
recent clients had been a lot lower down the food chain.
Embezzlement maybe? Bribery? Arms smuggling?
    “The amount involved is roughly
$400,000,000.”
    Some people believed in coincidence as a
fundamental force in their lives, and some didn’t. Eddie had never
thought much about it one way or the other. Until now.
    What was the possibility this was just a
coincidence? What was the chance that two separate conversations in
his office on two consecutive days were each about a different
$400,000,000? Eddie did the math and easily came up with the right
answer.
    Zero.
    He eyed the man for a while without saying
anything. Rupert just smiled blandly.
    “I don’t know anything about the money you’re
looking for,” Eddie finally said.
    “If you don’t know anything about it, how do
you know what money I’m looking for?”
    “Because a Secret Service agent sitting right
there on Friday was looking for $400,000,000, too. He even told me
a little story about it. Just enough for me to be able to tell him
the same thing I’m telling you. I don’t know anything about it, and
I can’t help you.”
    Eddie thought he saw a quick flicker of
uncertainty in the man’s eyes, and he pounced. “By the way, what
was the point of sending me those photographs?”
    “Photographs?”
    Whatever Eddie thought he had seen before was
gone now. The man’s voice was level and untroubled, if clearly
puzzled.
    “What photographs are you talking about?”
    “Never mind.” Eddie mentally kicked himself
for bringing up the pictures without thinking more carefully. His
bewilderment was making him stupid. “It doesn’t matter.”
    Rupert nodded absentmindedly several times,
apparently thinking of something else entirely, and then to Eddie’s
relief let his mention of the photographs slip by without
comment.
    “What exactly did you tell the Secret
Service?” he asked instead.
    “That I couldn’t help them.”
    “Anything else?” The man seemed to be making
an effort to remain casual.
    “I told them I was in Saigon in 1975 and my
company was assigned to support the evacuation, but I had nothing
to do with the Bank of Vietnam or the money they’re looking
for.”
    The man remained silent. Eddie noticed he had
stopped smiling and wondered what that meant.
    “We rode shotgun on the last convoy out to
Tan Son Nhut before the North Vietnamese started shelling it and
flight operations were stopped,” Eddie added. “After that we helped
with the helicopter evacuation from the embassy and were lifted out
off the rooftop pad. I didn’t have any $400,000,000 with me when I
went off that roof, and as far as I could tell neither did anyone
else. That’s it. I just can’t help you.”
    The man began nodding slowly as if he were a
teacher drilling an exceptionally dim pupil, one who simply needed
some gentle encouragement to come up with the right answer.
    “We’ve looked into your background
thoroughly, Eddie. We know you couldn’t possibly have what we’re
looking for.”
    “If you already know I can’t help you, then
what are you doing here?”
    “Because you can help us, Eddie. Just
not the way you think.”
    “We? Us? Who the fuck are you talking
about?”
    “This is our