The Risk Agent

5

2:00 P.M.

PUDONG DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

Knox arrived at Shanghai International’s sprawling new terminal wearing a khaki-colored ScotteVest windbreaker with most of its fifteen concealed pockets occupied by his passport, cash, documents and electronic devices. He wore a pair of white earbuds, the wires from which disappeared into the jacket’s collar and connected to an unseen white iPhone provided by Dulwich. The iPhone was apparently one of Rutherford Risk’s newest toys. During calls, it switched cellular carriers every ten seconds, limiting any electronic eavesdropping to a few spoken words here and there.

Customs let out into an L-shaped gauntlet of web-strap retainers beyond which stood hundreds of Chinese holding signs or waving frantically. Loud and chaotic, just how Knox liked it.

He blended into the crowd heading for the Maglev train-a frictionless marvel, the envy of the engineering world. The thirty-kilometer train trip took only seven minutes, bypassing what would have been forty minutes of congested highway traffic. He determined he likely wasn’t being followed, though video surveillance was another matter. China employed seven million closed-circuit surveillance cameras and the world’s fastest computers for face recognition. Shanghai operated half a million of those cameras.

Knox boarded the Number 2 line and switched trains at People’s Square, arriving at a busy corner on Huaihai Middle Road. The sidewalk was jammed, a light rain falling. The colorful umbrellas moved like a dragon dance beneath an awning of plane trees, a throwback to the French Concession’s storied past when, in the mid-nineteenth century, an outlying part of the burgeoning city had been given to the French to keep the foul-smelling foreigners in their place.

A weary Knox reached the four-star Jin Jiang Hotel with wet hair and damp jeans. He paid a discounted price in cash, part of a long-standing deal with the manager. This was not the first time he’d created a double-blind to hide his place of residence; twice before, in the thick of difficult negotiations with black market traders, he’d feared for his safety and had created a false residence at the Jin Jiang which, like all hotels, registered their guests-foreign and domestic-with local police.

He entered his fifth-floor room-as a general precaution, he never stayed above the fifth floor of a hotel-and placed his bag on the desk, then tore back the bedding, ran the shower and dampened a bath towel to mimic a person’s use of the room. He tore the housekeeper’s V from the toilet paper roll, removed a bar of soap from its wrapping and passed it under the faucet. Poured some shampoo and conditioner from the complimentary bottles and flushed it down the toilet.

The mirror revealed a face now permanently tanned and ruddy from the elements, juxtaposed against unnerving royal-blue irises. It was his eyes that caught the attention of women and men alike, the eyes-more so than the asymmetrical eyebrows, or the scar by his left ear, or the cleft in his chin-that gave him an air of confident stillness some mistook for hardline arrogance. This stillness had the unnerving effect of concealing the machinations of his thought process. And while there was nothing in his affect that projected menace per se, neither was one ever in doubt about his capabilities. Instead, the doubt surrounding Knox had to do with what brutal efficiencies might, if pressed, emerge from beyond his mask of calm.

Back in the bedroom, he moved the television’s remote to the bedside, and drew the blackout curtains. One last ruffling of the pillow and he admired his work as he awaited the knock on his door. He tipped the bellman for returning his passport and slipped it into one of the jacket’s internal pockets.

He donned a tan Tigers baseball cap, checked the hallway through the door’s peephole and left. If possible, he’d return to disturb the room for a second or third time, depending on his perception of risk.

Soon he was back on the street in the thick of pedestrians. It took him fifteen minutes to reach the alley entrance behind 808 Changle Road. He shook off the rain and entered the Quintet guesthouse and climbed a narrow staircase to the first landing. He pushed open the door with a light knock.

“John Knox!”

“Ni hao ma?” Knox said. Hello. How are you?

“Hen hao,” answered Fay, Quintet’s owner and manager. She was in her late twenties, with a long, graceful neck and wide-set eyes. She wore a simple gray T-shirt and no jewelry. Knox stirred at the sight of her, pleasant memories rekindled.

“A blind for a week?” Knox said, speaking English now. “Officially, I’m registered at the Jin Jiang.”

“What is it this time?” she asked.

“Jade,” he lied, not feeling right about it.

She nodded. “You do get yourself in some binds.”

