The Risk Agent

7

7:30 P.M.

ZHABEI DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

“The realtor will meet us in thirty minutes,” Grace said, returning her iPhone to her purse.

“I love Shanghai,” Knox said. “You make a call, on Sunday afternoon, no less, and you get a showing two hours later. Entrepreneurship at its best. In the U.S., we’ve become too complacent, too expectant of the good life. Here, everyone still earns it.” His one accomplishment of the day had been walking the crime scene: the backstreet warren from where Danner and Lu Hao had been abducted. Lu Hao had ridden into an ambush, though why he’d turned into the narrow-lane neighborhood in the first place remained unexplained.

“You heard me, yes? Thirty minutes?”

“Yep. You look appropriately slutty, I must say. I, on the other hand, could use a quick makeover.”

Watch your mouth, John Knox.”

“I mean it as a compliment. It’s part of the plan, right?”

Grace was looking past him, across the street. “I spot two possible policemen,” she said.

“The one working the trinket cart and the big guy inside the restaurant over there.”

“Yes.”

“I make the one with the cart as PSB. You?”

“Certainly police of some kind. Yes. We have many such bureaus and ministries here in China.”

“The other, I’m not so sure about.”

“Private security, I think,” she said. “Would other foreign companies have an interest in Lu Hao? Of course they would.”

“So maybe that’s it.”

“I do not know,” she said, still sounding stiff. He was considering nicknaming her “Rosetta Stone.” “The realtor said she would meet us out front.”

“You should hang all over me. You know? Like we’re shopping for a place to…you know. To carry out our torrid affair.”

“Not a problem,” she said.

“Seriously? Is it that easy for you?” He couldn’t imagine this woman acting sexy or slutty. He couldn’t wait.

“Think of it this way: when I am not serious, I will let you know.”

Together they found a shop and Knox bought some dress pants and a pressed shirt. He changed and added his worn clothes to hers in the bag she carried.

“One thing I’m confused about,” he said, studying himself in the shop’s full-length mirror. “After all that education, why join the army instead of returning here and making serious money? And then, why Hong Kong?”

“It is complicated,” she said.

“We make the complication. It doesn’t make us.”

“You may be good at whatever it is you do, Mr. Knox. But you are not much of a philosopher.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Have I offended you?” she asked.

“You would have to work harder than that,” he said.

“Lu Hao has made much trouble for his family. Bad financial dealings. I extended the offer of employment to him in hope of assisting his situation-his family’s situation. The Berthold Group was paying him extremely well. Now, he is in trouble-”

“Which reflects badly on you,” Knox said.

She said nothing for several strides. “As I said: it is complicated.”

Minutes later, they were on the sidewalk in front of Lu’s apartment building.

A young, energetic Chinese woman approached them. She was in her mid-twenties, displaying unbridled enthusiasm and a lot of leg beneath a miniskirt. They introduced themselves. She two-handed them both her business card: SPACE-REAL ESTATE FOR TOMORROW.

The apartment building’s lobby was clean and brightly lit.

“All latest qualities,” the agent said, her English clipped and, at times, broken. “The high-speed Internet, the telephone and the highly technical security. Every residence have hot water and warming and colding of the environment.”

They rode as a group to the fifth floor in the building’s only elevator. The name of the vacant apartment being offered was labeled in Mandarin beside the door: “Five Fawns.”

Knox crossed the small living room and looked out the window to inspect the view. First he saw the man in the restaurant window; then, a complication: the trinket cart was heading toward the apartment building.

Wondering if they’d been made, Knox considered aborting. Instead, he hoped to speed things up and get out of here.

Grace surprised him with a squeal from the bedroom. “Lover!” she called out. “You must come here this instant!”

Knox entered the apartment’s bedroom, a space barely wide enough for the double bed. Grace was bouncing on her knees on the mattress like a five-year-old.

“So soft! You must try this!” she said, patting the mattress.

