The Risk Agent

11

7:06 P.M.

HUANGPU DISTRICT

THE BUND

SHANGHAI

Heading up Guangdong Road toward the Huangpu River, the buildings grew older and more imposing. Some of them dated back to the nineteenth century, when this area was an enclave of foreign privilege, and Shanghai thrived on trade in tea, silk and opium. Where once the flags of many countries flew from these rooftops, now hung the distinctive scarlet Chinese flag.

The wide avenue paralleling the Huangpu fronted a river walk that held ten thousand or more Chinese tourists on a given night. Weekend nights, there were even more. There was a European grandeur to the Bund, like Grand-Place in Brussels, or the Champs-Élysées in Paris, an architectural nobility. The air buzzed with an intoxicating mix of human excitement, ships’ horns and the whine of vehicles.

Arriving at a group of valets, Knox had a glimpse of the teeming quay and beyond it, the neon- and LCD-charged Pudong skyline. The Pearl Tower flashed pink and turquoise through the evening darkness. Ten-story screens on the sides of high-rises played advertisements for Coke and KFC. Tens of thousands of tourists jammed the elevated quay, all jostling for a piece of the famous view.

Grace waited on the steps, pushed back against a handrail while watching guests being dropped off by their drivers. Mercedes, Lexus, BMW, the ubiquitous chauffeured blue Buick minivan, a symbol of the corporate expatriate life.

She looked ravishing in a short purple raw silk jacket over a black tea dress with a high neckline. A string of turquoise and red coral complimented her long neck. Her hair, not a strand out of place, was pulled back into a bun stabbed into place by a length of tortoiseshell.

She leaned to kiss Knox on the cheek, ever the role player. “You will find, unlike our American counterparts, Chinese women are always on time.”

Knox checked his watch. Five minutes late.

“You look…lovely,” he said.

“And I would take this as a compliment if I heard conviction over surprise.”

He took her arm, his grip strong on her elbow, and guided her up the marble steps.

Grace resisted. “I would prefer a drink, alone, before we go up.” She seemed hyperaware that anything and everything said between them might be heard. She angled her head across the street.

“Your wish-” he said, escorting her through a break in traffic.

They rode the elevator to New Heights, a seventh-floor restaurant and bar that also overlooked the river. They had a view across Guangdong Road and through the windows into the Glamour Bar where Yang Cheng’s party was already underway.

The bar itself was made of thick, frosted slab glass, the liquor bottles reflected off shiny shelves of black lacquer. He ordered a beer, and she a glass of Champagne. With no seats to be found, they stood at a chest-high drink counter.

“So?” Knox said.

“Before we go upstairs and into that,” Grace said, pointing toward the Glamour Bar, “where honestly we must play our roles to perfection-I wanted to know when you were going to tell me about what you are carrying in your coat pocket?”

Knox leaned away.

“I felt it when you kissed me on the steps. You don’t smoke. It is not a cigarette case. It is too heavy, and too big for a phone. Too light for a handgun, too bulky for another kind of weapon-a knife, for instance. It is in your right pocket-you are right-handed, so you obviously wanted it close.”

“Obviously.” He swallowed dryly and looked for the beer.

“A video camera?” she asked.

He glanced into the reflection off the glass, admiring her. Small, but beautiful. Fiercely put together into a showcase of fashion and femininity, giving no hint of the physical power she no doubt contained from her army training. Her focus. Most of all: her control. Lowering his voice, he said, “My friend’s GPS.”

“Ayee!” she let slip.

“It was your suggestion: the impound.”

Grace snarled. She clearly didn’t want compliments or small talk.

“I can follow its moving map. But I don’t know the city well enough to know if a waiguoren will stick out. And as much as I don’t care who’s there to greet me, I don’t want to put Danner at risk. We can’t afford mistakes. Not with only a couple days to go. We know they’ve moved at least once. I don’t want them moving again.”

He passed it across to her. “There are seven saved locations. It’s got to be Lu’s payout route. Danner follows Lu Hao and marks each location where he leaves a bribe. It’s better for us than his accounts.”

“We do not know what these locations are.”

“I know how Danner is,” he said. “Trust me: this is the money trail.”

Grace said, “It could be nothing but his favorite restaurants or massage parlors.”

“Then let’s go get a bite and a rub and see what kind of tastes he has.”

She turned on the GPS and scrolled through the saved locations.

“It is an interesting mix of neighborhoods,” she said.

“I’m listening.”

She looked across at him as if she considered this a rarity.

“Some are poor,” Grace said. “Others, upscale.”

“Both fit for kickbacks,” he said, “depending who’s on the take.”

“The riverfront compound across in Pudong,” she said. “Luxury condominiums for Chinese. Party officials. Businessmen.”

“You see?”

She softened and then said, “We do not want to accuse such people. We must leave this to others. Very powerful. Very connected, such people.”

“I have no intention of accusing anyone. I want to have a nice, quiet sit-down with them all.”

Grace flashed her disapproval.

“You want to involve accusations and lawyers?” Knox asked. “We have two days.”

“I want Lu Hao’s accounts,” she countered.

He threw up his hands. “I’m open to ideas, but this,” he said, tapping the GPS in her hands, “this is the closest thing we have to a lead.”

“This is not a good idea.”

“Help me with the neighborhoods, please. Danner bookmarked these locations. I need to have a look.”

Grace switched off the device and slipped it into her purse.

“Give me that!” Knox drew some looks.

“You must trust me,” she said.

“You’re not working real hard to earn it. Give it back, please. Or I’ll take it from you.”

“It is no good at night, this kind of thing. You must trust me. You ask for my advice on Shanghai. This is my advice. We must plan double egress for each location. Establish rendezvous. We will meet early tomorrow morning, at six A.M. First light. We will do this together. Early morning, the traffic is not as bad. This is a good time for us, John Knox.”

