The Risk Agent (5 page)

“What is it this time?” she asked.

“Jade,” he lied, not feeling right about it.

She nodded. “You do get yourself in some binds.”

She checked the computer. “I’ve got nothing tonight. After that, if you don’t mind moving rooms a few times, I can take care of you.” Her attention still on the screen, she pointed back at the couch. “You can sleep here, if you like.”

“Yes. Perfect. Thank you, Fay.”

“There’s the toilet.” She indicated a door. “No shower, I’m afraid, until we get you into a room.”

“I’m grateful.”

She spun in the chair. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” He fished a stack of yuan from his coat—the largest Chinese bill was a hundred-RMB note, about fifteen U.S. dollars—and peeled back twice her rack rate. Fay accepted without counting and slipped it into the desk drawer.

“I would invite you to stay with me,” she said, softly, “but I have a boyfriend.”

“Good for you. Bad for me.”

“My guy has converted a lane house into office space. Leases the ground floor to a coffee shop. Good salads, if you’re interested. Cobb, isn’t it?”

Fay didn’t forget much. He made a mental note and nodded, smiling.

“I will tell my staff you are not here,” she continued. “That they never saw you. But you will want to avoid our night watchman. I don’t know him well enough yet. He just started. He smokes out in the front patio from midnight to dawn. You should be fine using your key on the back door.”

“I don’t have a key.”

She tossed him a loaded key ring. “A man like you, you must be pretty used to back doors.”

He switched to Mandarin and cursed.

She laughed and returned one worse. He prepared to continue the exchange of insults—good Chinese sport—but she was interrupted by a call.

When she turned around a moment later to speak, Knox was gone.

4:15 P.M.

PUDONG DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

The pressure of lost time beat down on Knox as steadily as the rain. The likelihood of Danner being found alive diminished with each passing hour. Some friendships carried debt—classmates, survivors of catastrophe among them. Danner was both: a fellow civilian classmate of Knox’s during SERE training; his shotgun rider on the resupply convoys from Kuwait City into Iraq. They’d grown rich together, both avoiding serious injury and death, and had each other to thank for it.

But “Danny” was even more: Tommy’s legal guardian should anything happen to Knox. A lifelong burden he’d readily accepted when asked. Now it was evidently Danny’s life at risk and Knox knew that to turn his back was akin to Danny turning his back on his brother when pressed.

Knox rode a city bus across the Huangpu River into the Pudong district. Before attempting a search of Lu Hao’s residence, where he hoped to locate Lu’s bribery records, Knox first wanted to visit Danner’s apartment. He knew the DNA was crucial. But he also knew Danner to be a thorough researcher. If he were minding Lu Hao for Rutherford and The Berthold Group, then he would have known all about Lu’s “consulting” work. So there was at least a small chance he’d have made a copy of Lu’s books, or created his own version, or perhaps even made notes about where Lu Hao kept his confidential documents. Likewise, if Danner had had any suspicions about Lu Hao’s clientele, he might have noted it in advance of their abduction. Knox would gladly follow any leads that Danner had left behind.

Pudong had arisen from shipyards and rice paddies twenty years earlier and was now the Wall Street of Shanghai. Inventive office buildings and gorgeous apartment towers lined the wide streets. The security guards in Danner’s river-view co-op were twenty-year-old boys in ill-fitting gray suits. Knox knew they wouldn’t mess with a waiguoren—a foreigner. Their job was to put a face on the compound and to keep out potential thieves and robbers.

Knox introduced himself as a friend of Mr. Danner’s and saw in their faces that they were aware of their resident’s absence.

“He asked me to get a few of his things and send them to him,” Knox said. Again, he monitored their response. What he detected surprised him. What were they expressing? It looked like fear—just below the surface. It took Knox a moment to make sense of it, but once he did his heart sank: someone had beaten him here. He had a fairly good idea who that might be.

“Entrance to Mr. Danner’s apartment is not possible,” said the most senior of the boys. “So very sorry. Must hear from Mr. Danner directly.”

Knox switched to Shanghainese, a local dialect few Westerners could command. Politely, he berated the man for his insolence.

The guard flushed.

