The first of the men spoke Shanghainese. “Chu Youya. Home theater installation.”
The receptionist double-checked her logs. “So sorry. I show no such appointment for Ms. Chu.”
“Then you will please tell Chu Youya why we left, little flower, when she asks tonight about home theater installation. Good luck with finding a new job.” He signaled the other two. “That is it.” He circled his index finger. The three turned for the street.
“Wait!” the receptionist called. “I will make an exception.”
With the lead man’s back to her, the young receptionist missed the wry smile that crept across his lips before he turned to offer a shrug of indifference. Yes or no? he seemed to be asking.
She picked up the phone and he feared the involvement of a higher-up. Always a higher-up, and after that, another.
“You make this a committee, I am leaving,” he stated, calling across the lobby. “I have not got all day. Your decision, little flower.”
Reluctantly, she hung up the phone.
Five minutes later, the lead man dead-bolted the door to Grace’s apartment. It did not escape them that luxury apartments such as this were often bugged by the government. That they were bugging an already bugged apartment was the source of great amusement.
They went about their business expertly. One handled the video while the other installed the audio. The team leader chose the placements. Five microphones, three prying eyes. A pressure sensor beneath the carpet at the front door capable of turning the devices on and off in order to conserve battery life.
The lead man used his mobile phone to log in to a secure website. Moments later, he was looking at a miniaturized color image of himself staring at the phone.
On the way out through the lobby, his men avoided looking at the receptionist, as ordered. The fewer recognizable faces, the better.
The leader raised his arm. “All is well, little flower. Hopefully we not see you again.”
“Your card!” she called out, having overlooked this requirement earlier. She needed a record of exactly who had visited.
The lead man hesitated, then returned to the desk and handed her a business card. He could sense her palpable relief as she read the card from a Best Buy in the Changning District: a card he’d received from a show floor salesman on an earlier visit.
On his way out to the parked van, he lit a cigarette and dialed from his mobile phone.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Record everything,” a man’s voice said.
On the other end of the call, Feng Qi lowered his voice as he stood at the entrance to Xiangyang Park. Wiry, well-dressed and carefully manicured, he had not yet seen the Chu woman leave the MW Building. As the chief of security for Yang Construction, he was the man responsible for tracking The Berthold Group’s new arrival in the finance department, the division in which the recently departed Lu Hao had worked. Feng Qi was deeply concerned by the woman’s long absence and could only hope she was working late on her first night on the job. He continued into the phone: “I want full transcripts and video delivered by e-mail each night before midnight.”
“You will have it. Transcripts cost extra.”
“That is to be negotiated,” Feng said. He got no argument and ended the call. In Shanghai, everything was negotiable.
6:30 P.M.
ZHABEI DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
As Knox and Grace rode the Metro toward Lu Hao’s apartment building, Knox reviewed for her his search of Danner’s apartment. Grace told him of Lu Hao’s apparent need for medication, which Knox took as progress. The kidnappers might be forced to return for the medication, providing them an opportunity to identify one or more.
Together, they entered a corner tea shop with a view of Lu Hao’s apartment building and Knox bought Grace a green tea.
“The intel on the medication,” he said. “Is it from a trustworthy source?”
She blushed.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Lu Hao,” she answered, “is the second son in a family close to my own. I recommended him for the consulting job at Berthold. This information about his medication…it comes from my mother. Unfortunately, I do believe it is reliable. Your mother is alive?”
“Dead.”
“I am sorry.”
“Sarge hosed us,” Knox said, irritated.
“Excuse me?”
“Mr. Dulwich. This op is personal for me, too. Clete Danner, the other hostage, is a close friend of mine. He’s my younger brother’s godfather-his caretaker in the event anything should happen to me.” The news clearly surprised her. “Our personal relationships with the hostages ensure that we will make our best effort at recovery, and-”
“If we are caught by police there is an explanation for our involvement. Yes. Convenient for Rutherford Risk.”
“Very.”
“I assure you, Mr. Knox, I will not allow this to interfere with the execution of my duties.”
She sounded like she was reading it from a manual.
“I’m not worried about you,” Knox said. “The point is, if the stuff hits the fan, Rutherford Risk may not exactly have our backs.”
“I cannot believe that,” she said.
“Good. Let’s hope I’m wrong.”
She hesitated. “There is one thing more.” The skin around her eyes tightened. “I received a message from Lu Hao on the seventeenth of September. A voice mail, to be precise.”
By all means, let’s be precise, he nearly said. Who was this robot?
“He sounded panicked. He said he had seen something. That he was not sure where to turn.” Now, she pleaded with Knox. “The thing is, Lu Hao has an active imagination, and is always looking for others to take care of problems he started. I was not going to get any more involved than I already was. So typical Lu Hao. High drama. I was exceptionally busy at the time, a job for Rutherford Risk. I never returned the call.”
He said, “Don’t beat yourself up over it,” though he could see she was.
Knox changed the subject, detailing his search of Danner’s apartment with mention of the missing laptop and GPS.
“You think the police were there first?” she asked.
“A waiguoren, according to the security guy. I’m thinking it’s a guy I know at the U.S. Consulate. Makes sense for him to chase something like this. I can’t ask him outright, but I can nibble around the edges.”
“Nipple?”
“Nibble. Small bites.”
“Ah…” No blush from her, no embarrassment, he noted. “And us, Mr. Knox? Our cover. Professional, or something more intimate?”
“Meet your new client,” he said. “I operate an import/export company. For real. You just became my Chinese tax advisor and accountant.” He held out his hand and she stared at it. He withdrew his hand.
“Import/export always struck me as a rung above rug merchant.”
“Accountants are the most boring people I know,” Knox countered.
“Which is why I joined the army,” she replied.
“Which explains why I didn’t,” Knox said. “I just supplied them with bottled water and hand lotion.”
“A mercenary, I believe you call it.”
“Not exactly. More of an opportunist.”