He attempted to cool himself down with the beer. He failed. His attention remained on her purse and the GPS it contained, but his eyes did not. He didn’t want her playing defense.

“To absent friends,” he said, hoisting the bottle and waiting for her Champagne glass.

7:30 P.M.

THE BUND

The Glamour Bar’s lavish Art Deco interior was a throwback to the heyday of Shanghai in the 1930s, when commerce, intrigue and opium conspired to form the most unique and magnificent city in all of Asia.

Knox and Grace were checked against a guest list and then welcomed by a gorgeous twenty-something hostess. The bar was a black granite island in a central room off which hung two sitting rooms and an elevated lounge that overlooked the Huangpu River. Pudong’s neon-trimmed high-rises flashed colorfully. River tour boats, tricked-out in neon and more video screens, slipped between coal-laden barges. It was Times Square times ten, with Broadway a quarter-mile-wide black water river.

The bar crowd was a mixture of Chinese and expatriates, the Asian women breathtaking, the men overconfident. The Euro waitstaff circulated with trays carrying Champagne, sparkling mineral water and pineapple juice. Big Band music fought against the din of voices. Knox choked on the cigarette smoke.

He caught Grace appraising the other women. “You needn’t worry,” he said. “They’re all eating your dust.”

She looked down. “Dust?”

“You look fine.”

“Fine?”

Before Knox could rectify the moment, the two of them were interrupted by a young Chuppy-a Chinese upwardly mobile professional-bulging out of a low-cut bustier and wrapped in a dark gray jacket and skirt. Her chic eyeglasses reflected the glow of an iPad she carried with authority.

The woman introduced herself by her English name, Katherine Wu, and her position as Yang Cheng’s executive assistant. Grace introduced Knox as a business client. The hostess had greeted Knox with an openly coquettish expression, though it turned quickly churlish: import/export was regarded as unglamorous and “last century.”

“Allow me to introduce you to our host,” she said as she led them through a choking crowd around the bar and up three small stairs to the view lounge.

The lounge consisted of clusters of well-heeled guests randomly grouped. Yang Cheng stood at the top of the steps welcoming and chatting. Slightly balding and of an indistinguishable age, Yang wore a tailored suit, Italian leather shoes and a red tie. His wide-set eyes suggested a man overly pleased with himself.

Knox identified the fit man in the cheap suit as the bodyguard or security man. This man lingered a little too long on Grace for a complete stranger. There was something smarmy about the look. He then took in Knox like a full body scanner. Knox distilled this man’s reaction and quickly analyzed it: he knew Grace; he didn’t want to forget Knox.

Then something strange happened as Yang spotted Grace. He offered a smarmy look at his security man. It was a locker room exchange: one man to another, a look Knox knew well and had trouble processing for its content. It went beyond “She’s hot” to something more licentious. It was, in particular, personal, not simply suggestive. Knox was right on the edge of understanding it when he was jarred by introductions. The meaning escaped him.

The provocative young assistant introduced them. Yang had the enviable ability and grace to make them both feel it was only the three of them in the room. Knox caught a tick to Yang’s eye and Katherine Wu gently took Knox by the arm, following an obvious script. For now, Knox agreed to play his part.

“Please, Mr. Knox, allow me to show you the view.” She eased Knox away from Grace and toward the windows. Grace and Yang Cheng descended into the bar area.

“You have been to the Glamour Bar before?”

“Many, many times,” Knox replied. “One of my two favorite views in all Shanghai.”

“And the other?” she inquired.

He turned his gaze onto her. “Why, you, of course.”

“Ah!” She blushed involuntarily.

“But alas, views are only for looking. You’ll please excuse me, Ms. Wu,” he said cordially, wanting to keep track of Grace. “I’ll be right back. I just need a beer.”

Her grip tightened on his elbow. She lifted her other hand and miraculously, a waiter appeared like he’d come through a trap door. He took Knox’s order.

His hostess said something, but Knox didn’t hear. He’d lost sight of Grace.

7:48 P.M.

Being led by Yang Cheng into the main bar, Grace couldn’t help but see eyes following them. Yang demonstrated his knowledge of her, reciting pieces of her CV. Thankfully, he referred to her most recent employment as an independent accountant based in Hong Kong; there was no reference or insinuation of any work being performed for Rutherford Risk. The take-away for her was that she was a person of interest to him. This, in turn, made him more interesting to her. Was he calculating enough to have had Lu Hao kidnapped? Was her invitation to the party related to the kidnapping?

He continued greeting guests and shaking hands on the way to a table reserved for them. She declined the offer of Champagne, as her head was already spinning.

“My father,” he said, “began this business with a single handcart and a shovel.”

“Yang Construction has a fine reputation as the number-one construction company in all of Shanghai. All of China.”

“You flatter me.”

“I repeat only that which I have heard,” she said.

“We are honored to do business in such a great and charitable nation. We employ over twelve hundred in management positions, and many thousands in the workplace. All Chinese. No foreign blood other than a few consultants for appearances.” When he smiled, his eyes became quiet. “For nearly twenty years now, our chief competition is The Berthold Group, your new employer, Chu Youya. Their presence has grown from consultant to major player. My father first did business with BG in nineteen eighty-two. Now look: they are building the Xuan Tower. Foreign firm, not Chinese. This is not right. I make no secret of my wish to see Xuan Tower completed by a Chinese firm, such as ours.”

“I have just recently arrived in Shanghai,” Grace replied. “I am sorry to hear of your differences with The Berthold Group.”

“It is not your concern. Forgive me.” He paused and offered her a drink for a second time. She declined. “I would like to come straight to the point, Chu Youya,” he said. “I have the burden of many guests I must entertain. So you will please forgive me.”

“Of course,” Grace said, concentrating on keeping her face calm. Yang Cheng would never begin the ransom negotiations himself, but she prepared herself to look behind whatever his point was.