“You will join me,” Knox said, still in Shanghainese. “Together we will take inventory. Anything I remove, I will sign for. No problem. Would you like to check with your manager?”

“I think this arrangement is good,” the guard said, chastened and relieved.

“I am glad you thought of such a workable solution,” Knox said. “I will make certain to let your manager know how promptly and efficiently you handled my request.”

He withdrew two hundred yuan from the vest on their way to the elevator, making sure the guard saw him do so, balling the money in his left hand.

Knox kept the brim of the Tigers cap toward the floor for the sake of the hallway cameras.

Danner’s contemporary Chinese luxury apartment was the perfect example of decorative contradiction: marble floors, faux-leather furniture, glass dining room table, all under the glow of low-voltage lighting—mixed together with red velvet curtains, polished brass “gold” plumbing fixtures and leaded crystal lighting sconces. Gaudy, pretentious and over-the-top.

Knox planted the man outside the door in the hallway, then, inside, conducted a thorough search of Danner’s desk, closets, drawers and bathroom. He searched for hair samples to provide Dulwich his DNA sample. Maid service had scoured the place; he failed to find a brush or comb offering hairs. He located an electric toothbrush, but doubted its sample strength. He was about to give up when he spotted a clear plastic razor dispenser holding new and used razor blade cartridges. He studied the used blades more carefully—all were caked with thick black lines beneath the blades: whiskers. He pocketed the dispenser. He would overnight it.

He continued the search for evidence of a kidnapping. Danner was far too careful and clever to leave anything important where it might be easily discovered, so Knox also searched for hidden panels and loose floor tiles. He accessed and unscrewed four air vents, peering inside. The closet safe was locked, but if he was right about the man who’d preceded him, its contents were now gone.

Five minutes dragged into ten. Fifteen. Knox took it to the next level, patting down and searching his missing friend’s clothing. An elliptical trainer faced a flat-panel TV, a neatly folded white towel draped over its handlebars. He checked in the slight inclined gap beneath it. Checked behind the flat panel. Checked the flat panel itself for a USB drive or memory card. Dug down into the soil of the potted plants. Searched the refrigerator and freezer. Pulled both away from the wall. Removed the stoppers from the sink and tub drains and looked for hidden wires or chains used to lower contents out of sight. Inspected the toilet tanks. Put his hand down the garbage disposal in the divided sink.

A framed bedside photograph of Peggy and a two-year-old boy won Knox’s attention, stopping him. He studied it, then removed it from the frame, but found nothing. For show, he gathered a pair of pajamas and placed them in his backpack along with two paperback books. He would show these to the security man.

He took photos with his iPhone and disassembled the apartment’s phone, looking for eavesdropping bugs. He collected a power supply from behind the desk, taking note of the absence of dust on the power strip where a grounded plug had been connected—Danner’s laptop. Also plugged into the strip was a lonely charger cord, its power supply marked “Garmin.” A GPS. He zipped it in his backpack as well.

He found the Garmin’s owner’s manual in a desk drawer, along with another for a Honda 220 motorcycle, and one for the elliptical trainer.

He called the security man inside and showed him the few items he was taking out of the apartment, but did not reveal the Garmin power cord. The man nodded, not asking for Knox to sign anything.

“The other man or men that came here,” Knox said calmly. “Chinese or waiguoren?”

“I did not say other man come here.”

“Same question.”

The man didn’t answer.

“It is up to you,” Knox said. “The issue of the computer being removed will have to be addressed, of course.”

“Waiguoren.”

“Tall. Hair shaved close. U.S. Consulate credentials.” It was the only person outside of a fellow Rutherford Risk employee whom Knox could imagine talking his way inside and leaving with something like Danner’s laptop computer.

Still, the man said nothing.

“Did he sign for it? Is there an inventory of what else was taken?”

“No one here. No one take anything. No need to sign.”

“I beg your indulgence,” Knox said, keeping it polite, “but I believe you may be mistaken. You see, Mr. Danner asked me to collect his laptop computer for him. And yet it’s not here. Do you see his laptop computer anywhere?”

The security man squirmed.

“If he did not sign for it, did you search the waiguoren?” He hardly paused. “No, I didn’t think so.”

The man’s lips pursed and his eyes darted about.

