The Risk Agent

32

11:30 A.M.

CHONGMING

Knox knew it wasn’t easy stealing something in China-there were too many eyes everywhere, both human and electronic. Ignoring Grace’s plea to stay in the car, he hunted down side lanes where closed-circuit cameras were unlikely to be. From there he stole two sets of license plates and slipped them up the back of his shirt.

Speed-trap cameras routinely captured license plates. If the Toyota had been reported as stolen, a data trail might already exist. What Brian Primer said was true: it wasn’t worth having two or three people wind up in Chinese jails in an effort to save one. He had no intention of giving Primer the satisfaction of being right.

Because of this, even after switching plates, the Toyota would have to be abandoned. Accommodations would need to be found. With each challenge, the probability of mistake escalated. The longer they remained on the island-by definition, a place with limited egress-they increased their chances of capture.

Grace approached the car looking like she’d been mugged. Knox kept quiet, eyeing her from the back seat as she drove.

“He will call if he uncovers anything,” she finally said.

“Providing he tries to uncover anything.”

“Of course he will try. Face demands this of him. We have rescued his brother. He cannot repay this debt.”

“If he passed on you, he’s an idiot,” Knox said.

Her eyes flicked to the mirror.

“Marquardt’s driver?” Knox asked. He wasn’t as convinced as she that Marquardt’s secret trip to the island connected to the Party member seen in the video, the one whose name they needed. But Marquardt was connected to the Mongolian through Lu Hao’s deliveries, and the Mongolian was connected to the heavyset government man, so it wasn’t impossible that Marquardt’s trip here was related. And they had nowhere else to turn.

“He is to meet us in front of a men’s club,” she said. “It is known to be frequented by the influential. It is therefore one of very few places we can be sure has no cameras.”

“Clever of you.”

“One of the advantages of island life. Very few secrets.”

“What about you, Grace? What are your secrets? And you’re not allowed to say that, if you told me, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore.” He’d hoped he might win a smile from her; he got nothing.

“I will park the car. We will leave separately and meet inside the club.” She turned a corner and slowed. “Keep your head down. You go first.”

The establishment’s waiting area smelled of sandalwood incense. There was an electric fountain plugged into the wall, spilling water over a miniature landscape carved out of jade. There was a curtained window above the back of a couch, and two lovely young women in maroon qipaos behind an elegant counter. A red dragon inlaid into black lacquer was coiled on the wall. Knox was greeted and welcomed, both women’s smiles slipping into girlish giggles. A waiguoren! In poor, choppy English, Knox was asked if he would like a cocktail. It was not yet lunchtime. He ordered a beer.

The women in charge sat down across from him and explained the cost of club membership, which was discounted if visits were purchased as part of a package. He was told the cost of entertainment would be discussed once he was upstairs and his membership had been approved.

The beer was fantastically cold and easy to drink, and if the hostesses looked anything like these two, there was no questioning the popularity of the place.

Grace entered and she sat next to Knox. The senior woman in the qipao, clearly accustomed to female clients, began pitching the membership to her as well.

“Vodka rocks,” Grace ordered. She rattled something in the Chongming dialect at the hostess so fast that Knox only caught a piece of it-something about Knox being her man and that after a drink she’d be taking him home. She laid a hundred-yuan note on the coffee table and sat back comfortably.

Her vodka arrived. Grace hit it hard and easily. We all have our secrets, he thought.

Knox pulled out a fifty-yuan note and asked the hostess to sign him up and show him upstairs.

Grace grabbed him by the wrist. “What are you doing?”

“The driver isn’t here. We can’t just sit! We’ll attract attention.” What the hell was she thinking?

He drank half the beer in a few neat swallows. “I’ve been looking for a place like this. My kind of relationship: intense, but quick.” Then he added, “Not too quick. Don’t get the wrong idea. Short-lived is more what I meant.”

“Sweetheart,” she said, playing her part.

“Why don’t you join me?” he offered. “Us.”

She released his arm. “I will not be here when you come down.”

The vodka was gone, the ice barely melted.

“If you change your mind,” he said, “you know where to find me.”

Knox headed upstairs with the hostess. Below, he heard Grace calling for another vodka.