He lowered his voice. “The house of Allan Marquardt is destined to fail, Chu Youya. It is a foreign company, after all. No matter the lip service paid by our great country, a foreign company will never be allowed to attain the position of a Chinese company within her borders. Never! You and I both understand that. When Berthold fails, many people will be seeking employment. Accountants-even brilliant, young accountants-will be like ants after the same sugar. Great challenges present great opportunities,” he continued, as if quoting a proverb. “Such an opportunity now awaits you, Chu Youya. You are Chinese like me, not foreign blood like them. You come work for me now, I will pay twenty-five percent more than Allan Marquardt, I will offer better benefits, and you will honor your family by working for a Chinese company.”

“You do me a great honor, Yang Cheng.” Grace hung her head, wondering if this was indeed the point of her invitation, or was he seeking to explore the possibility of negotiation by erecting the pretense of an employment deal between them? “I am deeply humbled. You will forgive me if I must take time to consider your generous offer.”

“Time is sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse. Use yours well. I am not the one in a hurry. You…on the other hand.” He paused, tellingly. She thought the implication had to be connected to the ransom situation, but then became confused as he continued. “The Xuan Tower nears completion. Mark my words: it will not bear the name of Berthold Group at the time of its ribbon ceremony. It was never to be.”

“In defense of my current employer,” she said, letting it hang there, “certainly dozens, maybe hundreds of buildings in Shanghai have been financed and built with foreign money, whether in part or in whole. So many Western architects have made our skyline all the more interesting. The French. The Germans. The Arabs. Shanghai is truly metropolitan.”

“Of this there is no doubt. Americans, too. Yes. But Xuan is to be the tallest building in world. A point of great Chinese pride. Chinese pride, not American pride.”

“Yes, of course.”

“There will be no confusion on this point. Do not fool yourself. Allan Marquardt’s reach will stop here in Shanghai, and before the Xuan is open.” His face grew red. The whiskey? She doubted it. Perhaps he’d had a promise from the government from the start. Lu Hao’s kidnapping might be but a single mahjong tile pushed to send others falling. Financial conspiracy was an art form in Asia, practiced by all-from the street sweeper to people like Yang Cheng. He said, “Chinese profits are reinvested. Foreign profits travel across the oceans and never return. Enough is enough.”

…will stop here in Shanghai. The Berthold Group had construction projects in cities all over China. Yang Cheng had slipped up. Was there a bidding war underway for a Shanghai project that Yang Cheng was determined to win? Was confident he’d win? If he knew about Berthold’s secret payments to inspectors and subcontractors he could instigate an investigation and immediately disqualify Berthold from any future bids, ensuring his own success. Lu Hao’s off-record books would play a critical link in any such attempt to paint Berthold as corrupt.

“Please,” he said, signaling a passing waitress. He snatched a glass of Champagne for her and lifted his glass. She took a small sip.

“I await your decision,” he said. “Before the dismissal for the National Holiday, if you please.” He’d named the same deadline as the ransom. Was she to make that connection? Was she supposed to acknowledge it? “Will you be joining your family on Chongming Island for the holiday?”

Every muscle tensed. His knowledge went well past her CV.

“If time permits,” she said, lying. She had no intention of seeing her father.

“Family is everything.”

A threat? Or a simple reminder of her Chinese roots and where her loyalty belonged?

“Country, ideology, family,” she said, reciting priorities established in her early schooling.

Yang Cheng’s eyes went beady as he forced a smile. “Yes. And of all these: family.”

8:00 P.M.

Knox took issue with a person wearing a Bluetooth headset in public. Alone behind the wheel, fine. Around the house, maybe. But it struck him as pretentious, insular and ridiculous looking. If God had intended for man to have a plastic horn protruding from one ear, he’d have put one there.

Katherine Wu kept touching her ear and going off into conversations that didn’t include him. She looked and sounded like a robot while her body sent much different signals.

Knox forced a word in. “I understand The Berthold Group has encountered workforce slowdowns this week.” A stab in the dark, but an educated one. Dulwich had told him as much. “Problems with materials delivery. Some trucking issues.”

She flushed. “I manage Mr. Yang’s schedule, Mr. Knox. You overestimate my position, I am afraid.”

There was that word again; he wished she would stop that.

“Oh, I doubt that,” he said. “It’s all over Shanghai.”

“Is it? And I am the last to hear. So typical. I wouldn’t believe every rumor you hear.”

“I thought that was you!” A Chinese woman’s accented voice from behind Knox. A voice he knew. A voice he’d heard in many incantations, from joy to ecstasy.

Amy Xue, a petite beauty, wore a loose-fitting raw silk off-the-shoulder top and a pair of jeans that threatened her circulation. Her hair was done in an asymmetrical cut, with bangs slanting high to low, right to left. She wore no visible makeup, a gorgeous pair of black pearl earrings and a matching necklace. Her face was girlish-ageless-with long narrow hooded eyes that had first won his attention three years earlier.

Knox kissed her on both cheeks. “Help,” he whispered. They held arms tightly as he introduced her.

“Amy Xue, this is Mr. Yang’s assistant, Katherine Wu. She is showing me the view.” He faced Ms. Wu. “Amy is one of my original trading partners,” Knox said, “and a close friend. She has the finest pearls in all of Shanghai. But often, too expensive.”

“Americans always want cheap, cheap, cheap,” Amy said. “Like sound of bird.”

“Sounds as if you two have been trading together for a long time,” Katherine Wu said, intentionally impolite.

“As I said: old friends,” Knox said, having not taken his eyes off Amy. Glad she’d confirmed his occupation without prompting.

“You may be old, John Knox, but not me. You come to my city, not tell me in advance?” Amy said. “How am I to hold best pearls for my best customer?”

“If you don’t mind,” he said to Wu, taking Amy by the elbow and leading her away.