Knox waited for the agent’s attention to return to Grace and he subtly tapped his watch. Grace’s head went up and down as she bounced: she’d caught his cue.

“What do you think?” she asked. “You like it?”

“It’s the view I’m concerned about, my little rose. We talked about this street being too noisy. Too busy.”

Grace threw herself back onto the bed, drew her knees up into her chest and hummed her satisfaction. “Always so practical,” she said to Knox as she sat up. “Very well. You,” Grace said to the agent, “will please negotiate on our behalf. Street noise is too much. Requires fifteen percent deduction.”

The real estate woman said, “I am quite certain price is firm.”

Grace laughed derisively. There wasn’t a firm price in all of China. “Must I remind you: you represent both the landlord and our interests.”

“Yes,” the agent said. “Of course.”

Grace patted the mattress again. Knox did not sit.

“The landlord is to install a mirror on the ceiling,” Grace said. “Bedroom lights must be on dimmers.” She reached over and took Knox by the hand. “Come on, Lover! Please, you must try.”

Knox shot her a look.

The agent pulled out a small notebook and took notes.

“Flat-panel television,” Grace said, “one hundred centimeters. Reading lamps on both sides of the bed. No compact fluorescent. Makes your skin look yellow. Disgusting.”

The agent continued writing.

“Not that there is to be much reading,” Grace said, mooning at Knox. “Hmm?”

Knox grinned. “Oh, you,” he said, pushing her shoulder so hard she fell back onto the mattress.

“Ah! You want to play?”

“Later,” Knox said in a suggestive tone.

Grace faced the agent. “Landlord is to pay utility, of course,” she said. “Lover will pay for television cable channels.”

Knox took Grace’s hand as she reached over for him.

Grace glanced down at the floor demurely. “You will excuse my demands, cousin,” she said in Shanghainese, “but this man, and his opinion of me…my time with him, all very important.”

“Of course.”

Knox played it as if not understanding a word.

“Now I will leave you two,” Grace said, “to review the mechanicals, and discuss numbers. Yes?” Grace asked rhetorically. “Yes.”

“Don’t be long,” Knox pressed.

“Cannot bear to be without you!” Grace said, popping up off the bed. She swished past the agent.

“Your phone,” Knox said, making a point of handing her both the purse and bag containing their clothes. “I’ll text you when it’s time to leave.”

The agent waved Knox toward the kitchen. “I believe you must be most impressed with features of the kitchen dining.”

“Not really, cousin,” Grace called back on her way out the door. “It is not like we will be doing much cooking.”

Minutes later, Grace arrived to the door marked “Seven Swans,” having passed “Seven Lakes” and “Seven Gorges” on her way from the elevator. She drew in a deep breath, and knocked. Seven was a neutral number, but she took it as an ominous sign.

She was greeted by a gangly young man in his early twenties. His T-shirt showed grease stains, his right index finger a smoker’s smudge.

“Where is he?” Grace asked angrily in Shanghainese.

She barged past the surprised young man, quickly taking in the three other boys reclining in front of a flat-panel television. Take-out wrappers, pizza boxes and Red Bull cans littered the low coffee table.

“Tell me where he is!” she shouted, not liking the look of Lu’s living room. Clearly it served as a dormitory, housing the other men as well. The space was crowded with bamboo mats, pillows, blankets and IKEA furniture. Singling out Lu Hao’s belongings from the mess would be next to impossible without a great deal of time, not to mention privacy. She continued on to a closed door and threw it open.

“Hiding in here?” she called out.

Better. This room was neater. A single futon occupied the corner, alongside which were a low bedside table and a crane lamp. An IKEA desk, part of a matched set with the dressers in the living room. A smaller flat-panel television, with a game box, a DVD player and a cable box. Lu Hao’s room, she thought.

A bamboo rod hung from wires screwed into the ceiling, holding laundered pants, shirts and two sport coats on plastic hangers. She pulled open the armoire to find it stacked with suitcases and packaging for all the electronics.