The second-floor lounge housed seven women-girls, some of them-some prettier than others. Some shopworn while trying hard not to look vacant. He sat between two of them and ordered another beer.

He was nearly through the beer when Grace arrived at the top of the stairs, looking slightly drunk. She said something caustic in Shanghainese to the pretty girl next to him and took her place, moving the girl over.

“What’s taking you so long?” she said. “Pick one.”

“To be honest, the oldest profession has never interested me. Call me a contemporary.”

“Then why come up here? To punish me?”

“You? It has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why?”

“I pinched a good deal of money off the Mongolian. If we’re caught…more likely, when we’re caught, that money will be confiscated and end up in some cop’s home entertainment system. Here, maybe it buys one of these fine specimens,” he said, running his finger into the cleavage of the girl sitting next to him, who grinned and placed her hand on his inner thigh, “a second career.”

Grace put her own hand into Knox’s crotch and moved the girl’s hand.

Things were getting interesting.

“Acting noble doesn’t make one noble,” she said, working the vodka.

“Thanks for that clarification.” He swilled more beer, and drew an abstract pattern on its sweating glass.

“So pick one,” he said. “Someone deserving.”

“Me?”

“Why not? I’m an equal opportunity employer.” The joke was lost on her. He felt sorry for her, and then wondered how many of her jokes he missed, only to realize she didn’t make jokes. At which point he felt sorry for her again.

“Do you honestly believe we are not going to get through this?”

He thought that was the vodka talking, so he let the beer answer. “I’m hedging my bets. You turn over rocks, bad things crawl out. And no, that’s not an American proverb, just an observation.”

He placed the beer down, promising himself no more.

She drained the second vodka. “Mmm,” she said.

“I’m still waiting for you to pick one,” he answered when her look turned cloudy.

“She will just send the money home. She will be on her back once again tomorrow.”

“That’s her choice.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand.”

“You would not! How much did you take?”

“More than that.”

She stared at him for what felt like several minutes. He met her gaze, looked away from it, and met it again.

“This one,” she said pointing across the narrow room. The girl-and she was just a girl-misunderstood and rose, her face beaming.

“Because she’s the youngest?” Knox said.

“It’s not like that,” Grace said. “It’s not her age.”

The young girl stood in front of Knox, lightly swaying her hips and smiling devilishly.

“You realize I’m missing out on the mileage points here,” he said.

“Whatever you do, do not give it to her in front of the others,” Grace said.

“I trust you’re talking about the money.”

The vodka apparently caused immunity to his humor.

The girl clearly delighted in winning the favor of the waiguoren. Knox allowed her to lead him down the hall and into a comfortable though spare room. He was studying the sad bed, considering sleep and nothing more. When he turned around, she was naked, having slipped out of the dress. It lay at her feet. Small, high breasts. A flat, hungry stomach. More like nineteen or twenty. Comfortable with her nudity. Confident in her smile. Knox kneeled in front of her and she misunderstood, widening her stance. He lifted the dress up, slowly covering her. He turned her around, securing the frog and loop at the top.

He passed her the bundle of yuan from behind. Speaking proper Mandarin, he said, “This is to be spent on the future, not the present. Neh? Do not tell the others. There are many jobs. It is a bountiful time in all of China.” He kissed her at the base of the neck and drank in her intoxicating scent.

A knock advanced the opening of the door.

“He’s here,” Grace said.

12:00 NOON

CHONGMING

Grace negotiated with the clean-shaven young man who had driven Allan Marquardt for one weekend in mid-September. She and Knox occupied the center bench of the blue Buick van. The driver must have sensed the assumed value of the information he possessed, yet Grace bought his cooperation for seventy-five U.S. dollars, with another seventy-five promised on top of his hundred-a-day rate.

The driver remembered three men, two foreigners. From his description Grace identified Preston Song and Allan Marquardt, but was stumped by the third. Song had done most of the talking. Marquardt had had his head in his BlackBerry most of the time.

“You will take us there, now,” Grace said.

“We have an agreement, lady,” the driver said.

“Something is not right,” Grace told Knox, speaking in English.

“Because?” Knox said.

“Why is he reminding me of the agreement?”