Katherine Wu allowed them a fifteen-foot lead and then followed on a leash. Knox steered Amy toward the bar and finally caught sight of Yang and Grace at a table in the far corner of the cocktail lounge to the right. He felt an enormous sense of relief.

Amy didn’t miss much. “Friend of yours?”

“My accountant.”

“I’ve always thought spreadsheet a dirty word.”

“Not like that, Amy. You know better than that.”

“I know my favorite customer when I see him. I know you did not send e-mail telling me you were coming.”

“It was a last-minute decision, this trip.”

“Tell that to your accountant.”

He ordered drinks for them both. A kir for her. Beer for him. The smoking at the bar bothered her, so they moved closer to a marble slab holding satay, egg rolls, pot stickers, bao and fruit. Knox ate the pot stickers and satay. Amy stuck to the fruit.

He thought about Danner. What he was eating, where he was sleeping. He felt shitty about his own present surroundings in the lap of luxury. The GPS burned a hole in his coat pocket. He’d slipped it from Grace’s purse as they’d boarded the elevator. He hoped she wouldn’t discover it missing before they separated for the night.

“Did you like last shipment?” she asked. What he liked was the way she slipped the chocolate-dipped strawberry between her lips and sucked on it.

“We could use more of the stone boxes and the black pearls. We’re getting squeezed on the cultureds by other online sites. Fewer of those.”

“We will give you what you want,” she said, making him suffer through another strawberry.

“More of the custom designs. We can’t compete on unstrungs. It’s your beautiful designs that separate us.”

“You flatter me, Knox.”

“The bracelets are popular. More bracelets.”

“Black pearls. More bracelets. Not a problem.”

He considered asking Amy what she’d heard about the kidnapping. Rumor spread fast on the street. But self-preservation was about containment. Loyalties changed here as quickly as the weather.

“Amy, would you help me with something. Kind of like translating,” he said, thinking about the GPS.

“You speak better than most Chinese.”

“Your beauty is exceeded only by your exaggeration,” he said in Mandarin. Then, returning to English. “Shanghai neighborhoods. Which are trickier than others for waiguoren. These are business addresses for possible suppliers. As safe as this city can seem, I don’t want to end up somewhere I don’t belong.”

“Suppliers?”

“I promise: no pearls. No jewelry.”

“You know this city well, Knox. You do not need me.” She’d teed one up for him to ask about Lu Hao and Danner.

“I hear the city has become more dangerous for a waiguoren in recent days.”

“Is that so?” she said, her voice as smooth as the surface of a fine pearl. She offered no way for him to judge her knowledge.

Knox spotted Bruno, the bar and restaurant manager, and signaled him. Bruno’s size and comportment befit his name: he had a wide, serene face and a boyish smile, all tucked into a six-foot-one, two-hundred-and-eighty-pound body.

At Knox’s request, Bruno led them into his back office and left them alone.

Knox took out the GPS and showed Amy the bookmarked locations.

She worked through descriptions of some of the areas where a waiguoren would stick out. “Not that there is any risk to you. No physical risk. This is Shanghai.”

Knox memorized the map with her comments in mind. He wondered if she had possibly not heard of the kidnapping. She gave no indication otherwise. He thought all of Shanghai knew.

“You saw this, yes?” Amy asked, pointing to a tiny red dot the size of a pinhead alongside the character notation.

“I might have missed that,” he said, having no idea what it was.

“It is a voice note.” She scrolled along the bookmarked route. “Each location, a voice note.”

Knox studied the device, thinking: Voice notes?

“Friend in International Pearl City try to sell me this same GPS,” Amy said. “Gar-min,” she said, making it sound Chinese.

She worked the device through some menus and Knox’s breath caught as Danner’s voice-calm and restrained-spoke. He had trouble concentrating on the actual message.

“Second floor, second door from the south corner. Husband and wife. Mid-forties-out of shape. No children.”

Knox wanted to replay it just to hear Danner’s voice.

“A note for each location?” he said, rhetorically.

“Evidently.”

“Okay, then.” He accepted the device back and pocketed it. A note for each location. It might prove a shortcut to nearly the same information they sought from Lu’s accounting of the bribes: the precise location of each bribe recipient.

She said nothing more about it, showed no outward sign of interest or curiosity-as discreet as one could ask for.

“Here,” she said, kissing him just off his lips, and catching his hand as it came up. “Do not wipe it off.”

“Who’s going to see us?”

“Everyone already has. If you do not want them asking the obvious questions, then leave it.”

She was testing him. Her way of asking him what this was about while saving herself face.

He searched her exquisite eyes. “What are the obvious questions?”

“Xing xing zhi huo ke yi liao yuan,” she said. A single spark can start a prairie fire.

“Shu dao hu sun san,” he returned. An equally well-worn proverb. When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter. He warned of fair-weather friendship.

“I am no monkey,” she said. “You must be careful, John. You never fail to surprise me. This makes me warm for you.”

“It’s not what you think,” he said. All waiguoren were considered spies first.

“Have you no idea what I am thinking about?” She placed his thigh between her legs and pressed, letting him feel her heat. She craned up and whispered, “Maybe you can guess.”

They kissed.

“Enjoy your accountant,” she said, pulling away from him, making a show of her muscular backside.

Reentering the bar, he was hyperaware of the dozen eyes that found him-including Grace’s.

He arrived at her table and addressed Yang. “If you are seducing my date, I will have to cry foul. As the host of such a perfect party-the drinks, the food, the guests-you outclass any man in attendance and play to an unfair advantage.”

“The older the ginger, the hotter the spice,” Yang answered. “He who pays the piper calls the tune.” He glanced over to Grace.

“Only a fool would argue with such wisdom,” she said.

“We were just wrapping up,” Yang said. He moved to draw Grace’s chair back. Grace stood, thanking him.