She checked the computer. “I’ve got nothing tonight. After that, if you don’t mind moving rooms a few times, I can take care of you.” Her attention still on the screen, she pointed back at the couch. “You can sleep here, if you like.”

“Yes. Perfect. Thank you, Fay.”

“There’s the toilet.” She indicated a door. “No shower, I’m afraid, until we get you into a room.”

“I’m grateful.”

She spun in the chair. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” He fished a stack of yuan from his coat-the largest Chinese bill was a hundred-RMB note, about fifteen U.S. dollars-and peeled back twice her rack rate. Fay accepted without counting and slipped it into the desk drawer.

“I would invite you to stay with me,” she said, softly, “but I have a boyfriend.”

“Good for you. Bad for me.”

“My guy has converted a lane house into office space. Leases the ground floor to a coffee shop. Good salads, if you’re interested. Cobb, isn’t it?”

Fay didn’t forget much. He made a mental note and nodded, smiling.

“I will tell my staff you are not here,” she continued. “That they never saw you. But you will want to avoid our night watchman. I don’t know him well enough yet. He just started. He smokes out in the front patio from midnight to dawn. You should be fine using your key on the back door.”

“I don’t have a key.”

She tossed him a loaded key ring. “A man like you, you must be pretty used to back doors.”

He switched to Mandarin and cursed.

She laughed and returned one worse. He prepared to continue the exchange of insults-good Chinese sport-but she was interrupted by a call.

When she turned around a moment later to speak, Knox was gone.

4:15 P.M.

PUDONG DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

The pressure of lost time beat down on Knox as steadily as the rain. The likelihood of Danner being found alive diminished with each passing hour. Some friendships carried debt-classmates, survivors of catastrophe among them. Danner was both: a fellow civilian classmate of Knox’s during SERE training; his shotgun rider on the resupply convoys from Kuwait City into Iraq. They’d grown rich together, both avoiding serious injury and death, and had each other to thank for it.

But “Danny” was even more: Tommy’s legal guardian should anything happen to Knox. A lifelong burden he’d readily accepted when asked. Now it was evidently Danny’s life at risk and Knox knew that to turn his back was akin to Danny turning his back on his brother when pressed.

Knox rode a city bus across the Huangpu River into the Pudong district. Before attempting a search of Lu Hao’s residence, where he hoped to locate Lu’s bribery records, Knox first wanted to visit Danner’s apartment. He knew the DNA was crucial. But he also knew Danner to be a thorough researcher. If he were minding Lu Hao for Rutherford and The Berthold Group, then he would have known all about Lu’s “consulting” work. So there was at least a small chance he’d have made a copy of Lu’s books, or created his own version, or perhaps even made notes about where Lu Hao kept his confidential documents. Likewise, if Danner had had any suspicions about Lu Hao’s clientele, he might have noted it in advance of their abduction. Knox would gladly follow any leads that Danner had left behind.

Pudong had arisen from shipyards and rice paddies twenty years earlier and was now the Wall Street of Shanghai. Inventive office buildings and gorgeous apartment towers lined the wide streets. The security guards in Danner’s river-view co-op were twenty-year-old boys in ill-fitting gray suits. Knox knew they wouldn’t mess with a waiguoren-a foreigner. Their job was to put a face on the compound and to keep out potential thieves and robbers.

Knox introduced himself as a friend of Mr. Danner’s and saw in their faces that they were aware of their resident’s absence.

“He asked me to get a few of his things and send them to him,” Knox said. Again, he monitored their response. What he detected surprised him. What were they expressing? It looked like fear-just below the surface. It took Knox a moment to make sense of it, but once he did his heart sank: someone had beaten him here. He had a fairly good idea who that might be.

“Entrance to Mr. Danner’s apartment is not possible,” said the most senior of the boys. “So very sorry. Must hear from Mr. Danner directly.”

Knox switched to Shanghainese, a local dialect few Westerners could command. Politely, he berated the man for his insolence.

The guard flushed.

“You will join me,” Knox said, still in Shanghainese. “Together we will take inventory. Anything I remove, I will sign for. No problem. Would you like to check with your manager?”

“I think this arrangement is good,” the guard said, chastened and relieved.

