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.
At this same time, the day laborers left the compound on foot as they always did: gardeners, mechanics, maintenance men, waitstaff, housecleaning.
Among them were Knox and Grace. He slouched and wore makeup to darken his face, and a tam to cover his head. Twelve workers walked the length of the street and rounded the corner to a bus stop. Two of them kept on walking.
41
5:00 P.M.
THE BUND
On the deserted seventh-floor terrace of M on the Bund, Knox looked down through binoculars at the congested swarm of people populating the Bund’s riverside promenade. The sunlit afternoon had brought twenty thousand tourists, mostly Chinese, crammed in to get a piece of the famous view across the Huangpu River. Among the steel and glass towers rising into the sky was the Xuan Tower, its scaffolding torn and dangling, shredded tarpaulins flapping. In the aftermath of the typhoon, there was no manpower to clean it up. Every construction project in the city had suffered staggering losses due to the storm.
His iPhone in hand, Knox kept watch on the promenade for a red umbrella carried as a parasol, despite the setting sun. Eventually he spotted it coming from the proper direction, knowing Grace hid beneath it as she climbed the promenade steps to join the masses on the river walk.
It joined other umbrellas and parasols, along with baby strollers, balloons and stick kites. The umbrella stopped in the center of the choke. And waited.
A black Bentley arrived at the curb. A man wearing a dark suit was let out the back by a busy chauffeur. Though the passenger appeared to be alone, Knox and Grace knew better. Yang Cheng was never alone.
“I’ve got you. He’s on his way up,” Knox said, speaking into the iPhone.
“It is so crowded,” came her reply. “Police?”
“I’ve got two by the subway entrance on your side of the street. Two more up by the Peace Hotel.”
“This is normal.”
“Yes. All right. Stand by.” She left the call open, as planned, allowing Knox to overhear. She would dangle the ear bud/microphone around her neck, like an iPod on pause.
Grace hid below the red umbrella, finally angling it to make eye contact with Yang Cheng as he stood next to her. The claustrophobic press of Chinese tourists disturbed her. She tried to blot them out, to make it only her and this man, as she’d been trained. But it wasn’t so easy.
They spoke English because the majority of those around them did not.
“I can deliver the name of a minister, with accompanying evidence, to the anticorruption authorities. There will be no choice but to void The Berthold Group’s contract on the Xuan Tower and reassign it.”
He drew in sharply, as if she’d hit him. If there hadn’t been so many people around, she might have heard his heart beating from three feet away.
“While interesting, it is not this I seek,” he said calmly.
“What you seek is fool’s gold. The strike price for the New City bid,” she said. His eyes widened, despite his attempt to keep them from doing so. “It is a trap meant for the waiguoren.”
“Is that so?”
“The parcel was annexed to include what will turn out to be a contaminated site.”
He whistled unintentionally as he drew a breath in through his teeth.
“I save you much face and a great deal of money.”
“You would say anything to improve your situation. You and the foreigner are wanted by police.”
“Fourteen billion, seven hundred million yuan,” she said.
He was focused on her, unmoving, as people teemed around them.
“But if you act upon it, you will rue the day, believe me. The plan was to have the expense fall upon Marquardt. What I have for you is far better: the name of the person who leaked the number. You may not be praised publicly but we both know you will be richly rewarded for bringing such a man to ground.”
“And in return?”
“An insignificance.”
He huffed. “That, I doubt.”
“An American in hospital. A trifle. It’s a standing request of the consulate’s.”
“This American?”
“His release. Yes.”
“From the hospital.”
“There may be the intent to question him, to trouble him. But he is not well.”
“An insignificance? Hardly.”