Katherine Wu appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Knox noted how well she’d been trained, and kept his mind partially on Yang’s security man, wondering if that training spilled over to him; wondering if he happened to know some Mongolians.

“I trust you will enjoy yourself,” Yang said to Grace.

“The rest of the evening will pale by comparison to these few minutes in your company,” she said.

Yang bowed ever so slightly. Together, he and his assistant moved toward the bar.

“Had enough?” Knox said.

“You can leave any time you would like.”

“If I want permission, I’ll ask,” he said.

She indicated her own chin and passed him a napkin from the table. Knox wiped off Amy’s lipstick.

“Part of my cover.”

“You do not have to explain yourself to me,” she said, sarcastically. “I wish to stay a while longer to see if I can get our host alone once more. I worry for Lu Hao. I do not doubt a man like this could be behind it.”

“Did he offer to negotiate the ransom?” he asked, aiming for specifics.

“Leave when you wish. Perhaps we make a small scene and I am left on my own. Men can be so predictable.”

“You could slap me,” he said.

“Happily,” she whispered.

“Six A.M.?” he asked.

“I don’t forget so quickly,” Grace said, her eyes lingering a little too long on the smudge still clinging to the corner of his lips.

“The corner of Huaihai and Maoming,” he said. “Near the entrance to the Metro station.”

She cracked him across the cheek, everyone nearby interrupted by the slap.

Knox nursed it and moved away, cutting through the crowd. She had a hell of a right hand.

9:10 P.M.

Knox took repeated precautions to avoid being followed, including arriving at the Jin Jiang Hotel, where he was officially registered. He went through the motions of riding the elevator to his room, both for the sake of his cover, and to try to trap anyone behind him he might have missed.

Once inside the room, he stopped short at the sight of a brown padded envelope on his bed. He felt through it before opening-something hard, slightly smaller than a paperback book.

He spent a minute giving the room a lived-in look. Kept one eye on the package, which was both stapled and taped shut.

Finally, he tore it open and slid out the contents revealing the smooth aluminum of an Iomega portable hard drive. He double-checked the envelope. No note.

Kozlowski. Had to be. Before calling Dulwich to deliver his daily briefing and inquire if the delivery of the hard drive was somehow his doing, Knox pulled out the GPS and listened to Danner’s seven voice notes. Used as a dictation device, the notes were brief and cryptic, unemotional and nearly without personality. But Knox held on to the sound of the man’s voice, replaying several of the messages just to hear him speak. He suffered nostalgia, a condition he thought he’d been cured of permanently following his contract service with the military. The last real friendships he’d forged had been in Kuwait, now too many years ago to count.

He needed to listen to the last voice memo several times to decipher Danner’s verbal shorthand.

“Late addition to route. Heavy duffel left behind. Choke point. Civi guard took off, leaving two Huns as gatekeepers.”

Huns…Mongolians? On Lu Hao’s payout route? Added late in the game?

Knox mulled it over as he rode the elevator to the mezzanine and used his card key to enter the empty business office. Connected the hard drive by USB cable and studied the drive’s directory. He tried search strings for “Lu,” “bribes,” “payoffs,” “incentives,” “Berthold.” Nothing. The most recent Word files were letters written to his wife, Peggy. Reading the letters stirred guilt and anger in Knox. He owed Peggy a call. Something reassuring but vague. He found the most recently opened Excel files, also of little use: expense accounts. Nothing that pointed at Lu. Maybe Grace could find some files of significance, but at first blush, Knox doubted Lu Hao’s books were anywhere on Danner’s drive.

He disconnected the drive, hit the street and bought a second external drive and had the teenage clerk copy it. It took forty-five minutes; he tipped the kid a week’s salary. He returned to his room and placed a call.

“Go,” Dulwich said.

“Are you behind the package I found on my hotel bed?”

“Negative. What kind of package?”

Knox explained the package. Dulwich knew nothing of any hard drive, but clearly wanted to get his hands on it.

“I can’t see Kozlowski helping me out,” Knox said. “Too big a risk for him to take.”

“Consider that he wants Danner back as much as, maybe more than, any of us. FYI: I was about to call you. DNA is a match. Good work. But listen, an American gone missing? This is on Kozlowski’s watch, don’t forget. If you get Danner back before the ransom’s paid, the kidnapping will never be officially recorded. No black marks on anyone’s service record. The government escapes a tricky one. The Party, and Kozlowski and the consulate, too.”

“But I have no doubt-zero-that he’s connected me to you and Rutherford. So why not just overnight it to you directly?”

“There would be records of that. You, on the other hand, just discovered something on your bed. He probably paid off a chambermaid or doorman. No legs. Now you’re the one in position to do something with whatever’s contained on there. He knows that. And if he found something on there, it makes all the more sense because his hands are tied. You become the sacrificial lamb. You say he’s made the connection to us. He knows who we are, knows we’re major players. Knows we specialize in kidnapping resolution and extraction. If you’re him, who would you want on your side?”

“I suppose,” Knox said.

“And consider this: that laptop was encrypted. Count on it. So your consulate buddy broke the encryption. That means he’s got whatever you’ve got. He might have even removed a few files before giving you a copy. But who knows? Maybe it’s a matter of making sense of it. Maybe there’s something on there but he needs a second set of eyes.”

“I can pass it on to Grace,” Knox said. “But with two days to go, I’m not putting my nose into a computer screen.”

“Understood.”

“Is the date still firm?” Knox said.

“Yes.”

“And?” Knox could hear it in the man’s voice.

The line remained open, but Dulwich wasn’t speaking.

“Sarge?”

“A finger.”

The open line sparked with static.

“Whose?” Knox said, knowing already.

“Look on the bright side,” Dulwich said. “We know Danny was alive as recently as yesterday. And within city limits.”

The finger had retained warmth-the only explanation. Knox swallowed dryly. “Which finger?”