“I am glad you thought of such a workable solution,” Knox said. “I will make certain to let your manager know how promptly and efficiently you handled my request.”

He withdrew two hundred yuan from the vest on their way to the elevator, making sure the guard saw him do so, balling the money in his left hand.

Knox kept the brim of the Tigers cap toward the floor for the sake of the hallway cameras.

Danner’s contemporary Chinese luxury apartment was the perfect example of decorative contradiction: marble floors, faux-leather furniture, glass dining room table, all under the glow of low-voltage lighting-mixed together with red velvet curtains, polished brass “gold” plumbing fixtures and leaded crystal lighting sconces. Gaudy, pretentious and over-the-top.

Knox planted the man outside the door in the hallway, then, inside, conducted a thorough search of Danner’s desk, closets, drawers and bathroom. He searched for hair samples to provide Dulwich his DNA sample. Maid service had scoured the place; he failed to find a brush or comb offering hairs. He located an electric toothbrush, but doubted its sample strength. He was about to give up when he spotted a clear plastic razor dispenser holding new and used razor blade cartridges. He studied the used blades more carefully-all were caked with thick black lines beneath the blades: whiskers. He pocketed the dispenser. He would overnight it.

He continued the search for evidence of a kidnapping. Danner was far too careful and clever to leave anything important where it might be easily discovered, so Knox also searched for hidden panels and loose floor tiles. He accessed and unscrewed four air vents, peering inside. The closet safe was locked, but if he was right about the man who’d preceded him, its contents were now gone.

Five minutes dragged into ten. Fifteen. Knox took it to the next level, patting down and searching his missing friend’s clothing. An elliptical trainer faced a flat-panel TV, a neatly folded white towel draped over its handlebars. He checked in the slight inclined gap beneath it. Checked behind the flat panel. Checked the flat panel itself for a USB drive or memory card. Dug down into the soil of the potted plants. Searched the refrigerator and freezer. Pulled both away from the wall. Removed the stoppers from the sink and tub drains and looked for hidden wires or chains used to lower contents out of sight. Inspected the toilet tanks. Put his hand down the garbage disposal in the divided sink.

A framed bedside photograph of Peggy and a two-year-old boy won Knox’s attention, stopping him. He studied it, then removed it from the frame, but found nothing. For show, he gathered a pair of pajamas and placed them in his backpack along with two paperback books. He would show these to the security man.

He took photos with his iPhone and disassembled the apartment’s phone, looking for eavesdropping bugs. He collected a power supply from behind the desk, taking note of the absence of dust on the power strip where a grounded plug had been connected-Danner’s laptop. Also plugged into the strip was a lonely charger cord, its power supply marked “Garmin.” A GPS. He zipped it in his backpack as well.

He found the Garmin’s owner’s manual in a desk drawer, along with another for a Honda 220 motorcycle, and one for the elliptical trainer.

He called the security man inside and showed him the few items he was taking out of the apartment, but did not reveal the Garmin power cord. The man nodded, not asking for Knox to sign anything.

“The other man or men that came here,” Knox said calmly. “Chinese or waiguoren?”

“I did not say other man come here.”

“Same question.”

The man didn’t answer.

“It is up to you,” Knox said. “The issue of the computer being removed will have to be addressed, of course.”

“Waiguoren.”

“Tall. Hair shaved close. U.S. Consulate credentials.” It was the only person outside of a fellow Rutherford Risk employee whom Knox could imagine talking his way inside and leaving with something like Danner’s laptop computer.

Still, the man said nothing.

“Did he sign for it? Is there an inventory of what else was taken?”

“No one here. No one take anything. No need to sign.”

“I beg your indulgence,” Knox said, keeping it polite, “but I believe you may be mistaken. You see, Mr. Danner asked me to collect his laptop computer for him. And yet it’s not here. Do you see his laptop computer anywhere?”

The security man squirmed.

“If he did not sign for it, did you search the waiguoren?” He hardly paused. “No, I didn’t think so.”

The man’s lips pursed and his eyes darted about.

“I mean no disrespect. But you see, my job is complicated by the laptop not being here.”

“I said this man took nothing.” The man’s voice faltered.

“My mistake.”