“I mean no disrespect. But you see, my job is complicated by the laptop not being here.”

“I said this man took nothing.” The man’s voice faltered.

“My mistake.”

Now in the elevator, Knox handed over the two hundred yuan. Again, he spoke Shanghainese. “The waiguoren asked you to contact him if someone like me made inquiries.”

The security man stood stoically.

“If you want to become further involved with the U.S. Consulate, then go ahead and make that call.” He offered two more hundred-yuan bills. “As for me, I do not wish to be bothered, cousin. My government can make life hard for me. Same as your Party can make life hard for you. Neh?”

The bills disappeared.

Knox fixed his gaze onto the man for the rest of the slow elevator ride. The man stared straight ahead at their reflections in the polished metal. Then the doors opened and Knox left the building, his baseball cap brim held low against the eyes of the cameras as he entered the darkening dusk of Shanghai.

4:50 P.M.

CHANGNING DISTRICT

SHANGHAI

The door to Allan Marquardt’s corner office was flanked by two mahogany desks occupied by efficient-looking twenty-something women with rigid spines and beautiful faces. Though most employees were gone for the weekend, not all had departed. Marquardt was not taking any days off, given the current crisis. Neither were his secretaries.

Grace checked in with an executive assistant named Selena Ming, who approved her visit and rose to open the office doors for her. Grace squared her shoulders and brushed her hands over her gray suit, double-checked that her collar was peaked properly, and fingered her modest string of pearls. Selena Ming trailed behind her with a steno pad in hand.

As the door closed behind them, Marquardt rose to greet her.

Grace wished he hadn’t.

“Ms. Chu,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you!”

Better, she thought.

The office was paneled in walnut, with hand-knotted rugs overlaying the parquet flooring. Crowded bookshelves gave it the feel of a private library. In the corner, a gleaming black lacquer tray held cut-glass bottles of colorful liquors and upside-down glasses. She felt as if she’d stepped back into Shanghai at the turn of the twentieth century.

“What a breathtaking view,” she said, crossing the spacious room and shaking hands with him.

Marquardt indicated an armchair. It was covered in red raw silk embroidered with hummingbirds. The smell of sandalwood incense hung in the air. Selena Ming delivered green tea and there was five minutes of small talk.

Finally, Marquardt said, “You have filed a grievance with Human Resources.”

His executive assistant took shorthand.

“A minor misunderstanding is all, I assume,” Grace said.

“You are displeased with your accommodations?”

“I believe it is nothing. I was informed my residence would include lobby security and workout facilities.”

“Yes?”

“In fact, my present accommodations do not.”

“I am deeply sorry if there has been a misunderstanding,” he said.

“No misunderstanding. It is in writing.”

“We will resolve this immediately, Ms. Chu. With your permission, we will have your belongings transferred to a new residence”—he checked a note on his desk—“to the Kingland Riverside Luxury Residence serviced apartments in Pudong by the close of business today.” He passed Grace a brochure. Selena Ming looked up from her steno pad, clearly intrigued, then lowered her head. “The keys will be on your desk before you leave for the day. I trust that will be satisfactory.” His tone and demeanor were pitch-perfect.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“Now,” he waved away Selena, “please allow me to show you the view.”

Selena left, and Marquardt led Grace out onto a narrow balcony, closing the elegant French doors behind them.

She spoke softly. “I mentioned before that I need access to the end-of-year records—more than just the GA. I would appreciate the passwords required for access.”

“You’ll have them,” he said.

Fifty floors below, the traffic crawled ant-like through intersections. The smog-encrusted skyline was broken by towering cranes, the air alive with the percussive sounds of construction and the steady drone of traffic.

He pointed. “To the right of the Jin Mao Tower, just past the World Financial Center. You see the building with the yellow crane on the very top?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ours—the Xuan Tower.”

“Yes,” she said.

Marquardt nodded proudly. “It’s a beautiful building. And so far we’ve been tolerated by your government, though clearly our participation is unwelcome.” He turned and looked at her. “We are Beijing’s token foreign construction project, authorized only to show the rest of the world they don’t favor their own. We’ve pissed off a lot of Chinese, Grace. I know we have. But just how far, I had no idea.”