Silence.

“Which finger?” Knox repeated.

“Middle finger, right hand.”

“Oh…shit.” The kidnappers had seized the opportunity to send a message within the message. Knox’s stomach turned. No DNA swab this time. He tried for air. “I’ll kill these guys,” he said.

“You and me both.”

“Peggy?”

“No need to bother her with details.”

“She has a right to know he’s still alive. That is not a detail.”

“This is what we do, buddy boy. We’re on it.”

“Any renegotiation?” Knox asked. Ransom sums were always reduced the closer to the drop.

“Marquardt handled it very well. It’s down to a quarter million USD.”

“Two-fifty K? For two hostages including one American? Are you shitting me?”

“We’ve adjusted our game plan to consider them amateurs,” Dulwich said. “Berthold was prepared to go as high as ten million.”

Knox filled him in on the Sherpa delivery man knowing a valid address and how this supported the amateurs theory.

“Game changer,” Dulwich said. “If not a Triad, then maybe a co-worker or a competitor. But our modeling continues to suggest one of the bribe recipients. We need those people identified. You need to bring me Lu Hao’s accounts.”

The Mongolians did not strike Knox as amateurs. Yang Cheng’s men perhaps.

“FYI: We followed up on Inspector Shen’s inquiries with Marquardt about the American documentary film crew.”

Knox said nothing, his mind back on the Sherpa and Danny’s severed finger.

“We’ve confirmed one of the film crew is missing,” Dulwich continued. “We got it from the head of housekeeping at the Tomorrow Square Marriott. He’s a cameraman. Neither he nor his camera has been in his hotel room for over ten days.”

“And this pertains to us how?”

“Listen, they’re filming The Berthold Group. Right? The tower construction? Now the Chinese are all over it. So that means we’re interested. It’s a missing person. We’ve got a couple of those ourselves.”

“Also kidnapped?”

“Who knows?”

“They sent a hand instead of a finger?”

“No one sent anything. That hand was fished out of the Yangtze.”

“Dead?”

“How would we know? Hotel security can track key-card usage. Only housekeeping has been in and out of that missing guy’s-this cameraman’s room-over the past ten days. Sounds like he’s toast.”

“Again: why do I care?”

“You’re a cold-hearted bastard. A man’s missing.” Said one of the coldest-hearted bastards Knox knew. “Inspector Shen pays Marquardt a visit a couple days after a kidnapping of a Berthold employee and is clearly investigating a different missing persons case. He’s letting Marquardt know they can share the wealth-that one investigation may inform the other.”

“Or he’s threatening him not to investigate anything himself. Which means me.”

“That would be you,” Dulwich agreed. “Another reason it’s worth discussing, don’t you think?”

“Would the People’s Armed Police, a guy like the inspector, ever employ Mongolians as muscle?” Knox asked.

“I’ll tell you something: the Ministry of State Security would employ goddamn Attila the Hun if it suited their purpose. Why?”

“I’ve dropped a pair of guys,” Knox said. “Both apparent Mongolians but holding legit National Residence Cards. They’re all over this like flies. They were in the incentive loop.”

“I’m interested because…?”

“I recovered Danny’s GPS. He left himself voice notes at each of Lu Hao’s drop points.”

Dulwich whistled.

“The latest addition to Lu Hao’s payments could be these Mongolians.”

He heard Dulwich’s labored breathing. That comment had gotten his adrenaline pumping. “I can have Primer ask Marquardt about any Mongolians, any blackmail or extortion that predated the kidnapping, but I’ve got to think he would have volunteered that. We’re working for him, after all.”

Knox said, “The Mongolians beat the shit out of the delivery guy who left the ransom.”

“You do work quickly.”

“Their whole focus appears to be finding Lu. I don’t see them behind this. More like ‘way behind,’ like we are.”

“If they’re proxies for the Chinese, you’re fucked. Those boys will take you behind the shed and put one between your eyes.”

“Thanks for that.”

“I need you to make a second copy of Danny’s hard drive,” Dulwich said. “I need my tech guys here to get a look at that.”

“Maybe the GPS and Danny’s voice notes get us around needing Lu Hao’s records.”

“You have names? Amounts?”

Knox didn’t answer.

Dulwich said, “Stay focused, Knox. Those books remain the brass ring.”

“I thought getting them out alive was the brass ring.”

“I’m just saying.”

“And I’m not liking what you’re saying.” The Berthold Group being more concerned with creating a cover-up than winning extraction made corporate sense. “Am I supposed to read between the lines, Sarge?”

“There are no lines. The priority is human life,” Dulwich confirmed. “That hasn’t changed.”

“If it does, I’m out. I’m solo.”

“No argument from me.”

“I wouldn’t suggest overnighting the hard drive.”

“No.”

“Or sending it electronically.”

“No. We’ll put a courier in place.”

“I thought you couldn’t put people in place over here.”

No immediate response. Then, “We need that drive today,” Dulwich said. “We need to move the ransom’s USD in-country. Marquardt doesn’t have access to that kind of U.S. cash. You take care of your shit, I’ll handle mine.”

“If I’m giving this drive to someone, make it someone I know by sight. Send me a picture or something.”

“Don’t go all Pierce Brosnan on me.”

“Daniel Craig. You gotta keep up.”

“Fuck you.” The line went dead.

Knox rode the scooter out onto Changle Lu and took as many precautions against tails as possible.

Twenty minutes later, he’d made the five-minute ride.

As he eased the guesthouse’s back door closed, he heard the steady murmur of voices, the fill of background music and the clinking of glasses and tableware. He decided to bring a beer to his room. He would dress, and drive the GPS’s bookmarked route as an intelligence gathering before doing so with Grace in a few hours.

He passed into the tiny dining and bar area. An off-the-shoulder raw silk blouse caught his attention. Amy Xue nursed a kir, her back to him. He approached and paused behind her.