Now in the elevator, Knox handed over the two hundred yuan. Again, he spoke Shanghainese. “The waiguoren asked you to contact him if someone like me made inquiries.”

The security man stood stoically.

“If you want to become further involved with the U.S. Consulate, then go ahead and make that call.” He offered two more hundred-yuan bills. “As for me, I do not wish to be bothered, cousin. My government can make life hard for me. Same as your Party can make life hard for you. Neh?”

The bills disappeared.

Knox fixed his gaze onto the man for the rest of the slow elevator ride. The man stared straight ahead at their reflections in the polished metal. Then the doors opened and Knox left the building, his baseball cap brim held low against the eyes of the cameras as he entered the darkening dusk of Shanghai.

4:50 P.M.

CHANGNING DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

The door to Allan Marquardt’s corner office was flanked by two mahogany desks occupied by efficient-looking twenty-something women with rigid spines and beautiful faces. Though most employees were gone for the weekend, not all had departed. Marquardt was not taking any days off, given the current crisis. Neither were his secretaries.

Grace checked in with an executive assistant named Selena Ming, who approved her visit and rose to open the office doors for her. Grace squared her shoulders and brushed her hands over her gray suit, double-checked that her collar was peaked properly, and fingered her modest string of pearls. Selena Ming trailed behind her with a steno pad in hand.

As the door closed behind them, Marquardt rose to greet her.

Grace wished he hadn’t.

“Ms. Chu,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you!”

Better, she thought.

The office was paneled in walnut, with hand-knotted rugs overlaying the parquet flooring. Crowded bookshelves gave it the feel of a private library. In the corner, a gleaming black lacquer tray held cut-glass bottles of colorful liquors and upside-down glasses. She felt as if she’d stepped back into Shanghai at the turn of the twentieth century.

“What a breathtaking view,” she said, crossing the spacious room and shaking hands with him.

Marquardt indicated an armchair. It was covered in red raw silk embroidered with hummingbirds. The smell of sandalwood incense hung in the air. Selena Ming delivered green tea and there was five minutes of small talk.

Finally, Marquardt said, “You have filed a grievance with Human Resources.”

His executive assistant took shorthand.

“A minor misunderstanding is all, I assume,” Grace said.

“You are displeased with your accommodations?”

“I believe it is nothing. I was informed my residence would include lobby security and workout facilities.”

“Yes?”

“In fact, my present accommodations do not.”

“I am deeply sorry if there has been a misunderstanding,” he said.

“No misunderstanding. It is in writing.”

“We will resolve this immediately, Ms. Chu. With your permission, we will have your belongings transferred to a new residence”-he checked a note on his desk-“to the Kingland Riverside Luxury Residence serviced apartments in Pudong by the close of business today.” He passed Grace a brochure. Selena Ming looked up from her steno pad, clearly intrigued, then lowered her head. “The keys will be on your desk before you leave for the day. I trust that will be satisfactory.” His tone and demeanor were pitch-perfect.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“Now,” he waved away Selena, “please allow me to show you the view.”

Selena left, and Marquardt led Grace out onto a narrow balcony, closing the elegant French doors behind them.

She spoke softly. “I mentioned before that I need access to the end-of-year records-more than just the GA. I would appreciate the passwords required for access.”

“You’ll have them,” he said.

Fifty floors below, the traffic crawled ant-like through intersections. The smog-encrusted skyline was broken by towering cranes, the air alive with the percussive sounds of construction and the steady drone of traffic.

He pointed. “To the right of the Jin Mao Tower, just past the World Financial Center. You see the building with the yellow crane on the very top?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ours-the Xuan Tower.”

“Yes,” she said.

Marquardt nodded proudly. “It’s a beautiful building. And so far we’ve been tolerated by your government, though clearly our participation is unwelcome.” He turned and looked at her. “We are Beijing’s token foreign construction project, authorized only to show the rest of the world they don’t favor their own. We’ve pissed off a lot of Chinese, Grace. I know we have. But just how far, I had no idea.”

“It appears nearly finished,” she said, noting the building’s upper twenty stories were wrapped in a green fabric, strung over elaborate scaffolding, noting that he thought the kidnapping directly related to the construction of the tower.

