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/cafe, 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.
