Kozlowski leaned back and rubbed his neck. “You’re an asshole.”
Knox and Grace spent the next hour filling Kozlowski in on what they knew, and still had yet to find out.
“You demanded I find the name of the government type in the video,” Knox said. “You put Dulwich’s life in hock for that. How do you think I feel about that?”
“And I care because…?” Kozlowski said.
“More to the point, how would the Consul General feel about that?”
“This is not the road you want to go down,” Kozlowski said. He wasn’t talking MapQuest.
“We give you everything we’ve got. You let the intelligence community run with it. But you get Sarge out of Huashan Hospital, and the three of us out of the country by noon tomorrow. We’ve put in our time.”
“He saved your life,” Grace said.
The car engine hummed. The highway was alive with a million cars again. It was as if the storm had never happened. They sat in traffic for twenty minutes trying to get over the Lupu Bridge.
“I love this city,” Knox said.
“I hate this place,” Kozlowski complained. After a moment he spoke again. “You said The Berthold Group was attempting to buy the acceptable bid price on this New City project? And that that’s where the government official comes in.”
“I said that’s how it looks.” Grace tossed the Mongolian’s credentials into Kozlowski’s lap.
“My guess,” Knox said, “is your best witness is going to report late for work.”
“You’re right about our guys. If there’s a connection between the tannery and a committee member in Beijing, they’ll find it.”
“It’s there,” Knox said.
“But it’s not like we can out him, regardless of who it is.”
“Because?”
“Because we’re Americans. We don’t investigate,” Kozlowski reminded.
“And there is the matter of face,” Grace said. Knox sighed. “It would be great dishonor and shame for the Chinese government’s internal corruption to be exposed by a bunch of foreigners. It would never be admitted, no matter how obvious.”
“So we did all this, and we have to sit on it?” Knox asked irritably.
“Allan Marquardt started all this,” Kozlowski said. “He’ll pay.”
“Allan Marquardt played the hand he was dealt. Give me a break! Like he’s the only American company paying out incentives?”
“He’s the only one we’ve caught,” Kozlowski said. “This week.”
“By the time Marquardt’s books are audited,” Knox said, glancing over at the driver, “they’ll be clean as a whistle.”
“That’s not right,” Kozlowski said.
“TIC,” Knox answered.
“I know a way,” Grace said, winning the attention of both men. “A way to keep this Chinese.”
“Believe me,” Kozlowski said, “it’s already very Chinese.”
“You have my attention,” Knox told Grace.
“If Mr. Kozlowski can determine the identity of the corrupt official, there is someone who will gladly turn over this official to authorities without revealing his sources.”
Several minutes passed. Traffic picked up some.
Kozlowski said, “You’re telling me Lu Hao ended up at that tannery the same night as the videographer.”
“Go figure,” Knox said. “You make your own luck. Lu Hao’s turned bad.”
“Very bad,” Grace said.
“It’s a toxic site,” Knox said, rubbing his burned fingers together. “It’s not much of a stretch to see them paving it over to hide the contamination.”
“This has a much greater significance,” Grace said, again winning their attention. “Chinese law is very specific as to clean-up of such sites. It falls upon the developer of any land parcel.”
“Not the owner?” Knox said. “How could that be?”
“She’s right,” Kozlowski said. “It’s only been on the books a couple years. A U.S. firm tested this law, and lost, I might add. The original owner of the property is held responsible to protect the public from contamination. And that’s all. In any subsequent development of the property, the developer is responsible for the clean-up. The idea being, as warped as it is to us, that the original owner may lack the funds for full clean-up.”
“So, had Marquardt won the bid, he would be stuck with the bill?” Knox asked. “That’s not right.”
“Shit,” Kozlowski said.
“Waiguoren,” Grace said. “You see?”
“Apparently not,” Knox said.
“Mr. Marquardt’s own greed is used against him. Mr. Marquardt wants to win the New City bid so badly, and the tract of land is so enormous, he cannot do the proper due diligence. Time is of the essence. It’s entrapment. In fact, there are millions of U.S. dollars’ worth of hidden costs in the clean-up of the tannery. Marquardt wins the bid, but loses money when his costs run over. Loses face. This works out well for Chinese who wish to see waiguoren like Marquardt fail.”
“And it’s damn convenient for the original owner of the tannery,” Knox said.
“So that’s where we start,” Kozlowski said.
“‘We’?” Knox said.
“Fuck you,” Kozlowski said.
Knox leaned his head back against the headrest, grinning. And immediately fell asleep.
39
10:09 P.M.
THE BUND
The Ministry of State Security Superintendent occupied a red leather chair behind a plain and unattractive desk in a small gray office with no view. Overweight and jowly, he had wet lips, an auditor’s scowl and an impatient disposition.
Shen Deshi, wearing a sling, a piece of his head shaved and stitches showing, tried to look confident in the uncomfortable chair facing the man.