“There’s much yet to be done. Is it coincidence that as we near completion, Lu Hao is abducted and therefore the incentives stop, and we encounter problems? We’re only a couple days into this and we’re already experiencing costly slowdowns-materials, labor. Our vendors and suppliers aren’t getting their payments.” Marquardt paused to make full eye contact with Grace. “Our problem is, only Mr. Lu knew their identities. This is critical work you’re doing, Ms. Chu.”

“It benefits your Chinese competitors.”

“If you go down that road, start with Yang Cheng. Yang’s a devilish prick who has taken every opportunity for nearly a decade to remind me foreign builders don’t belong here. He’s never accepted our being awarded the Xuan.”

“I will start with Lu Hao’s apartment,” Grace said. “The sooner I have the end-of-year accounts, the better. I can help keep auditors from realizing the exact nature of Lu Hao’s work for you. Important should we fail in his recovery.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, though didn’t sound at all certain.

Her BlackBerry vibrated.

“Take it, if you want,” he said.

“I’m fine,” she said, noting that the call was from her mother. She flushed slightly as she returned the device to its holster.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Was there anyone within your company who served as a primary contact with Lu Hao?”

“Preston Song.”

“I would like a meeting with Mr. Song. Not here. Not in the company building. Perhaps something social. But soon.”

“I’ll arrange it.”

Before he opened the doors to the office, Marquardt said, “Please be careful, Ms. Chu. Yes?”

Grace nodded.

Back inside the office, Marquardt raised his voice slightly to make sure his assistants heard. “I trust you will find your new residence acceptable. If you have any more problems, feel free to bypass HR and bring them directly to me.” He paused. “We are pleased to have you working with us, Ms. Chu.”

Grace rode one of the elevators to the lobby and stepped outside for privacy. She returned the call to her mother, speaking Mandarin.

“Mother?”

“You come to Shanghai and do not tell me? What kind of daughter are you?”

Her mother continued berating her, but Grace was stuck on the fact that her mother knew she was in Shanghai.

“How can you possibly-? I only arrived this morning.”

“Third cousin by marriage, Teardrop Chang, was on a flight from Hong Kong. You do not call your own mother? Your mother who carried you for nine months? Your mother who suffered your birth?”

“Of course I was going to call,” she lied.

“If you have returned for the sake of little brother Lu, please do not tell your father. He will most certainly have heart failure.”

“Why would I return for the sake of Lu Hao?” Grace tried to sound naïve, her heart pounding now. Her mother could not possibly know of the voice mail she’d received from Lu Hao ahead of his kidnapping-a voice mail she’d ignored.

“Little brother Lu has not called his mother. Does not answer his mobile phone. Has not been seen. Do you know nothing, my daughter the detective?”

“Listen, Mother,” she hissed into the phone, covering the mouthpiece with her free hand, “I am not a detective. I am an accountant. A contract accountant. And please, no names over the phone.” Then more conversationally, “You must not speak of that which you do not witness yourself. Such mistruths are dangerous. Do you hear me, Mother? Dangerous. Think carefully of the well-being of your family.” Appealing to the woman’s sense of family was often the only way to get through to her-not a card Grace could play very often.

“If you can, you must help…our friend’s son,” her mother said. “He must have his medicine, the poor boy. His mother is vexed, although he looked fine to me at the party.”

Grace had been told of Lu Hao’s epilepsy, years before, by his older brother. But she’d forgotten until now, had not considered he would be on daily medication.

“What party, Mother?”

“His mother, Lu Li’s celebration. Four years of the rabbit!”

“Lu Hao was at the party?”

“Of course. As was I.”

“What day was that?”

“Sixteenth of September.”

“You are certain?” Lu Hao had left the voice mail for her on Friday the seventeenth.

“Have I not known this woman my entire life? I’m as certain as I am of the shame you bring upon your father by not accepting the betrothal he has arranged for you.” She never failed to rub salt into that wound. “For Lu Li’s birthday, the families gathered.”

“Lu Hao was there on the island that Thursday?”

“Are you listening? Do you doubt your own mother? Four day celebration!”

“I will call you later,” she said and hung up. Friday the seventeenth. Guilt over never having returned his call wormed inside her.