“Join me,” she said, patting the stool beside her. They met eyes in the bar mirror.

Knox slid onto the stool and ordered a beer.

“You have words with accountant?” she said in Mandarin.

“A slight misunderstanding,” he said, also in Mandarin. So the ruse had fooled even Amy, he thought.

She switched to English. “I worry for you, John Knox. You snooping around.”

“Who said I’m snooping?”

“You have money problems, you should say something.”

“No money problems.”

“If you need extension of credit, why did you not ask your friend?”

“Am I missing something?” he said. “Why would I need an extension of credit?”

“I ask myself same thing.”

The Chinese could never face a request or a favor head-on. It always went around the block before arriving at the destination, or a middleman was used to save face for both sides.

“This has to do with my payment?”

“Yes, of course. I do not charge my friend interest,” she said, “no matter that it is within my rights.”

Interest? “Why would I owe you interest?” Knox asked, taking the more American route.

“You have spoken to your brother?” she asked.

What did Tommy have to do with this? Do not involve Tommy! “About?”

“John,” she said, “last payment not received. I do not charge interest for valued customer.”

It took Knox a moment. “Our last payment?”

“If you need more time, this can be negotiated.”

“That was months ago.”

“Two months, sixteen days,” she said.

“You didn’t get the wire? You should have said something.”

“I am saying something. Did not receive wire transfer of funds. Did not receive any funds.”

“You should have said something sooner. We issued payment, Amy. A wire transfer to your bank in Hong Kong, same as always. My brother…” Evelyn, their bookkeeper, never made such mistakes. Tommy, maybe. It wasn’t impossible, given his condition, but it wasn’t likely. “I’ll look into it immediately.”

“You are a good customer, John Knox. Favored customer.” Amy considered every customer her best customer, but there was something more that she wasn’t bringing up. Still, it hung between them. “You miss a payment, not a problem. But when you did not mention it tonight…well, this is not like you. Not like a most valued customer.”

“We paid,” he said.

“And the wire cleared?” she asked.

“I’ll talk to my brother and my bookkeeper. Please forgive this failure, Amy. This dishonors me greatly.” Contrition was an important part of business relationships with the Chinese.

“You can make it up to me,” she said, coyly. “Show me interest, not pay it.”

“No shortage of interest.”

Knox wrote GRAND CATHAY in block letters on the bar napkin-the name of his room. He pinched it beneath the base of her Champagne glass. Amy kissed him and slipped off the bar, taking precautions in a city where the rumor mill spun faster than a turbine.

Having left the guesthouse by the front door, she circled around to the back door and joined him in the guestroom. Joined him without a word spoken between them. Joined him in a sweaty, athletic indulgence that ended with her straddling him, their eyes locked, their shared rhythm near perfect, their needs fulfilled.

“Sometimes I wish I still smoked,” she said, lying on her back.

“Oh, you smoke,” Knox said. And she hit him.

Knox rose up onto an elbow to enjoy the look of her. He could see her heart beating quickly at the V of her ribcage.

“If a body could be put into words,” he said, “yours would be poetry.”

Her smile widened. “Silver tongue, cold heart.”

He took her hand and placed it on his chest. “Does it feel cold to you?”

She shook her head, still smiling, and staring at the ceiling fan. “It is an expression is all.” She hesitated. “I am worried for you.”

He turned on the television and cranked the volume. He trusted Fay not to bug his room, but believed in taking precautions. “No worries,” he said softly.

The iPhone rang. He scrambled to get to it and then considered not answering it. But he couldn’t help himself. “Yeah?”

“Who do you think you are?” Grace’s shrill voice caused Knox to distance the phone from his ear. He moved away from the bed and made a face to indicate his surprise. “I will tell you: a common thief. A liar. A cheat. Worse than all: a man whose word cannot be trusted.”

“Listen to me a minute,” Knox pleaded.

“The GPS is the key to our success. We are partners. And yet you steal it from me. Steal it! A common thief! You delay our efforts. You cost me panic and fear when I cannot find it. How dare you treat me with such disrespect!”

“If you would just…listen.”

The line went dead.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” Amy asked.

“An unhappy customer,” he said, returning to her.

“You see? You have problem with customer, too.”

“It’s true.” He’d known Amy long enough to believe he could trust her, though trust was more of a concept here than a practice. Together they’d bent enough export laws to hold weight over the other.

He nibbled her tenderly and she startled.

“Oooh. I like that.”

The television continued to blare, though the sounds it covered were no longer of conspiracy and collusion. Instead they were the sounds of secret touches, pressures and timing. Of instruction and direction. Of a woman’s cries muffled by a pillow and a man’s growl as skin slapped skin and traffic hummed. Of shared guilty laughter between two people who knew no one deserved something so good.

When she had gone, Knox called down and ordered an espresso. He showered and dressed and double-checked the knife he carried, as if by looking at it he could hone its blade.

Then, he placed the call he’d not wanted to make. He used the iPhone, allowing Dulwich to pay for it-knowing it could not be eavesdropped upon.

Tommy answered on the third ring. Detroit sounded next door.

“Hey, bro,” Knox said.

“Johnny!” Tommy was the only person Knox tolerated using the nickname. His brother sounded as excited as if an ice cream truck had just pulled up in front of the house.

With proper medication, supervision and a solid routine, Tommy did all right. He could handle the responsibilities of their partnership. He indulged in video games. He’d pretty much conquered public transportation. He had a start on adulthood, if not there yet. Thankfully, he wasn’t inclined to look for the man behind the curtain. Knox played his role close to the vest.

The missed payment to Amy was a red flag. Knox did not want to access any of their online bookkeeping from China. He didn’t want to give the Internet-sniffing Chinese authorities a leg up.

“How goes it?” Knox asked.

“Just fine,” Tommy said.