A digital picture frame on the desk stopped her. A photo of Lu Jian came and went in the frame’s slide show, confirming her suspicion. Her chest cramped. Lu Jian looked somewhat older than she remembered him, but even more handsome, if that were possible. The same warm eyes. For a moment she couldn’t breathe.

She sensed a presence behind her. Without turning, she asked, “Where is he?”

“We haven’t seen him for a couple of days,” a roommate informed her.

She wheeled and moved toward him. “Another girl?”

“How should I know? He’s a big boy. He doesn’t need me looking after him. Maybe you should check his family home. It’s-”

“Chongming Island. Yes, I know. Do you think I do not know Lu Hao? You child.”

The boy did not appreciate the admonishment. “Some are saying the Triad got him.”

But if one of the Triads, she thought, then why had the apartment not been tossed?

“Killed?” She made herself sound shocked.

He didn’t respond.

“Kidnapped?” she said, letting emotion enter her voice.

“You know rumors.”

“Tell me truthfully: have others been here asking questions? Do not lie to me!”

“I swear, no one.”

She sniffled. “Please. I need a minute alone.”

He seemed eager to leave her.

She saw him out of the room, and then closed the door behind him. Quickly, she entered the bathroom adjoining Lu’s bedroom, pulled this door closed as well, and started rummaging through everything in sight.

From inside the galley kitchen, Knox had a clear view of the wall-mounted video display showing the apartment building’s secure entrance. He kept one eye on it as he feigned interest in the pantry shelving and the cabinet water heater. The agent stood alongside, studying him, reciting the benefits.

Five people had left the building in the past few minutes. No one had entered. But when a heavyset male appeared in the security display, grabbing the closing front door, Knox took note of the black leather jacket. The man who’d been watching the apartment from across the street? On camera, his features were sharper and bolder than most Chinese. He looked bigger as well.

“I’ve forgotten if you told us,” Knox said, addressing the agent. “How do I reach the building’s manager if I need him?”

“There is direct dial on the state-of-art security installment entrance beside the entrance.”

“He lives in the building?”

“Of course. On the lower level.”

“Do I use the east or west stairs to reach him?”

She looked a little put off by the question; there was no figuring Westerners.

“West.”

The manager would have the security camera system in his room. If a cop or agent, the man who’d just entered would check the videos first, trying to determine where he and Grace had headed. It gave them a few minutes, but not many.

He texted Grace:

abort

He had to separate himself from the real estate agent, get Grace clear of the building; then, if possible, he would tend to business.

Grace cursed her mother under her breath, having found no prescription medication among Lu’s toiletries. Back in his bedroom, she searched his desk, then the rest of his room methodically but hastily, pulling out drawers, crawling beneath the desk, checking for a hidden USB drive or external disk drive, any conceivable place he might have stored the desired documentation of his bribery. She patted down all his clothing, checked inside the toes of his shoes. A tennis racket cover. Two empty backpacks. The futon mattress and frame.

Her iPhone vibrated.

abort

She cursed aloud and then started snapping photographs of the room, including the empty desktop. Never mind the roommate’s claim: it appeared the room must have been searched, the most important items taken. The digital frame switched photographs: Lu Hao on a lovingly restored motorcycle and sidecar; this transitioned into Marlon Brando also on a motorcycle; then Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, followed by Harrison Ford and Shia LaBeouf in Indiana Jones-also a sidecar and bike; and finally the Shanghai skyline before revealing a new picture of Lu Jian. Grace put her hand to her mouth as she took in the photograph: this time Lu Jian was smiling widely, his arm around another woman.

She fled the bedroom quickly. The kid had returned to his place on the couch.

“Where is Lu Hao’s laptop?” she asked. “He had an address I need.”

The boy shrugged.

“Was it not here the day he disappeared?”

Another shrug.

“Has someone been here before me?” she asked. “Someone asking questions, looking around?”

“Who are you?” the boy asked.

She marched over to him. “You know what they say about a woman scorned?”

The boy appeared properly terrified.

