Ridley Pearson - The Risk Agent

“Obviously.” He swallowed dryly and looked for the beer.

“A video camera?” she asked.

He glanced into the reflection off the glass, admiring her. Small, but beautiful. Fiercely put together into a showcase of fashion and femininity, giving no hint of the physical power she no doubt contained from her army training. Her focus. Most of all: her control. Lowering his voice, he said, “My friend’s GPS.”

“Ayee!” she let slip.

“It was your suggestion: the impound.”

Grace snarled. She clearly didn’t want compliments or small talk.

“I can follow its moving map. But I don’t know the city well enough to know if a waiguoren will stick out. And as much as I don’t care who’s there to greet me, I don’t want to put Danner at risk. We can’t afford mistakes. Not with only a couple days to go. We know they’ve moved at least once. I don’t want them moving again.”

He passed it across to her. “There are seven saved locations. It’s got to be Lu’s payout route. Danner follows Lu Hao and marks each location where he leaves a bribe. It’s better for us than his accounts.”

“We do not know what these locations are.”

“I know how Danner is,” he said. “Trust me: this is the money trail.”

Grace said, “It could be nothing but his favorite restaurants or massage parlors.”

“Then let’s go get a bite and a rub and see what kind of tastes he has.”

She turned on the GPS and scrolled through the saved locations.

“It is an interesting mix of neighborhoods,” she said.

“I’m listening.”

She looked across at him as if she considered this a rarity.

“Some are poor,” Grace said. “Others, upscale.”

“Both fit for kickbacks,” he said, “depending who’s on the take.”

“The riverfront compound across in Pudong,” she said. “Luxury condominiums for Chinese. Party officials. Businessmen.”

“You see?”

She softened and then said, “We do not want to accuse such people. We must leave this to others. Very powerful. Very connected, such people.”

“I have no intention of accusing anyone. I want to have a nice, quiet sit-down with them all.”

Grace flashed her disapproval.

“You want to involve accusations and lawyers?” Knox asked. “We have two days.”

“I want Lu Hao’s accounts,” she countered.

He threw up his hands. “I’m open to ideas, but this,” he said, tapping the GPS in her hands, “this is the closest thing we have to a lead.”

“This is not a good idea.”

“Help me with the neighborhoods, please. Danner bookmarked these locations. I need to have a look.”

Grace switched off the device and slipped it into her purse.

“Give me that!” Knox drew some looks.

“You must trust me,” she said.

“You’re not working real hard to earn it. Give it back, please. Or I’ll take it from you.”

“It is no good at night, this kind of thing. You must trust me. You ask for my advice on Shanghai. This is my advice. We must plan double egress for each location. Establish rendezvous. We will meet early tomorrow morning, at six A.M. First light. We will do this together. Early morning, the traffic is not as bad. This is a good time for us, John Knox.”

He attempted to cool himself down with the beer. He failed. His attention remained on her purse and the GPS it contained, but his eyes did not. He didn’t want her playing defense.

“To absent friends,” he said, hoisting the bottle and waiting for her Champagne glass.

7:30 P.M.

THE BUND

The Glamour Bar’s lavish Art Deco interior was a throwback to the heyday of Shanghai in the 1930s, when commerce, intrigue and opium conspired to form the most unique and magnificent city in all of Asia.

Knox and Grace were checked against a guest list and then welcomed by a gorgeous twenty-something hostess. The bar was a black granite island in a central room off which hung two sitting rooms and an elevated lounge that overlooked the Huangpu River. Pudong’s neon-trimmed high-rises flashed colorfully. River tour boats, tricked-out in neon and more video screens, slipped between coal-laden barges. It was Times Square times ten, with Broadway a quarter-mile-wide black water river.

The bar crowd was a mixture of Chinese and expatriates, the Asian women breathtaking, the men overconfident. The Euro waitstaff circulated with trays carrying Champagne, sparkling mineral water and pineapple juice. Big Band music fought against the din of voices. Knox choked on the cigarette smoke.

He caught Grace appraising the other women. “You needn’t worry,” he said. “They’re all eating your dust.”

She looked down. “Dust?”

“You look fine.”

“Fine?”

Before Knox could rectify the moment, the two of them were interrupted by a young Chuppy-a Chinese upwardly mobile professional-bulging out of a low-cut bustier and wrapped in a dark gray jacket and skirt. Her chic eyeglasses reflected the glow of an iPad she carried with authority.

The woman introduced herself by her English name, Katherine Wu, and her position as Yang Cheng’s executive assistant. Grace introduced Knox as a business client. The hostess had greeted Knox with an openly coquettish expression, though it turned quickly churlish: import/export was regarded as unglamorous and “last century.”

“Allow me to introduce you to our host,” she said as she led them through a choking crowd around the bar and up three small stairs to the view lounge.

The lounge consisted of clusters of well-heeled guests randomly grouped. Yang Cheng stood at the top of the steps welcoming and chatting. Slightly balding and of an indistinguishable age, Yang wore a tailored suit, Italian leather shoes and a red tie. His wide-set eyes suggested a man overly pleased with himself.

Knox identified the fit man in the cheap suit as the bodyguard or security man. This man lingered a little too long on Grace for a complete stranger. There was something smarmy about the look. He then took in Knox like a full body scanner. Knox distilled this man’s reaction and quickly analyzed it: he knew Grace; he didn’t want to forget Knox.

Then something strange happened as Yang spotted Grace. He offered a smarmy look at his security man. It was a locker room exchange: one man to another, a look Knox knew well and had trouble processing for its content. It went beyond “She’s hot” to something more licentious. It was, in particular, personal, not simply suggestive. Knox was right on the edge of understanding it when he was jarred by introductions. The meaning escaped him.

The provocative young assistant introduced them. Yang had the enviable ability and grace to make them both feel it was only the three of them in the room. Knox caught a tick to Yang’s eye and Katherine Wu gently took Knox by the arm, following an obvious script. For now, Knox agreed to play his part.

“Please, Mr. Knox, allow me to show you the view.” She eased Knox away from Grace and toward the windows. Grace and Yang Cheng descended into the bar area.

“You have been to the Glamour Bar before?”

“Many, many times,” Knox replied. “One of my two favorite views in all Shanghai.”

“And the other?” she inquired.

He turned his gaze onto her. “Why, you, of course.”

“Ah!” She blushed involuntarily.

“But alas, views are only for looking. You’ll please excuse me, Ms. Wu,” he said cordially, wanting to keep track of Grace. “I’ll be right back. I just need a beer.”

Her grip tightened on his elbow. She lifted her other hand and miraculously, a waiter appeared like he’d come through a trap door. He took Knox’s order.

His hostess said something, but Knox didn’t hear. He’d lost sight of Grace.