“Nothing.”
“Grace?”
“Four sounds like-si-death.”
“Danner or Lu?” he wondered aloud. “Danner could be wounded. Lu Hao could have had a seizure.”
“Only the one chair,” she said.
He pointed out the scuffmarks. “It was Danner in this chair. Count on it.” He dug into the balled-up duct tape, peeling it apart. He found a patch with whisker hairs and torn skin in the rough shape of lips. The whiskers were faintly red under the pencil light. “Danner,” Knox whispered. “For certain.”
“Where’s Lu Hao?” she gasped. “Dying and dead?”
“No jumping to conclusions,” he cautioned. “We’ve got no blood. No sign of trouble. Chances are these guys are pros and kept the hostages separated. SOP. If they lose one to the cops or escape, they still have the other. Nothing to worry about. Not yet.”
“You sound like you are trying to convince yourself, not me,” she said.
Do I? he wondered. Guilty as charged. “A left-handed vegetarian?”
“He left a partially eaten pizza slice behind. Ate off the left side of the slice. You are trying to change the subject. Why would a simple delivery man know this address, yet it is not the address for Lu Hao? That does not make sense.”
Not to Knox either. He was surprised how quickly she jumped to the same place he did.
“We can’t get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “We have Danner alive. Moved not too long before we got here, judging by the smell of the place.” Sweat and smoke hung in the air. Someone had been here in the past several hours. “We have the Sherpa’s driver, but he operated as an independent.”
“The Mongolians?”
“Hostage-takers survey the payee of the ransom demand. We have the Mongolians watching Lu Hao’s apartment. That could fit. Or, like us, they could be wanting Lu Hao’s records.”
“But I’ve seen well-dressed Chinese watching the MW Building from Xiangyang Park,” she said. These were the men she used her disguise to be rid of.
“Yes. Maybe working with the Mongolians, maybe separate. If we forget the Sherpa’s guy, that gives us the two groups to deal with.”
“The well-dressed ones could be PSB, perhaps,” she said. “Or independents. Or the kidnappers themselves.”
“And if the kidnappers, then we have to explain the Mongolians. Listen, this was a lead we had to follow, but the gold ring is still Lu’s records.”
“Gold ring?”
“The prize,” he said, clarifying. “We know from the Sherpa’s man that it was the Mongolians who attacked him. They hit him after he made the ransom drop at Berthold, so they were watching either Berthold or the driver himself. They aren’t the kidnappers. They got this address ahead of us. But by the time they got here, the place was empty.”
“Because?”
“No sign of a struggle.”
She nodded. “So the Sherpa’s driver must have been expected to call in a code or message once he was safely away from the Berthold ransom drop. He never got time to do so because the Mongolians attacked him.”
“And the kidnappers packed up and moved at least Danny. Yes. It makes sense. But if true, it also means the intellectual made an amateurish mistake in giving the Sherpa’s man the hostage location. Why would he do that?”
“Maybe not a Triad,” she said. “Someone less experienced at kidnapping.”
“Like a competitor of Berthold,” Knox said.
“We come back around to needing Lu Hao’s accounts of the incentives.”
He bristled at the use of the euphemism. “One step forward…” he muttered. “But who are they, these Mongolians?”
“Perhaps we should inform the PSB about this place,” Grace said. “The PSB is efficient. They can lift fingerprints. DNA. This evidence could help a great deal.”
“If the PSB finds Danner ahead of us,” Knox reminded, “he’s worse off than in the hands of the kidnappers. Lu, too, more than likely.”
She looked ready to argue. Instead, she exhaled and settled herself. “Three days,” she said.
TUESDAY
September 28
3 days until the ransom
10
7:45 A.M.
HUANGPU DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
“You asked I show you everything,” Feng Qi said, sitting uncomfortably in a dynastic armchair seven centuries old. Across from him, occupying an ornately carved chair and looking like a feudal lord, was Yang Cheng. The expansive desktop was a museum piece: exotic mahogany inlaid with ivory, ebony and mother-of-pearl.