Knox leaned forward and spoke Mandarin. “Your mother will not recognize her son if you fail to hold up your end of agreement.” He leaned back in the seat.

“But there is nothing to see!” the man replied, craning back to look at Grace. “I swear you will be disappointed. Farmland. Nothing more.”

“But you recall which farm roads,” she stated.

“Yes. Of course. I grew up here.”

“So did I,” she said. “So do not try to play with me.”

“Farm roads, cousin, I swear. Nothing more!”

“Show us,” Knox said.

Grace looked at Knox excitedly. “Farm roads. Land development.” He heard her pride, the sense of victory. Maybe the vodka.

Grace leaned her head back, sighed, and fell quickly to sleep, a smile faintly on her lips.

A few minutes out of town, they time-traveled back two or three hundred years. Half-acre rice farms, manicured to precise detail, formed an uninterrupted patchwork. Decaying dwellings lined the roads. Young children led beasts of burden by nose rings, or carried live chickens hanging by their feet.

“Where are we?” she asked the driver, opening her eyes.

“River road on way to Chong’an Cun,” the driver said.

“This is Chong’an Cun?”

“Precisely, cousin! You are indeed an islander!” He pulled the van to the side of the road. “This was our first stop.”

“How was it identified?” Knox asked. “How did they direct you here?”

“Village name,” the driver said.

“Only that?” Knox asked. “Nothing more specific?”

“Village was name enough,” the driver replied.

“Only this one village?” Grace inquired.

“No. Next we went to Wan Beicun.”

Knox took pictures with the iPhone. “Take us there, please,” Knox said.

The going was rough and slow on narrow mud roads meant for tuo la ji and water buffalo. They traveled through a half-dozen poor villages and arrived twenty minutes later at a crossroads. Again, the van stopped.

“This is it?” Grace asked.

“This was last stop before return to Chongming.”

“Your GPS,” Knox said. “Pass it to me, please.” Knox accepted it and wrote down the current lat/long location. He asked the driver to point out their position on a map he carried.

Knox spoke English to Grace, softly so the driver could not hear. “There was a second car service. They took a second car.”

Grace faintly nodded. “Damn,” she said. It was the first time he’d heard her swear.

“That way no one driver had the full picture of the land parcel,” he said.

She nodded. “Yes. But not a single parcel. Too big for that. It must be a project involving the expansion of several small towns. Something like that. We will never know. They have defeated us,” she said.

While she considered their failure, Knox was wondering how long it would take, once they left the car, for the driver to contact Preston Song and sell him the information that two people were trying to retrace his steps. How long after that for Song to notify the police?

“We need more than this,” she said.

“Marquardt and Song weren’t taking a Sunday drive. Your instincts were right.”

“We have nothing but a pair of small villages.”

The forty-minute drive back to Chongming was interminable, both of them exhausted. Knox fought to stay awake while she slept off the vodka.

They were dropped off and walked two blocks to the Toyota. Knox was switching out the plates as his phone rang.

She listened, spoke softly and hung up, cradling the phone to her chest.

“So?” Knox asked.

“Lu Jian has found nothing involving a land deal, big or small. Nothing beyond the seventh city projects already announced and underway. None involve Chong’an Cun or Wan Beicun.”

“That’s depressing.”

“But in the process of his asking around, he turned up a news story worthy of our interest.”

“Because?”

“A hit-and-run fatality, last month. A surveyor by the name of Yao Xuolong. A civil servant. This man was struck and killed along the roadside near Yuan Liu Qidui. The driver was never found.”

“And it means…?”

“Yuan Liu Qidui is a small village also surrounded by nothing but farms.” She snatched the map from Knox and took a moment to find it. “Here. You see?”

When combined with the two locations they had just visited, three quarters of a perfect rectangle were formed-that, or a right-angled triangle. It was impossible to miss the symmetry.

“It’s massive,” Knox said.

“He provided me the man’s family’s home.”

Knox said, “I’m game.”

“It may be nothing. A twenty-minute drive, a waste of time.”

“We need to get out of here,” Knox reminded. “I trust that driver about as far as I can throw him.”

“You switched the Toyota’s registration.”

“Yeah,” Knox said. “But believe me, they’re not that stupid.”