“Business good?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Small problem over here.”

“Where?”

“Shanghai. Amy never received her wire.”

Silence.

“The pearl lady.”

“But that was months ago,” Tommy said.

Impressive, Knox thought. “Yes, exactly.”

“Wouldn’t we know if a wire didn’t go through?” Tommy struggled with the concept of moving money electronically.

“We should, yes.”

“You mean I should,” Tommy said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s what you’re thinking.”

“Don’t go there, Tommy. It’s not what I was thinking.”

“You think I screwed up.”

“If you screwed up, I’d say you screwed up. Since when do I mince words?”

“Then what? If not that, why are you calling?”

“Because we owe a lot of money to an important supplier and I want to get on it. That’s all there is to it. Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

“I’ll have to check with Eve.” Evelyn Ritter, their bookkeeper and accountant.

“Yes. That’s where we start. Exactly. A record of the wire and, if for some reason it didn’t go through-”

“We resend,” Tommy said, agreeing.

“Are you writing this down?”

“I’m not stupid. Of course I am.”

“We’ll need to check other payments as well. Eve can help. I don’t get how she could have missed this one, but stranger things have happened. Bet you anything it’s on this end: you know Chinese banks.”

Tommy had a schoolboy crush on their attractive bookkeeper. Knox did not like the way the relationship had developed-he didn’t know if he was jealous of Eve for winning Tommy’s attentions, or if he questioned why an attractive, smart woman would express interest in someone with Tommy’s limited social skills. But Eve spent time with his brother-quality time-and that was a blessing he wouldn’t discourage.

“How are things otherwise?” Knox asked.

“Tigers suck.”

“There’s news.”

“How about you?” Tommy asked.

“Looking into importing vintage motorcycles.” He’d lived with the lie long enough to begin to buy into it.

“Seriously?”

“They have some real beauties over here. They copied BMW and Russian designs for years. Better than the originals. We can get ’em for a song, bring ’em up to standards and sell them for five, maybe eight-X.”

“I thought I’m not allowed to ride motorcycles,” he said, sounding younger all of a sudden.

“Some of them have sidecars. Maybe we’ll make an exception.”

“An exception,” Tommy said, mimicking. A signal he was tiring. Phone calls were harder for him than face-to-face. Tommy’s doctors could not explain half of what went on-or failed to go on-in his brain.

“I’ll sign off,” Knox said.

“Expensive call.”

“E-mail me what you find out from Eve.”

“I’ll e-mail you,” Tommy said.

“You’re a good man, Tommy.”

“Miss you, Johnny.”

He hung up. Knox kept the phone to his ear a little longer than necessary, his heart working like timpani. He trod softly as he descended the stairs, heeding Fay’s warning about the night watchman, and slipped outside, carefully shutting the back door behind him.

“Enjoy yourself?” Grace’s voice at his back.

Knox didn’t miss a beat. “That’s the general idea.”

He turned and she stepped out of shadow. It wasn’t Grace’s presence that shocked him, but the fact that he hadn’t spotted her.

“She is pretty, in a slutty kind of way,” Grace said.

“I didn’t know you cared,” he said.

“You are going out on the route,” she said, seeing the helmet.

“Yes.”

“Without me.”

“That was the plan,” Knox admitted.

She crossed her arms defiantly. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“This is not what we agreed to,” she said, speaking to the lane.

“No.”

“Then why?” she asked.

“It’s what I do. The way it’s done. It’s called advancing.”

“Do not patronize me, John Knox.”

“That’s all it was going to be: ride the route. Make sure it’s safe. Determine multiple points of egress. I was not going to ride you-us-into a possible ambush. My friend…this was his job. It’s what he did for me. I’m doing the same thing.”

“‘For me’?” Loaded with sarcasm.

“Nothing more, nothing less.” He told about Danner’s hard drive, about his wanting-needing-her to look over its contents. Admitted it was beyond his current patience level.

“I agree to this,” she said, softening some.

“I would have been there at six A.M.,” he pleaded. “Believe that or not, that’s the truth.” He hesitated. “As to the woman-”

“No!” She moved toward the scooter. “We do this tonight. Now, when these…criminals are in their homes.”

“We drive it first,” he said. “The entire route. We don’t approach any of them until first light. Any of these people-all of them-know their neighborhoods. They can navigate in the dark far better than we. Patience and planning, or we don’t do this at all.” He motioned toward the scooter.

She stood there immovable, intractable and willful.

“Please,” he said.

Two motorcycles turned into the mouth of the lane, racing toward them at a high-pitched whine. Knox saw apology and regret in her eyes: she’d allowed herself to be followed.

Both bikes veered toward Knox, skidding out from under the riders, who leaped off and dumped them toward Knox like bowling balls aimed at pins. Knox timed his jump well, though was tripped up by a rear fender as he came down. He sprawled onto the concrete, a boot heel aimed for his face before he could recover.

Grace took him out. The boot missed Knox’s face.

The other rider had gone down onto a knee while dumping his bike. Knox rolled toward him, stood, and kicked him in the groin. The man lurched forward reflexively. Knox kneed him in the face and he was out.

Grace’s opponent suffered. Her first kick had thrown him into the back wall of the Quintet and off of Knox. A moment’s hesitation on his part-disbelief such lethal force could come from a hundred-pound woman-cost him. She went after him like he was a punching bag, and he sank.

“I know this one!” she called out to Knox as she continued to deliver a volley of blows to the man’s abdomen, reducing him to the fetal position. As the man sank, she searched his pockets and came up with a wallet.

“Overconfident fools,” she said.

“Know him, how?” Knox asked.

“Yang Cheng’s cocktail party.”

Knox got a closer look. She was right: the bodyguard type never far from the party host.

“Damn,” he said, impressed.

He got the scooter going and aimed for the street. Grace threw a leg over the seat and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and they were off.