“What a cock-up,” the superintendent said, speaking Shanghainese. “I would ask you to repeat all that, but I don’t wish to hear it. If the Americans push to bring charges against you-”
“Yes. I understand.”
“You took him at gunpoint?”
Shen kept his mouth shut. His forehead and upper lip were perspiring, telltale signs of weakness. The superintendent could cut his balls off if he wanted.
“You were to secure any evidence of environmental contamination. To tidy up any loose ends before this hand recovered from the river spread trouble like a disease.”
Shen Deshi shrank in the chair.
“Instead, we face a possible inquiry from the Americans? If I’d wanted this kind of attention, I’d have hired a public relations firm.”
Shen looked to buy his way out. He collected himself and spoke with courage. “I have some physical evidence outside,” he said, “that implicates the American cameraman. His video camera.”
“Destroy it, you fool.”
“Of course. As you wish.”
“The last thing we need,” the superintendent said.
“There is another matter,” Shen said, leading up to his moment of truth.
“Explain.”
“One hundred thousand U.S.,” he said. “Also one hundred forty thousand yuan.”
The superintendent lit up like a dragon boat festival parade. He squinted at his major and rubbed the back of his pudgy right hand across his lips.
“What is it you propose?” He pulled open a drawer and lit a cigarette. Located a chocolate bar and broke off a chunk and stuffed it into his pink hole. Smoke escaped as he spoke and chewed. “Please, Major.”
“I retired last week. Should an inquiry arise, I was acting on my own.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” the superintendent said. “I will have the paperwork prepared. Lay low for a day or two. I will call off the search for you within forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Just long enough to look like we gave it an effort.”
Shen Deshi nodded. “As you wish.”
“This is good for us,” the superintendent said.
Us, was all Shen heard. “Indeed.”
&nb
sp; “Your integrity has never been questioned.”
Shen swallowed dryly. “I thank you, Superintendent.”
“And the evidence?”
“The contents of the duffel remain unreported. I came to you directly, as you advised. Therefore, not filed. Not recorded.”
“We do not want such evidence filed! It’s a fucking mess!” Smoke surrounded him now.
“Precisely so, sir.”
“So it must be decided what to do with this…evidence…no doubt.”
“No doubt.”
The man wanted Shen to propose the alliance. He would not do so himself.
“I could turn the funds over to PAP.”
“One possibility.”
“Or attempt to return it to those who paid it out.”
“Kidnapping ransom? A Western insurance company, no doubt. They will hardly miss it.”
“This had occurred to me also,” Shen said, his heart quickening. “Yes.”
“There must be another solution,” the superintendent said. The moistness of his lips had spread to the butt end of his cigarette, which was now smeared with chocolate. “Hmm?” he said, encouraging his major.
“It had occurred to me how much good such funds could do for schools, for earthquake and flood victims. But of course it could never be seen to come directly from the Ministry.”
“Heaven forbid!”
“But individuals. That’s another matter.”
“Entirely,” the superintendent said.
“If we were to, say…divide the sums…in a percentage that takes into consideration your seniority, of course, Superintendent. My ten years with the Ministry. Your fifteen. Say, sixty, forty.”
“Seventy, thirty.”
“Sixty-five, thirty-five.”
“Agreed.”
“We could oversee the distribution of the sums far more responsibly than any bureaucracy like the Ministry.”
“Your point is well taken. Well said, Major. Yes. I see the clarity of your thought on this matter.” He hesitated. “When can we see to this resolution?”
“At your convenience. Of course.”
“Not here. The park. This evening’s tai chi. A bench in the park.”
“Of course,” Shen Deshi said.
“Do not disappoint me. No second thoughts. Hmm?”
“No, sir.” Shen Deshi could only imagine the hell that would befall a man who crossed Ho Pot.
“Dismissed,” the man said.
Shen Deshi stood, painfully and slowly. The Ministry of State Security was commissioned to combat corruption and corporate environmental abuse. He marveled at the irony.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” the superintendent said. “Technically, this is not blood money.” He was asking, not telling. He didn’t want to hang for the offense.
Shen Deshi thought of the Mongolian’s face as he slipped off the boat. He thought of the butcher-block table inside the tannery where the Mongolian had filleted the cameraman. The buzzing of the flies.
“No, of course not,” he said. “Just lost and found.”
“Lost and found.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then. Let’s get on with it.”
Shen dragged himself to his car with great difficulty. He unlocked it and, deciding to check on his future, opened the back door and leaned inside.
Opening the back seat could be a hassle. The mechanism jammed even when a duffel bag was not packed beneath it. And so it did again. Given his cracked ribs and bad arm, Shen could hardly move, much less heave the hinged seat forward, but he finally gave it one strong pull and the seat came open.
It was said that when one died, his life passed before him, from childhood to the present, that the gates to heaven were more a mirror than a door. Shen’s life flashed before him, and yet, except for some broken bones, he lived.
The back seat was empty.
It took him a moment to process not only the reality of his situation, but its enormity. He moved the seat back and forth, as if a heavy duffel might have slipped out onto the car floor when the seat came open.
