know nothing, my daughter the detective?”
“Listen, Mother,” she hissed into the phone, covering the mouthpiece with her free hand, “I am not a detective. I am an accountant. A contract accountant. And please, no names over the phone.” Then more conversationally, “You must not speak of that which you do not witness yourself. Such mistruths are dangerous. Do you hear me, Mother? Dangerous. Think carefully of the well-being of your family.” Appealing to the woman’s sense of family was often the only way to get through to her-not a card Grace could play very often.
“If you can, you must help…our friend’s son,” her mother said. “He must have his medicine, the poor boy. His mother is vexed, although he looked fine to me at the party.”
Grace had been told of Lu Hao’s epilepsy, years before, by his older brother. But she’d forgotten until now, had not considered he would be on daily medication.
“What party, Mother?”
“His mother, Lu Li’s celebration. Four years of the rabbit!”
“Lu Hao was at the party?”
“Of course. As was I.”
“What day was that?”
“Sixteenth of September.”
“You are certain?” Lu Hao had left the voice mail for her on Friday the seventeenth.
“Have I not known this woman my entire life? I’m as certain as I am of the shame you bring upon your father by not accepting the betrothal he has arranged for you.” She never failed to rub salt into that wound. “For Lu Li’s birthday, the families gathered.”
“Lu Hao was there on the island that Thursday?”
“Are you listening? Do you doubt your own mother? Four day celebration!”
“I will call you later,” she said and hung up. Friday the seventeenth. Guilt over never having returned his call wormed inside her.
Lu Hao’s medical condition had not come up when she’d recommended him for the contract work for The Berthold Group. Along with the surprise that came with her mother’s knowledge of her arrival was the news about Lu’s condition, and the inescapable-and perhaps intentional-reminder of Lu Hao’s older brother, Lu Jian, with whom she’d had a romance that had begun in high school and had ended nearly six years later with the announcement of her arranged marriage that had blindsided her. She’d fled Shanghai, joined the army, and had broken off communication with her family for the next two years. She had yet to speak to her father, and only heard from her mother periodically, when her father was not in the house.
Lu Hao was the black sheep of the family. A film student and ice-to-Eskimos salesman who had emotionally corrupted and manipulated his father to invest in his film project, Lu Hao had eventually bled the family savings dry and driven them toward bankruptcy and loss of face-the greatest disgrace of all.
Grace had known of the situation-through her mother-and had tried to use Los Angeles friends to circulate Lu Hao’s script in Hollywood, but to no avail. Her second, more successful effort had been to win Lu Hao the contract with The Berthold Group. All this had less to do with Lu Hao than it did her continuing feelings for his brother. She’d hoped that by trying so hard, she might renew contact with him. A hope that had yet to bear fruit.
Bringing Lu Jian’s brother home could only help her cause.
The first step was to search Lu Hao’s apartment for his accounts documents-and now, for his medicine as well.
Now. Tonight. With or without the man Dulwich said would be joining her. Grace was not waiting for anyone.
5:20 P.M.
CHANGNING DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
The man following her was a pro. Grace had changed into tight jeans and spike heels in a lobby restroom and then left by a side door eschewing the main entrance to the MW Building, home of The Berthold Group. She might have missed him completely had she not picked up a second whiff of him. But there it was, the same distinctive scent-a masculine musk, part pine, part perspiration-she’d first noticed while at an ATM, the stop used to scan the sidewalk.
She now knew he was back there-he’d passed close by her for a second time. The act alone showed nerve and confidence. While she reeled over how she might have missed sight of him in the first place, she contemplated her next move. She did not want to reveal her training, only to appear as an average citizen. At the same time, she would have to lose him once and for all.
Along with a column of hundreds of passengers crammed elbow to elbow, she took the stairs down to the platform. Glass partitions served as barriers to prevent the crowds from pushing someone onto the tracks. The hordes jockeyed for position, a regular part of any day, Grace along with them.
Flat-panel television monitors suspended from the ceiling counted down the timing of the train arrivals to the platform. 58…57… Her skin prickled at the sight of a tan baseball cap she remembered from a window reflection back near the MW Building.
She shivered. Had he made her earlier, or only picked up on her at the ATM? Was he that good? Or was she that rusty?
She spotted the cap again, though she couldn’t make out the face beneath it. Her nerves on edge, she moved down the line of the groups waiting to board.
26…25…
Standing among a group of women, she withdrew a black scarf from her bag and pulled it over her hair. Then she donned a surgical mask of the kind worn by many city-dwellers to protect against the Shanghai smog.
10…9…
The crowd surged toward the doors. A squeal of brakes cried from down the dark shaft.
Grace slipped out of the crowd and pressed her back against the escalator’s retaining wall.
The ball cap moved with the crowds. It jostled for position. As the train arrived, it paused. Turned toward her.
Could he have possibly spotted her transition into the disguise? Impatient passengers shoved past the hat. It appeared the man in the cap wasn’t going to board.
She turned and took the long way around the escalator, intent on leaving the station on foot.
A quick glance back: the tan cap was moving onto the train.
But the body language was wrong-a Chinese, and in that instant she realized the hat had been given away by the first man wearing it.
He was very, very good.
She caught him, hatless, in profile at the base of the escalators. He fit the description she’d been given by David Dulwich. Relief flooded through her.
“Losing the ball cap was a nice touch,” she said from behind.
The man spun around. He studied her and smiled a kind smile. He was tall. A well-lived-in face, tanned and lined, under a sprinkling of gray in his short, dark hair.
“Nice,” he said, glancing once more at the train and the doors about to shut. “Very nice.”
“Grace Chu,” she said through the mask. They shook hands.
“John Knox. The scarf and mask… I didn’t see that one coming.”
“Next time,” she said, “you should pay more attention.”
5:25 P.M.
PUDONG DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
Three men in coveralls carrying toolboxes approached the receptionist desk in the spacious lobby of building 4 in the Kingland Riverside Luxury Residence. The lobby receptionist was a round-faced girl of twenty wearing a crisp navy blue suit and a plastic tag that bore the name SHIRLEY, a word she could not pronounce.