Yang Cheng was everything Feng Qi longed to be: rich. Not that a security man could get rich off the salary he was paid, but the stock market was another story. Along with the old toothless geezers in their pajamas, Feng stopped into the public trading rooms whenever possible, buying and selling on rumor and instinct. He was up eleven percent in the past two months. He invested every dime he earned, a good deal of it in Yang Construction.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Yang said. He ran the DVD player, and the four-quadrant screen came alive with security camera images of Grace’s apartment.
“It is interactive. You may select any image at any time.” Feng had no doubt what image his boss would select. He had personally cued the DVD for the occupant’s entrance into the bedroom from the bathroom. The woman was naked. Feng knew on which side his bread was buttered.
Yang Cheng replayed the full screen image several times.
“Oh, my!” Yang Cheng said. “That puts some cayenne in the old stalk!”
“She is very clever, this one,” Feng said. “We see her entrance, but have yet to spot her leaving the MW office building. This, while watching every exit carefully.”
“Disguise?”
“Yes. It is the only explanation.”
“This tells us she is up to no good. Also that she spotted you! You are an idiot!”
“Or she was told by Berthold about the kidnapping and to take no chances.”
“Why her and no other employees?” Yang asked.
Feng looked stumped.
“We must now consider that she is aware of Tragic Lu’s current situation. I imagine Berthold employees are not the happiest right now. This gives me a good idea.”
“One thing of note: she made no attempt to disguise herself for yesterday’s lunch with a waiguoren.” He paused. “Canadian. American, possibly.”
“This I find even more interesting. No. Listen to me…I told you: she is up to no good. Her arrival is no coincidence. Her precautions? She fears the government, of course-the Ministry of State Security. What else? That they are aware of the kidnapping and may be interested in any newcomers. Of course! I knew it! And the fact that she takes such precautions? A windfall. She acknowledges her importance to us. Leading us to the American? She is engaged in the highest form of deception. She is challenging us to take the bait, or let it go. Thankfully our resources are many. We can play both sides to our advantage.” He was excited to the point of arousal.
“The two appeared to have reviewed financial statements.”
“Lu Hao’s accounts?”
“In public?” Feng said. “No. Their waitress, Sweet Lips Woo, said it was an expense account, maybe.”
“You paid the waitress? You are a smart man, Feng.”
“It’s what I do.”
“Did you follow the foreigner?”
The question put Feng in a difficult position. If he admitted his man had lost the foreigner, he, Feng, would be held responsible. If he tried to pretend he’d been shorthanded and had not followed, he would be declared incompetent.
“I deemed it more important to stay with the woman,” he said.
“Next time, get your head out of your ass and wipe the shit out of your eyes.”
“But if anyone is to lead us to Lu Hao’s bookkeeping, it is this woman. I have it on good authority she has spoken directly with Marquardt himself.”
“All important. Absolutely. B
ut I want the name and employment situation of the waiguoren. Your job is information. Bring me the information!”
“Yes, sir.”
“You must do better, young man.”
“Of course,” Feng said, having no idea how he might go about finding the man again. “I endeavor to serve your every need.”
“Your needs as well. There’s a bonus in it for you.”
Feng thought there was no more sweet-sounding word. Yang was known to hoard his profits, but he could be generous with his mistresses and held much guanxi with his business partners.
Yang stared out at the Pudong skyline, envious of the Xuan Tower. It stuck in his side like a thorn.
Feng said, “If I might make a suggestion?” Yang Cheng didn’t take kindly to suggestions. This was dangerous territory.
“If you must.”
“Perhaps, if you were to invite the accountant, Chu Youya-the one they call ‘Grace’-to this evening’s festivities? Perhaps encourage her to bring a companion?”
“The waiguoren?”
“If we get lucky.”
“I am always lucky. I was born lucky. Eighth day of eighth month.”