“That’s me. You do not want to make me any more angry than I already am. So…who was here before me?”

“I told you: no one. I swear it.”

“A woman?” she said, playing her role to the limit.

“No, I promise.”

“What did she look like? What is her name?”

“I tell you: there has been no woman. No man. No one!”

“Liar! You tell Lu Hao to call Ling-Cha,” she said, making up a name, “the moment he steps through that door. You understand?”

The boy nodded.

“By the gods, I’ll have your balls in a vise if you forget.”

She marched to the door, turned and glared at the other boys-they all looked both terrified and relieved that she wasn’t haranguing them. She let herself out.

Knox stepped aside, allowing the agent to enter the elevator first. “I would like to take the stairs,” he said. “I will meet you in the lobby.”

The agent stepped toward the control panel to stop the car, but too late. The doors slid shut.

He assumed the Mongolian-for that was how he’d pigeonholed him: northern Chinese or Mongolian-would use the west staircase because, according to the agent, the west staircase was closest to the superintendent’s residence.

In the event of an abort, Grace would take the west staircase-farthest from the building’s main entrance. Knox texted:

take east stairs

…but moved quickly to intercept her in the event it was too late.

He reached the stairs and put his ear to the door: faint footfalls…approaching him. He slipped inside. Steel and concrete stairs in a concrete shaft.

Sounds from above and below: above being Grace; below, the Mongolian. He caught Grace as she rounded the upper landing, hand signaling for her to leave the stairwell.

The ascending footsteps grew louder and quicker.

Grace paused, heard the approach and left through the door.

The shoulder of a black leather jacket appeared. Knox stepped away from the railing, drawing in a deep breath to charge his system and purge the adrenaline.

Knox’s SERE training had inspired in him an interest in, and study of, hand-to-hand combat techniques. Chinese soldiers and Shanghai police were trained in sanshou, a bare-fist close-quarters fighting technique. Russians were taught sambo, a martial arts style of fighting that combined hard-fisted blows and wrestling techniques. Within the first few blows, Knox would know where his opponent was from-information that might come in handy later.

Knox flew off the landing, catching the Mongolian midstride and plastering him to the wall. The man maintained his balance and postured a wrestling stance.

Sambo. So, not Chinese and therefore unlikely he was police. A game changer. Knox could do more than push and shove.

His mind raced. Russian? Mongolian? North Chinese? A foreign agent, or private security? Good either way, as he could fight the man without fear he was assaulting a Chinese officer.

He pivoted and kicked the man’s chest. Followed with an open-fisted chop aimed for the man’s throat. But the man countered with an effective forearm block and used Knox’s forward momentum against him. He ducked under Knox’s arm and head-butted Knox’s ribs.

The wind knocked out of him, Knox teetered. The man stepped in for a headlock-again, a wrestling move.

Knox kneed him in the side and drove his elbow into the man’s face. A bone cracked. The man’s jaw looked like a jack-’o-lantern that had been dropped.

He cursed-not Chinese, not Russian. The man ran off a string of expletives. An agglutinative language. Mongolian? Knox had been to Ulan Bator only once.

In a matter of seconds, the fight was over, Knox pinning the man, pressing a knee to his groin while holding his right arm twisted to within a quarter turn of tearing his rotator cuff. His opponent remained conscious, but in a crippling amount of pain.

Knox removed a switchblade, a wallet and a cell phone from the man’s pockets. He would overnight the phone or its SIM card to Rutherford for analysis.

He considered working the man for information, but the guy didn’t look the conversational type, and Knox was pressed for time. He gave the arm a sharp twist-like taking a leg off a cooked turkey. But this was a big bird, and its cry, convincing.

Grace waited for him in the back room of Bliss, a bar on Jinxian Road decorated in 1970s retro. The cigarette smoke was thick, the recorded jazz smooth, and the waitresses very young and pretty. The sign listed twenty-two on the occupancy permit. Maybe it was a maximum age limit, Knox thought. There were five others scattered around at tables eating dessert or enjoying a drink. No one over twenty.