Lu Hao’s medical condition had not come up when she’d recommended him for the contract work for The Berthold Group. Along with the surprise that came with her mother’s knowledge of her arrival was the news about Lu’s condition, and the inescapable-and perhaps intentional-reminder of Lu Hao’s older brother, Lu Jian, with whom she’d had a romance that had begun in high school and had ended nearly six years later with the announcement of her arranged marriage that had blindsided her. She’d fled Shanghai, joined the army, and had broken off communication with her family for the next two years. She had yet to speak to her father, and only heard from her mother periodically, when her father was not in the house.

Lu Hao was the black sheep of the family. A film student and ice-to-Eskimos salesman who had emotionally corrupted and manipulated his father to invest in his film project, Lu Hao had eventually bled the family savings dry and driven them toward bankruptcy and loss of face-the greatest disgrace of all.

Grace had known of the situation-through her mother-and had tried to use Los Angeles friends to circulate Lu Hao’s script in Hollywood, but to no avail. Her second, more successful effort had been to win Lu Hao the contract with The Berthold Group. All this had less to do with Lu Hao than it did her continuing feelings for his brother. She’d hoped that by trying so hard, she might renew contact with him. A hope that had yet to bear fruit.

Bringing Lu Jian’s brother home could only help her cause.

The first step was to search Lu Hao’s apartment for his accounts documents-and now, for his medicine as well.

Now. Tonight. With or without the man Dulwich said would be joining her. Grace was not waiting for anyone.

5:20 P.M.

CHANGNING DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

The man following her was a pro. Grace had changed into tight jeans and spike heels in a lobby restroom and then left by a side door eschewing the main entrance to the MW Building, home of The Berthold Group. She might have missed him completely had she not picked up a second whiff of him. But there it was, the same distinctive scent-a masculine musk, part pine, part perspiration-she’d first noticed while at an ATM, the stop used to scan the sidewalk.

She now knew he was back there-he’d passed close by her for a second time. The act alone showed nerve and confidence. While she reeled over how she might have missed sight of him in the first place, she contemplated her next move. She did not want to reveal her training, only to appear as an average citizen. At the same time, she would have to lose him once and for all.

Along with a column of hundreds of passengers crammed elbow to elbow, she took the stairs down to the platform. Glass partitions served as barriers to prevent the crowds from pushing someone onto the tracks. The hordes jockeyed for position, a regular part of any day, Grace along with them.

Flat-panel television monitors suspended from the ceiling counted down the timing of the train arrivals to the platform. 58…57… Her skin prickled at the sight of a tan baseball cap she remembered from a window reflection back near the MW Building.

She shivered. Had he made her earlier, or only picked up on her at the ATM? Was he that good? Or was she that rusty?

She spotted the cap again, though she couldn’t make out the face beneath it. Her nerves on edge, she moved down the line of the groups waiting to board.

26…25…

Standing among a group of women, she withdrew a black scarf from her bag and pulled it over her hair. Then she donned a surgical mask of the kind worn by many city-dwellers to protect against the Shanghai smog.

10…9…

The crowd surged toward the doors. A squeal of brakes cried from down the dark shaft.

Grace slipped out of the crowd and pressed her back against the escalator’s retaining wall.

The ball cap moved with the crowds. It jostled for position. As the train arrived, it paused. Turned toward her.

Could he have possibly spotted her transition into the disguise? Impatient passengers shoved past the hat. It appeared the man in the cap wasn’t going to board.

She turned and took the long way around the escalator, intent on leaving the station on foot.

A quick glance back: the tan cap was moving onto the train.

But the body language was wrong-a Chinese, and in that instant she realized the hat had been given away by the first man wearing it.

He was very, very good.

She caught him, hatless, in profile at the base of the escalators. He fit the description she’d been given by David Dulwich. Relief flooded through her.

“Losing the ball cap was a nice touch,” she said from behind.

The man spun around. He studied her and smiled a kind smile. He was tall. A well-lived-in face, tanned and lined, under a sprinkling of gray in his short, dark hair.

“Nice,” he said, glancing once more at the train and the doors about to shut. “Very nice.”

“Grace Chu,” she said through the mask. They shook hands.

“John Knox. The scarf and mask… I didn’t see that one coming.”