Feng suppressed a gasp. It explained so much about Yang’s ability to amass such a fortune so relatively young. Double eights. What more could any person ask?
“It’s a good suggestion,” Yang said. “A fine suggestion! This is exactly why I pay you so well.”
Feng coughed, keeping his sarcasm at bay.
Yang passed the invitation along to an assistant by phone. When he hung up he said to Feng, “Should she refuse my invitation, perhaps her employer or the PSB would be interested in her contact with this waiguoren. Perhaps she lacks the proper licensing to do such business. I leave the details to you.”
“You are a brilliant and cunning strategist.”
“You will join me tonight. The nineteenth hour. Place two of our men outside number twenty Guangdong Road. At the ready to follow. You will be inside with me.”
Feng’s chest swelled with pride. “My pleasure.”
“This isn’t about pleasure, you fool. Keep your wits about you. It’s about laying a trap. It’s about outwitting the competition. Have you learned nothing?”
“My apologies.”
“Go now. Leave the DVD with me.” He had freeze-framed the naked image of Grace striding across the bedroom. “If you get any more like this, I want to see it.”
“Of course.” Feng suppressed a grin. The bonus couldn’t be far off. Eleven percent in two months, he thought, already doing the calculations.
8:45 A.M.
CHANGNING DISTRICT
Grace had no intention of showing up for work, her full attention on obtaining Lu Hao’s records of bribery. The three days remaining until the ransom drop felt more like three hours. She and Knox had a few sketchy leads: the existence of the Mongolians, their phone records and their Resident Identity Cards. They knew Danner had been held alone. A return to the Sherpa’s driver had found him gone, as they’d expected.
Knox had called to nudge Kozlowski once again about making a connection to the police motorcycle impound, while dropping another leaden hint that he needed the contents of Danner’s laptop.
So they waited, the one thing Grace was not particularly good at.
She was sipping a coffee at a bakery/café, when her phone rang-not the iPhone, but her private mobile. She reached for it tentatively, fearing another battle with her mother.
“Ms. Chu? Hello.” A woman, definitely Chinese. She spoke English. “I am calling for Yang Construction at the request of Yang Cheng, our president and CEO.”
“Yes?” she said politely, her chest suddenly tight. Yang Cheng calling her? On this number? How did he even know about her?
“Mr. Yang invites you, and a guest if you like, to a cocktail reception at the Glamour Bar this evening. Seven P.M. Business casual.”
“I am…flattered,” Grace said. “Honored. But-”
Perhaps anticipating her hesitancy, the woman said, “Mr. Yang like to welcome your return to Shanghai.”
“My return?”
“Y…es. This is Chu Youya?”
“Yes. Exactly so.” They’d done their research.
“Can I put you down for a party of two?”
“Thank you.”
“I apologize for such short notice. Entirely my fault, I assure you.”
“No apology necessary.”
“We would be happy to send a car for you if-”
“No need.” So they wanted to know where she lived as well. “Seven. Business casual?”
“As you wish.”
“See you tonight, then, Ms…”
“Katherine Wu. I so look forward to meeting you,” the woman said. “Should I put you down for plus-one?”
“Yes. I will bring a client with me. Thank you.”
As Grace hung up, a throat cleared behind her. She looked over her shoulder wondering how much Selena Ming, Allan Marquardt’s assistant, had overheard.
An awkward moment, as neither spoke.
“Congratulations on the new apartment,” Selena said.
“A promise is a promise. Certain arrangements were made at the time of my hiring.” Grace knew that only executives of vice president and above were provided such luxury housing. She wondered how this might sit with the other Chinese employees. “Join me?” Grace motioned to an empty chair.
“I could not.”
“Please.”
Selena sat. “It is nice? The apartment?”
“Very nice.” It took Grace a moment to catch on. “Would you like to see it sometime?”
“Oh, please, I do not wish to trouble you.”
“No trouble. In fact, Mr. Marquardt has meant to deliver the EOY-the end-of-year-financials to me. Perhaps you would be so kind as to bring them along?”