He’d hidden the money there himself. Had been in the car with it all but the few minutes…
The whore!
He’d left her in the car while he’d gone to inspect the tannery. She’d pulled the car around following the American’s arrival.
He brooded over what the hell to do about it, while from the back of his mind raised the Greek chorus: Run!
SUNDAY
October 3
40
9:20 A.M.
LUWAN DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
Shortly after breakfast the following morning, Grace received a call from Lu Jian. She’d told neither Knox nor Kozlowski about soliciting her former lover’s help. As a civil servant, Lu Jian had access to information it would take even U.S. Intelligence days or weeks to collect and analyze.
“Wei?” she asked.
“It is not a single owner,” Lu Jian began, as if mid-conversation. “The tannery. It was owned and managed by a company with a ten-person board of directors. The company ceased doing business, and the tannery was closed, two years ago.”
“When the environmental laws went into effect,” she said.
“The timing would be right. Are you going to tell me what this is about?”
“Are you able to identify the members of the board of directors?”
“I have done so already.”
“I really do love you. You know that.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and she regretted it immediately. She’d been on a high since arriving safely at the consulate. For a moment she thought he’d hung up on her.
“I can give you the names. Do you have a pen?” he asked. All business.
She wrote down the Chinese characters, slowly and carefully, and read them back to Lu Jian and he listened and did not correct her.
“Is that it, then?” he asked.
Was it? she wondered. “I hope not,” she said.
“I received word from Lu Hao. He is indeed safely out of the country. As his older brother…his family…our debt to you-”
“Please! There is no debt.”
“I wish to express our sincere appreciation,” he said, very formally.
“For a starter, you could visit me in Hong Kong,” she said. Chinese women were expected to be much more guarded than this. She hoped it wouldn’t push him even farther away.
“Yes, of course.”
“That is, if you want to,” she said.
“What one wants and what one accepts are very different.”
“You have my address,” she said. “It has not changed.”
“You are leaving the country then?” he asked somewhat anxiously.
She reveled in hearing that tone from him. She said nothing, allowing it to replay in her head, over and over.
“As soon as possible. Today, tomorrow?”
“I see.”
“It’s a short flight. An easy flight.”
“But for me, a journey.”
“I’ll be expecting you.”
He hung up. Grace placed the phone down and stared at it, again reliving the conversation. Looking for nuance. Re-creating it in ways that revealed hidden meaning.
A knock on her door brought her back.
It was Knox.
12:30 P.M.
Grace passed the board member names on to Kozlowski and rode the next several hours on a roller coaster of emotions. Knox napped for twenty minutes, then worked down two more cups of tea. She spent her time alone by a window of the consulate guesthouse living room, looking out into sunlit gardens. Steam rose from the soil. It was going to be a hot day.
A while later-it seemed liked hours, but it was not-a Marine led them across to the mansion house. They were shown into Kozlowski’s office. It felt to Knox like the last time he’d visited had been six months earlier. It had been a matter of days.
“First,” Kozlowski said. He’d showered and shaved
and changed clothes, though had not yet been home to his family. “The U.S. government has no knowledge of the members of the PRC’s Resettlement Committee.”
“Understood,” Knox said. He was telling them he had full knowledge of that very information.
“Second. I’m continuing to explore the possibility of using back channel diplomacy to expose this official, but I’m told that will likely not happen.”
“I have a way around that,” Grace said. “Please continue.”
Kozlowski passed a hand-written note across his desk to Grace. “We have a match. One of the tannery board members serves as chairman of the Resettlement Committee. His name is Zhimin Li. Chairman Zhimin Li.”
Grace broke into tears. Tears of relief, Knox thought.
“Grace has a plan,” Knox said.
“Which is?” Kozlowski asked.
“Do you really want to know?”
Kozlowski shook his head. “I suppose not.”
“You’re going to have to smuggle us out of here,” Knox said, “in case Shen Deshi and his boys are watching the place.”
Grace explained to a perplexed Kozlowski, “This cannot be done over the phone. And the contact I have in mind would never allow himself to be seen entering the U.S. Consulate.”
4:05 P.M.
With Knox wanted for questioning on multiple assaults, and Grace having been identified as an accomplice, the idea of leaving the protection afforded by the consulate’s diplomatic immunity was gut-wrenching.
Any number of ideas had been put forward: from Grace acting alone-her idea; to the use of consulate vehicles-Kozlowski’s; to a simple ruse-Knox.
In the end, it was the Consul General, a woman of outstanding character whose husband ran a B &B in northern Idaho, and who had come to the job in a time of turmoil because of the world financial meltdown, who stepped up.
At four P.M., with dusk approaching, the Consulate General’s Marine-driven black Suburban pulled out of the consulate gates, as it often did at this hour. She jumped out of the car and began railing in Mandarin at the Chinese National Guard up the street about the lax security.
The Risk Agent Page 33