“Next time,” she said, “you should pay more attention.”

5:25 P.M.

PUDONG DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

Three men in coveralls carrying toolboxes approached the receptionist desk in the spacious lobby of building 4 in the Kingland Riverside Luxury Residence. The lobby receptionist was a round-faced girl of twenty wearing a crisp navy blue suit and a plastic tag that bore the name SHIRLEY, a word she could not pronounce.

The first of the men spoke Shanghainese. “Chu Youya. Home theater installation.”

The receptionist double-checked her logs. “So sorry. I show no such appointment for Ms. Chu.”

“Then you will please tell Chu Youya why we left, little flower, when she asks tonight about home theater installation. Good luck with finding a new job.” He signaled the other two. “That is it.” He circled his index finger. The three turned for the street.

“Wait!” the receptionist called. “I will make an exception.”

With the lead man’s back to her, the young receptionist missed the wry smile that crept across his lips before he turned to offer a shrug of indifference. Yes or no? he seemed to be asking.

She picked up the phone and he feared the involvement of a higher-up. Always a higher-up, and after that, another.

“You make this a committee, I am leaving,” he stated, calling across the lobby. “I have not got all day. Your decision, little flower.”

Reluctantly, she hung up the phone.

Five minutes later, the lead man dead-bolted the door to Grace’s apartment. It did not escape them that luxury apartments such as this were often bugged by the government. That they were bugging an already bugged apartment was the source of great amusement.

They went about their business expertly. One handled the video while the other installed the audio. The team leader chose the placements. Five microphones, three prying eyes. A pressure sensor beneath the carpet at the front door capable of turning the devices on and off in order to conserve battery life.

The lead man used his mobile phone to log in to a secure website. Moments later, he was looking at a miniaturized color image of himself staring at the phone.

On the way out through the lobby, his men avoided looking at the receptionist, as ordered. The fewer recognizable faces, the better.

The leader raised his arm. “All is well, little flower. Hopefully we not see you again.”

“Your card!” she called out, having overlooked this requirement earlier. She needed a record of exactly who had visited.

The lead man hesitated, then returned to the desk and handed her a business card. He could sense her palpable relief as she read the card from a Best Buy in the Changning District: a card he’d received from a show floor salesman on an earlier visit.

On his way out to the parked van, he lit a cigarette and dialed from his mobile phone.

“It’s done,” he said.

“Record everything,” a man’s voice said.

On the other end of the call, Feng Qi lowered his voice as he stood at the entrance to Xiangyang Park. Wiry, well-dressed and carefully manicured, he had not yet seen the Chu woman leave the MW Building. As the chief of security for Yang Construction, he was the man responsible for tracking The Berthold Group’s new arrival in the finance department, the division in which the recently departed Lu Hao had worked. Feng Qi was deeply concerned by the woman’s long absence and could only hope she was working late on her first night on the job. He continued into the phone: “I want full transcripts and video delivered by e-mail each night before midnight.”

“You will have it. Transcripts cost extra.”

“That is to be negotiated,” Feng said. He got no argument and ended the call. In Shanghai, everything was negotiable.

6:30 P.M.

ZHABEI DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

As Knox and Grace rode the Metro toward Lu Hao’s apartment building, Knox reviewed for her his search of Danner’s apartment. Grace told him of Lu Hao’s apparent need for medication, which Knox took as progress. The kidnappers might be forced to return for the medication, providing them an opportunity to identify one or more.

Together, they entered a corner tea shop with a view of Lu Hao’s apartment building and Knox bought Grace a green tea.

“The intel on the medication,” he said. “Is it from a trustworthy source?”

She blushed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Lu Hao,” she answered, “is the second son in a family close to my own. I recommended him for the consulting job at Berthold. This information about his medication…it comes from my mother. Unfortunately, I do believe it is reliable. Your mother is alive?”

“Dead.”

“I am sorry.”

“Sarge hosed us,” Knox said, irritated.

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Dulwich. This op is personal for me, too. Clete Danner, the other hostage, is a close friend of mine. He’s my younger brother’s godfather-his caretaker in the event anything should happen to me.” The news clearly surprised her. “Our personal relationships with the hostages ensure that we will make our best effort at recovery, and-”

“If we are caught by police there is an explanation for our involvement. Yes. Convenient for Rutherford Risk.”