“I can check with Mr. Marquardt. But if he clears it, most certainly.”
“Good! Thank you very much.” Grace had hoped to avoid that hurdle, but by putting the request to a third party, it pressured Marquardt to either deliver the accounts or explain to Brian Primer of Rutherford Risk why he would not.
The girl’s face brightened. “Yes. And thank you,” she said. Selena walked off, practically floating.
Grace reread her note about the cocktail party. She needed to reach Knox. Then, a new dress.
10:25 A.M.
HUANGPU DISTRICT
The air was guncotton gray, visibility less than five blocks. Commuters and pedestrians wore surgical masks against the smog.
Kozlowski waited at the entrance to the police impound, a door marked with a small plaque.
“If this works,” Kozlowski said, “I get my pick of the litter. But at your cost. No gifting.”
“Agreed.”
“As to your not so subtle requests. Let me drive home this point: tread lightly, friend.”
“An Inspector Shen shook down Berthold Group’s Allan Marquardt about a film crew and a missing cameraman,” Knox said, relaying what Dulwich had told him in their daily wrap-up conversation the night before. He knew quid pro quo was his best shot at winning favors-possibly Danner’s laptop, if Kozlowski had confiscated it, which Knox suspected.
Kozlowski did not break his cool, did not allow the slightest indication of any kind of knowledge to cross his face. It was new territory for their friendship.
Kozlowski was focused on Knox’s barked knuckles. He could easily have been informed of a Westerner having assaulted a man in an apartment house stairwell, or having dumped a motorcycle in a back lane of a lilong.
Knox said, “Given the restrictions our government faces concerning investigation inside China…If you ever needed an errand boy…”
“Shut up,” Kozlowski said softly. He took Knox firmly by the arm. “I ran that registration card as you asked. It’s legit. Issued in Beijing.”
Knox had been convinced the card would turn out to be a forgery. “Legit?” he said.
“Correct. So he�
��s either a Chinese, or he’s very well connected,” Kozlowski said. “As in: don’t go there.”
“I’m already there,” Knox said. “Who could get a legit registration card made for his hired muscle?”
“I don’t even want to think about that,” Kozlowski said.
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.” Kozlowski opened the precinct’s door for Knox and they entered. Kozlowski showed the receptionist his U.S. Consulate identification tag. She clearly recognized the name. He showed them into the back where a chisel-faced man in his forties with greasy hands welcomed them. Superintendent First Class Gao.
Following some small talk, all in Mandarin, Kozlowski presented Knox’s wish to be included in any auctions.
“Prior to auction,” the superintendent said, “station officers get first pick of litter.”
Knox recognized an opening. He said, “How many officers might there be in the office?”
“Fifteen, including myself. We each may advance bid on one vehicle per auction.”
“Perhaps one or two might be willing to serve as my proxy?” Knox said.
“I would be most pleased to present your card by way of introduction.” Gao was no stranger to exploiting loopholes. By working with Knox, he could pad his officers’, and his own, pockets; establish valuable guanxi with Kozlowski; and reduce his inventory.
They accepted the offer to tour the back lot, a mud yard surrounded by a rusted cyclone fence. Hundreds of motorcycles, motor scooters and electric bikes were chained together through their front wheels in ungainly lines. Some looked salvageable; a few looked interesting. All were rain-scabbed and filthy.
It took Knox less than a minute to spot a beautifully restored CJ750 and sidecar that matched Grace’s description of what she’d seen in Lu Hao’s apartment. Five bikes farther down the line, he identified a dark green Honda 220 street bike, reminding him of the owner’s manual for a 220 in Danner’s desk drawer.
“Beautiful,” he said in Mandarin, approaching the 750. He rattled off the bike’s specifications and caught Kozlowski staring at him, not the bike.
“A recent addition,” the superintendent said. “This one will not last. Will be reclaimed for certain.”
The Risk Agent Page 10