“Next time,” she told Knox as he sat down across from her, “please let me pick the place.”

“It’s quiet,” he said.

“I cannot breathe.”

“If you jump the wall out the back door you’re in a lilong,” he said, explaining his choice. A lane neighborhood. He ordered a beer when a clear drink arrived for her. Vodka, rocks, he was guessing.

“So? What’d we find?” he asked.

“You are favoring your right side.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Tell me about the apartment?”

She passed him her iPhone, on which she’d been reviewing the photographs she’d taken in Lu’s room. In return, he passed her the Mongolian’s wallet and produced the SIM card from the man’s phone.

“He’s carrying a national ID, so maybe not Mongolian. But he looked Mongolian.”

“I found no medication,” she said. “Troubling. No toothbrush. No laptop or charger. No mobile, or charger. No USB or storage device for files. No accounts, no files, nothing.”

Knox looked up from the photos on the phone. “The kidnappers beat us there.”

“The roommate says otherwise.”

“How about clothing?”

“Nothing to say one way or the other. My mother was obviously mistaken.”

“Mothers are never mistaken,” he said. “Not if you ask them.” He had hoped for a smile.

“Perhaps Lu Hao keeps his medication with him.”

“Could be. But why take your laptop on a delivery run?”

She said, “In China, a laptop is a sign of prosperity. People carry them like handbags.” She pointed across the bar to two young Chinese at their laptops.

“Yeah,” he said. “I didn’t say it meant anything.”

“Your voice did.”

“Know me that well, do you?”

She worked the vodka. “Well enough.” She had the Mongolian’s wallet open and was pulling out cards. A transportation card. A Chinese Resident Identity Card. “If a forgery,” she said, “it is a very good one.”

“He sounded Mongolian,” Knox said. “Looked it, too. But maybe he’s Chinese?”

“Possible. We get our share across the border.”

Knox had never thought of people wanting to get into China before. “He was trained in close quarters combat. Sambo. You know sambo?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Waiguoren,” he said in Mandarin. Foreigner. It made Knox think back to the guard at Danner’s apartment building mentioning a foreigner.

The beer was half gone. Knox ordered them both another drink. She didn’t object. He liked that.

“I’m going to overnight the SIM card to Dulwich. But first, tonight, I’ll hope for an incoming call. Or maybe we should call some of its recently called numbers?”

“Patience.”

“My contact at the U.S. Consulate might run the national registration card for me. He’s a good man. And if he’s who took Danner’s laptop, he might be willing to share.”

“What about Lu Hao’s motorcycle?” she asked.

“What about it?”

“Mr. Danner and Lu Hao were both on motorcycles when they were taken, correct?”

“Correct.”

“So what happened to the motorcycles? Where did they end up?”

Danner’s missing Garmin GPS, Knox was thinking. “You’re brilliant.”

She averted her eyes to the tabletop and reached out for the second drink as it arrived. Chinese had trouble taking compliments. Not him.

“Since the police do not yet officially recognize the kidnapping,” she said, “perhaps neither motorcycle has been processed as evidence?”

Knox said brightly, “Lady Grace, you should drink more often.”

“Excuse me?”

“Another compliment.”

“Accepted.”

Progress. He hoisted his beer and they clinked glasses.

A waitress passed. Knox’s eyes strayed to her. He said, “Do you know the term “handi-capable”?”

“Afraid not.”

“A person who’s challenged, physically or mentally, but the challenge is viewed more as opportunity than limitation.”

“That is nice.”

“That is my brother,” he said. “My business partner.” The beer was wrestling with his tongue.

She sipped the vodka, looking across the rim of the glass at him curiously.

“Just thought I’d get that out of the way,” he said, upending the beer.

She stared across, studying him.

“I actually would like you to review our books,” he said.

“Then I will.”

“Lu Hao?” he tested. “What’s the family connection?”

“Not yet,” she said, her lips opening to welcome the liquor.