The Risk Agent

17

1:15 A.M.

THE BUND

“An unexpected pleasure,” Yang Cheng said, addressing Grace in Shanghainese.

She reached into her purse and came out with the thumb drive. “Lu Hao’s accounts,” she said in Mandarin, finding Shanghainese too coarse and rapid for business negotiations.

Yang’s eyes flared slightly. Otherwise, he was a picture of executive comportment: interested, but not overly excited. “Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”

“Perhaps not,” she said, returning the drive to her purse. “And since you do not, and might be considering other means to explore the topic, let me just say the drive’s contents are encrypted-highly encrypted-the key to which requires me to make a certain call from a specific phone at a specific time. And not before lunchtime today, at any rate.”

He nodded glumly. “Let us assume I can imagine what you mean by ‘Mr. Lu’s accounts.’”

Grace eased her purse shut, its magnet snapping sharply.

“I require a bid in excess of one hundred thousand USD by nine A.M. Delivery before noon.”

Yang smiled, cat-like. “Is that so? I warned you about working for Mr. Marquardt. You should have accepted my job offer.”

“Perhaps it is not too late.”

“It is very much too late. Selling corporate secrets is a punishable offense, Ms. Chu.”

“So is buying them, I imagine,” she said. She looked around the office. “And for the sake of whatever recording devices you have in place,” she said, “let me just say you are the one calling these files corporate secrets, not me. To my knowledge, these files are not from a corporation but an individual, one Lu Hao, and I believe you will find he grants me access to these files insomuch as he is presently captive and in dire need of funds to secure his safe release.”

Yang felt his forehead perspiring. If the camera hadn’t been running he might choke the life out of this pest. She’d been nothing but trouble for him.

“What you ask…it is a great deal of foreign currency to raise on such short notice,” he said. “Perhaps yuan would suffice?”

“USD,” she said. “Highest bid wins. Nine A.M.”

“One hundred thousand? A week or two at the earliest. The banks, you see? Noon today? Never.”

“Noon,” she said, standing. “Katherine has my phone number.”

“She will show you out.”

“I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Tread lightly. This is a great risk for you, Chu Youya.”

She quoted a proverb that translated: How can you catch tiger cubs without entering the tiger’s lair?

“How many others?” he inquired.

“Enough,” she said.

“Same conditions?”

“I will accept bids up until nine A.M. The cash, by noon.” She nodded. “If I’m followed from here-and believe me, I’ll know it-you are off the list.”

2:10 A.M.

CHANGNING DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

Grace microwaved some frozen Bi Feng Tang barbecue pork buns. She and Knox ate on the half balcony of the safe house apartment overlooking other people’s laundry. They drank beer.

“You are dressed in all black,” she said. “You have been sweating and your eyes are dilated from adrenaline.”

“As are yours,” he said.

“Did you confront him?” she asked. “The Mongolian? Was he there?”

“Tell me about Marquardt. Yang Cheng?”

They both sipped their beer.

She said, “I am waiting.”

“As am I?”

“This is childish,” she said.

“I paid a visit to the Mongolian’s room as we discussed. And, yes: I made sure he wasn’t there,” Knox said. “I had a look around.”

“And?”

“If you crossed a monk with a Marine you’d have this guy nailed. Neat and tidy, and very few possessions, if you discount the false wall behind the prayer rug,” he said.

“Please explain,” she said.

“Four screws in a false panel. The man’s a pack rat.” Knox’s wound made him wince. “There was a video camera hidden in there. A professional camera. Pretty beat up. Two handguns-both Russian. And a considerable amount of yuan. Maybe eighty or a hundred thousand.”

“The missing cameraman,” she said. “The one the Iron Hand seeks.”

“Yes. And if he’s as damaged as his camera, we can cross him off the list of the living.”

“Any footage on the camera?”

He passed her his iPhone. “Excuse the quality. I videotaped the little monitor on the side of the thing.” He upended his beer and drank loudly.

“Asphalt crew?” she said. “I do not understand.”

“Neither did I. But keep watching.”

Her eyes flared. “Who are they?”

“Too small to see. We need a much bigger monitor and a better copy. But the guy on the left is big enough to be our Mongolian. And the other guy is fat enough and well dressed enough to be rich.”

“You brought the tape.” She made it a statement.

“It’s a disk. But no. I left it in the camera.”

She glanced at him, frustrated. “But why?”

“We know where to find it. And if it goes missing, we’ve played our hand. You need to keep watching.”

She returned her eyes to the phone’s video.

“An asphalt crew at night,” he said, “in what looks like a light industrial area.” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing Chinese characters written in pen on his forearm. “This character is seen on a sign on the building in the background.”

“Chong,” she said. “This means ‘honor, esteem.’ Chongming Island…”

“Yeah. That occurred to me. Keep watching. It’s coming up any second.”

“Why film asphalt being laid?” she asked.

“Why hold on to a camera if this guy is dead? And if he’s missing a hand, he’s likely dead,” he said. “If the Mongolian’s working for the police, for this inspector, then I can see it. Cops retain evidence in order to convict or to-”

“Extort.”

“Yes,” he said. “Or as insurance. Agreed.”

“And if that fat guy with the Mongolian is a Beijing party member…”

She gasped loudly.

“You’ve got good eyes,” Knox said. “I didn’t see him until the second time I watched.”

She rewound the video and paused when a man’s head appeared on the far left of the frame-a man hanging on to the wall and peering over into the compound. The frame then moved to encompass the spy and the lens zoomed to capture his face in close-up.

“I recognized him from the pictures in the digital frame,” Knox said.

A pixilated Lu Hao stared into the camera lens looking like a deer caught in headlights.

She’d gone a pasty color. “Oh, Lu Hao.”

“Whoever laid that asphalt did not want it being seen.”

“In China,” she said, angry with him, “we work all hours. This is nothing.”

“They’re hiding something,” he said. “Count on it.”

“And Lu Hao saw it.”

“And the fat dude,” Knox said. “He saw the fat dude. And whoever that other guy was.”

“This is why he called me.” She went suddenly very quiet.

“You can’t beat yourself up over it.”

She had tears in her eyes when she looked up at him.

Knox felt fatigue drag him down over the next several minutes of her brooding silence. For his part, Knox was celebrating that the video he’d shot was clear enough to make out some detail. He thought that on a bigger and better screen he might be able to make out faces.

He touched her arm. “Seriously. There’s nothing you can do about it now except fix it. We’re going to fix it.”

She filled him in on her meeting with Yang Cheng and Marquardt.

“One of them will come through,” he said. “If not, we’ll drop a duffel of newsprint and improvise.”

“They will kill them.”

“They won’t get the chance. You’ll see.”

“There is only the two of us. Marquardt should not have made that call. By now the Chinese know we have Lu’s records. We are marked.”

“We knew there’d be speed bumps. You do what you have to do.”

She eyed him curiously.

“An American proverb,” he said.

“What now, John?”

He wanted another beer. Maybe five.

“I need to call Randy,” he said.

“For the encryption code? I thought he gave it to you.” She sounded defeated.

“He did. Yes. Not the encryption code. The new proof of life,” he said. “Primer will demand a final proof of life before making the drop. That’s our chance.”