“Very.”

“I assure you, Mr. Knox, I will not allow this to interfere with the execution of my duties.”

She sounded like she was reading it from a manual.

“I’m not worried about you,” Knox said. “The point is, if the stuff hits the fan, Rutherford Risk may not exactly have our backs.”

“I cannot believe that,” she said.

“Good. Let’s hope I’m wrong.”

She hesitated. “There is one thing more.” The skin around her eyes tightened. “I received a message from Lu Hao on the seventeenth of September. A voice mail, to be precise.”

By all means, let’s be precise, he nearly said. Who was this robot?

“He sounded panicked. He said he had seen something. That he was not sure where to turn.” Now, she pleaded with Knox. “The thing is, Lu Hao has an active imagination, and is always looking for others to take care of problems he started. I was not going to get any more involved than I already was. So typical Lu Hao. High drama. I was exceptionally busy at the time, a job for Rutherford Risk. I never returned the call.”

He said, “Don’t beat yourself up over it,” though he could see she was.

Knox changed the subject, detailing his search of Danner’s apartment with mention of the missing laptop and GPS.

“You think the police were there first?” she asked.

“A waiguoren, according to the security guy. I’m thinking it’s a guy I know at the U.S. Consulate. Makes sense for him to chase something like this. I can’t ask him outright, but I can nibble around the edges.”

“Nipple?”

“Nibble. Small bites.”

“Ah…” No blush from her, no embarrassment, he noted. “And us, Mr. Knox? Our cover. Professional, or something more intimate?”

“Meet your new client,” he said. “I operate an import/export company. For real. You just became my Chinese tax advisor and accountant.” He held out his hand and she stared at it. He withdrew his hand.

“Import/export always struck me as a rung above rug merchant.”

“Accountants are the most boring people I know,” Knox countered.

“Which is why I joined the army,” she replied.

“Which explains why I didn’t,” Knox said. “I just supplied them with bottled water and hand lotion.”

“A mercenary, I believe you call it.”

“Not exactly. More of an opportunist.”

She had perfected the air of superiority. “Step one to finding the hostages is Lu Hao’s records. His accounting of the incentives,” she said.

Knox snickered at the use of the euphemism.

“The records may lead us to someone motivated to abduct him. Agreed?”

“I realize that’s Rutherford Risk’s plan, but Danny-Mr. Danner-takes no prisoners. That is, if there was any lead up to this, any planning, any indication it was coming, he’ll have left crumbs for us to follow. I think Danny’s laptop is our most valuable player.”

“We must work together, Mr. Knox.”

“Agreed.”

“So, Lu’s accounts are first. I have my instructions.”

“And I have this timer running down in my head. All things being equal, I’d like to find Danny alive.”

“We must not ignore The Berthold Group’s Chinese competitors. There is bad blood. These companies would gain a great deal from either stopping the incentives or intercepting the list of recipients. A great deal, indeed. Reason enough to kidnap and torture. Mr. Marquardt mentioned Yang Construction. Yang and The Berthold Group have a colorful past. Much competition. I am unclear how to approach this. But perhaps something will present itself.”

“Yeah. Well…I’m still taking Danny and his research.” He paused. “You were given an iPhone?”

“Yes. Secure communications.”

“We can text.”

“Most certainly. As well as voice.”

Despite her two years in California, there were times she still sounded like a language lesson CD.

“The next time we meet, I’ll bring my financials,” he said. “As cover.”

“This is acceptable,” she said in Shanghainese.

“The first forty-eight hours are critical in a kidnapping. No need to tell you that.”

“No.”

He glanced at his TAG Heuer knock-off out of habit. “We’re well past that already. Sarge…Dulwich to you…is convinced Danny’s presence is a game changer.”

“Yes.”

“That they’ll kill him, maybe both of them, because he’s American.”

“Not if we kill them first,” she said.

He hesitated. It didn’t sound right coming from her mouth.

“Agreed,” he said.

“And as to logistics. How we move, when we move. I will handle.”

He opened his mouth to challenge that when she said:

“This is my city, Mr. Knox. Do not forget it.”